Chapter 17
Ellie
The next morning, I’m sitting at my desk attempting to focus on my rehearsal schedule for the day.
There’s still so much to do and we’re running low on time.
This show needs to be ready by the end of the semester, and we’re already seven weeks in.
We have about six weeks left to nail this thing so we can move into dress rehearsals.
To say I’m stressed is an understatement.
Add in the Jamie factor, and I’m screwed. I do not have the head space to deal with both things at once.
To top it all off, I have a meeting with Dean Ashby this afternoon after rehearsal. Something about needing to discuss the ‘next steps’ for the arts department. Whatever that means.
Finally peaking up from the pile of papers scattered across my desk, I watch the two students on stage finish up their scene.
“From the top!” I call out, my voice echoing through the empty rows of seats. “And please, for the love of God, try to look like you’re actually in love, not like you’re waiting for a dental appointment.”
April and a junior named Leo, reset their positions.
They’re talented, but I’m almost positive Leo is gay and it’s making it hard for them to have a connection.
Of course, one could argue that a professional wouldn’t let their real-life preferences bleed into their work.
But these aren’t professionals, they’re college students.
They lack the raw intensity their characters require. I know first-hand what that intensity feels like. I felt it in the locker room while staring into the eyes of a man who ruined me.
I haven’t seen Jamie since he almost kissed me. Since I almost let him. I’ve spent the last twelve hours convincing myself it was just the lighting; the close proximity or the fact that he looked so broken, and I’ve always been a sucker for a project.
My constant need to fix things has always been a problem. Seeing Jamie so destroyed has only made me want to try to fix him. But he’s not a puzzle that needs to be put together.
He’s not a torn piece of paper I need to tape together. He’s not mine, and I’m not in charge of fixing him. That’s something only he can do.
“Stop,” I call over April and Leo as I approach the stage. They break away from each other like one of them was on fire.
“This isn’t working,” I gesture between them. They look to each other, confused. “You’re supposed to be in love with each other. Where is the passion? The emotion? The tension? I’m getting nothing.”
“Well, Professor Monroe, I do prefer sausage,” Leo winks and chuckles. April gives him a disgusted look, and I roll my eyes.
“Then act like April has a penis. I don’t care.
Just give me something. And April, this is the love of your life.
He’s pushing you away because he doesn’t see how anyone could possibly love him.
You need to show him he’s worth loving. Understood?
” I ask, directing my question to both of them. They nod, and I begin to walk away.
“We’ll pick this up tomorrow. We have six weeks to get this right. I want you two rehearsing together as much as you can, even outside regular rehearsals. That’s your homework, okay?”
“Yes, professor,” they answer in unison before exiting the stage.
I know how badly April wants this. How badly she wants to prove herself. I can see she’s working hard, but Leo isn’t giving her anything to work with. He’s not taking it as seriously as she is.
I don’t think this class was something he truly wanted to do, more of a filler class than anything. Which sucks for April, because she’s really giving it her all. Especially in scenes where she’s solo.
Unfortunately, this is a love story, and it’s going to need both of them to work at it for it to be believable.
I don’t want to push them too hard, because I want to it to be enjoyable for them, but I have a lot riding on this play. Like April, I’m also trying to prove myself, and I need them to cooperate to do that.
My chest tightens just thinking about it. Everything’s in someone else’s hands, and I can feel my control slipping through my fingers. I’m not used to this, not being the one controlling the outcome, and it’s giving me anxiety. I’m not usually an anxious person, but I need this to be perfect.
Hours later, I’m sitting in Dean Ashby’s office, my leg bouncing with anticipation as I wait for him to enter the room.
When the door opens, I expect Ashby to walk through, but to my surprise, Jamie walks in and takes the seat beside me.
What the hell is he doing here? Ashby didn’t tell me Jamie would be joining us.
Jamie gives me a cocky smile, and the shift from seeing him falling apart in front of me to the confident man sitting next to me is giving me whiplash.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my tone a little rougher than I intended.
“Ashby told me to be,” he shrugs, the smile never leaving his lips. The lips I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since yesterday. God, Ellie. Focus.
“Well, great. He must have seen us together in the locker room. He’s going to fire us,” I begin to panic.
Oh god, if he fires me, I’ll never be able to show my face again.
I’ll be too embarrassed. I’d have to tell my friends and family that I was fired for fraternization with a coworker. Shit. I’m so screwed.
Jamie’s large hand lands on my thigh, causing it to stop bouncing. It’s supposed to be comforting, but it’s sending adrenaline straight to my heart. I can’t focus when he’s this close, especially when he’s touching me.
“Hey, he didn’t see anything. He’s not going to fire us, just calm down,” Jamie says, trying, and failing, to get my nerves in check.
