Page 15 of Burning Hearts
“Nothing to see here,” Beau murmured for the mic, “just a completely spontaneous crowd arriving by van.”
Tansy didn’t miss a beat. “It’s called hospitality, Beau.”
“Of course it is,” he said, delighted.
Tansy’s polished façade didn’t crack, but her hand found her hip. Beck only smiled back at her.
He walked the first ten steps with the interns—exactly enough to make the plan real—then peeled off and, in the same motion, shook Cade’s hand at Brickyard. I couldn’t hear what he said, but Cade’s mouth twitched like a laugh.
Air returned to the square, and the people who’d been waiting to see where the wind would blow started choosing their own destinations again.
The only kind of engagement worth filming.
“Thank you,” I told Beck as he returned.
He grinned. “I’m having concierge chalk it too,” he said, already tapping his phone. “If I post a rule twice, people act as if it’s always been there.” He studied me for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I saw you try to stop it.”
“I don’t need that kind of help,” I said, probably a little too sharp.
“I know,” he said simply. “I’ll try to keep Mom helpful inside the lines.”
Across the Commons, the intern pod clustered at Brickyard while Cade traced flow in the air with steady hands. He lookedup and our eyes met for half a second. No smile, just the shared acknowledgment of a mess rerouted.
My phone buzzed.
Cade:That was a fix.
I looked up again. He was already nudging a table because that’s what it needed.
Me:Beck’s a machine.
Cade:He’s a thermostat. Keeps rooms honest.
Beck set one more note on my table—Lantern Room lighting test Sunday after nine.
“If you need a quiet angle,” he said, tapping the card that mentioned the Lantern Room, “no one will fight you for it.”
“Appreciated,” I said.
I knew the Lantern Room well. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the hotel, it was a hideaway with a small private bar, low sconces, and sounds that would muffle before disappearing into the walls.
Miss Pearl reappeared with the contentment of a cat.
“The thing about applause,” she said to the air, “is it sounds better when it chooses you.”
“Tansy will try again,” I muttered.
“She will,” Miss Pearl said. “Her hobby is touching things. Beck’s is putting them back where they belong.”
At twenty past the hour, the interns pivoted toward Wick & Wax, right on time. Wick & Wax straightened, waved, and launched a wholesome battery-candle demo.
Beau’s cameraman lifted the camera for a wide shot. The Commons looked like itself again.
I pocketed the tour slip and took the “REG” coffee off Beck’s tray, feeling perversely seen by the label. A producer learns to accept what the day gives you, drink it while it’s hot, and pass the rest along.
My phone buzzed again, Beau’s group thread, Tokens & Hairspray.
Beau:Finalists Tour: we love a schedule.