Looking down at his hand, I swat it away. “Why else would he call us both in here then?”
“Maybe he wants to give us a raise,” he suggests. I glare at him. We both know Ashby didn’t call us here to give us a raise.
The door opens once again, and this time, the Dean walks in with a smile on his face. He takes a seat in his big, desk chair and folds his hands together in front of him like he’s about to discuss how both of us have broken some sort of rules and we’re both being terminated.
“Miss Monroe,” he nods towards me, his smile genuine. “Mr. Patterson. Thank you for joining me.”
We both nod, and I do my best to smile, even though I feel like my heart is about to pound out of my chest.
“I called you both here because there’s something important we need to discuss.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god. I brace myself for the bad news.
“Let’s get right to it then. This won’t take long,” he continues. “As you both know, we’re piloting a cross-departmental initiative to boost student engagement and donor visibility. Athletics and Arts. Funds have been kind of low since Mr. Steele went to… well, since he went away.”
No, no I did not know this. My stomach sinks. I have no idea where this is heading, but I know I’m not going to like it by the way Ashby is smiling.
Jamie shifts beside me. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to.
“We’ll be hosting a campus showcase,” Ashby says. “Performances, exhibitions, demonstrations. The hockey program will be featured prominently. Coach Patterson.”
Jamie’s jaw tightens.
“And Director Monroe,” Ashby continues, “you’ll be co-leading the coordination.”
He isn’t serious. This can’t be real. He’s already trapped us in the same house together, now he wants us to work together?
Jamie stares straight ahead, his expression carved from stone.
Co-leading. With Jamie.
“With respect,” Jamie says, his voice level but edged, “we weren’t made aware of this initiative at all.”
Dean Ashby’s face flushes. I would definitely remember if he mentioned something about joining the arts and athletics departments. He never once mentioned that when he hired me.
“Did I forget to mention that?” he asks, awkwardly chuckling.
I can’t tell if he really forgot that he didn’t tell us, or if this was his plan all along.
He doesn’t know our history, so there’s no reason he’s do any of this maliciously.
I’m just not sure how he forgot to tell the two heads of each department that they’d be working together for an event.
Jamie nods. “Yeah, you did.”
Dean Ashby clears his throat nervously. “The expectation is that you’ll present a unified front. The arts and the athletes working together.”
He looks between Jamie and me with a stern expression. Can he see the tension between us? Can he tell there’s some sort of animosity there?
Jamie’s mouth turns into a slight smirk. Is he enjoying this? I thought he would be pissed. I am.
I’m supposed to be focusing on the play. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance. How is it going to be possible for me to keep my distance from the man if I have to work with him?
“Dean Ashby, I have so much to do for the play and—”
“I trust you’ll be able to do both, Miss Monroe. I know you can. Now, let’s discuss details.”
The meeting continues, the details blurring together. Dates, budgets, talking points, but I’m barely hearing them. I’m too aware of Jamie beside me. Too aware of how much effort it’s taking not to react to every shift of his body. To confused as to why he didn’t fight back more.
He told me he’d give me space. He told me he wouldn’t get in my way. And that’s all he’s done.
The most frustrating part is, I don’t even know if I want him to give me space anymore.
When the Dean finishes his spiel, Jamie stands and shakes his hand. I stay seated for a moment, collecting my thoughts. Then, I stand quietly and walk out the door without another word.
I feel Jamie’s presence behind me as I enter the empty hallway. Stopping abruptly, I turn around to face him, ready to set my terms for this damn arrangement I’m being forced into.
Before I can get a word out though, he says, “So,” he says in a low tone that sends a shiver down my spine. “Guess we’re a team again.”
The way he says again makes my heart stutter.
“This is professional,” I say sternly.
His mouth curves into a sly smile. He’s enjoying this way too much. Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he chuckles.
“Sure, yeah. Professional.”
I roll my eyes. “We can coordinate via email. I’ll send over the outline.” That way, I don’t have to spend more time with him in person and risk anything happening between us that I’ll later regret.
Jamie leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “No. We won’t.”
My pulse jumps. “Excuse me?”
“You want this to work?” he asks. “We meet. In person. No miscommunication.”
I bristle. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
“This is my program,” he cuts in. “My players. If your department’s name is attached, I need to know exactly what you’re expecting from us.”
I search his face for sarcasm, for provocation but find neither. He’s taking this seriously.
“Fine. Tomorrow,” I tell him. “Auditorium. Ten a.m. But no funny business.”
Jamie’s eyes flick to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. My stomach flips.
“I’ll be there.”
The butterflies in my stomach let loose as I watch the smirk on his face turn into a grin. All of this would be so much better if I actually hated the man. I wouldn’t have to worry about feelings or attraction.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t hate him. I don’t know if I ever really did.