Her Leading Hero Read online

  Tamara barely listened. She couldn’t be bothered to deal with his anger. Not when he’d dropped life-changing news in her lap.

  “Who did you sell to?” Her mind was scrambling to make sense of the sudden turn of events. Were the new owners aware of the landmark status? He’d have had to legally, right? But she wouldn’t put it past the owner to sidestep the law. Even if the new owners were aware of its status, that just protected the building itself and its interior—new owners could come in and use the space to do whatever they wanted. No status could force them to show old movies or keep the spirit of the theater intact.

  Fear had Tamara frozen in her seat as Oliver kept talking. What would she do if the new owners didn’t need her around? Where would she go? She’d been battling that fear ever since she discovered Oliver intended to sell, but now it was a reality. Her life was about to change. Again.

  The difference was, this time around she actually liked her life. She’d built a real home for herself, and now with one twist of fate it could all be taken away.

  Oliver strode across the office, sifting through files on his overcrowded desk as he started to pack up his belongings. It seemed he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “I should fire you right now,” he muttered as he tossed aside a folder.

  “Why don’t you?” It was an honest question. What she’d done in going behind his back had been a fireable offense. She’d known that but still had done it, rationalizing she wouldn’t have a job anyway if he sold the building to a company that wanted to tear it down.

  She’d thought she’d bought herself some time with the landmark status. A couple of nights ago, she and the other volunteers had celebrated their win at Cagney’s, the bar owned by Meg and Jake next to the theater.

  But now… Maybe they’d celebrated too soon. When the Oompa Loompa spoke again, she almost forgot what she’d asked.

  “They asked that I keep you on.”

  She frowned. “What? Who?”

  He glared at her over his desk, which was shoved into a corner of the too-small office space next to the room that held the projector. “The new owners,” he said slowly, as though talking to an idiot.

  “Who are they?” she asked. And why on earth would they specify that she be kept on?

  True to form, Oliver wasn’t paying attention to her or her questions; he kept talking to himself. “They came in here and made a good offer. What could I do? I mean, especially after the predicament you got me into. Do you know how much I could have sold this place for if I could sell to developers like I wanted to?”

  Yes, she knew. Ben’s company and the client he represented had been willing to shell out big bucks to turn this place into a condominium. But that was before Ben realized he had a heart—and that he’d lost it to Caitlyn.

  “Who did you sell it to?” This time Tamara’s voice was loud—well, loud for her—and she matched his slow I’m-talking-to-a-moron tone. Frankly she was starting to annoy herself with the repetitive questions. She needed answers before she lost it.

  She’d never once been so assertive with her boss—now former boss, she supposed—and he stared at her as if just realizing she was there in the room with him. “The Blanchard Group.”

  “Blanchard. As in Gregory Blanchard?” No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. There was no way…. Was there?

  Oompa Loompa shrugged. “I don’t know, I just talked to the lawyers. They made a good offer and I took it.”

  “Why? Why would he do that?”

  Oliver stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “How should I know? You can ask them yourself when they get here.”

  “When? And who?”

  He shoved the last folder on his desk into a briefcase. “They’re coming today to check out the place. I’m guessing they’ll want to meet with you.”

  “‘They’ who?” She tried to keep her voice level, but even she could hear the rising panic in her tone.

  A low voice behind her confirmed her worst fears.

  “‘They’ meaning me, Ms. Pierce.”

  She froze, staring at Oliver as if by ignoring the voice she could make the man disappear. But she felt his presence, an electrical current in the room that had her skin tingling and a shiver racing down her spine.

  Finally, she turned to face him. “Gregory.” The name slipped out on a whisper, which was all she could manage. After thinking about him nonstop for more than a week, she found his sudden presence in her office surreal. Like a dream had come to life. Except that this was no dream. He was flesh and blood…and taking up entirely too much space in the cramped room.

  She couldn’t breathe. Clutching the back of her chair, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  He still didn’t know who she was, she told herself. She could keep it that way.

  But the exposure of her true identity was no longer the only danger this man posed. He’d gotten under her skin that night at the party. She’d tried to blame it on the alcohol, but he had the same effect on her now when she was stone cold sober. He made her forget who she was, who she’d become. He made her think of things like romance…and sex. Things she hadn’t cared about at all in the past six years, not since she’d left behind a love life, along with everything else.

  He smiled at her, but it wasn’t a friendly gesture. It was the smile of a predator who had its prey in its grip.

  She stayed quiet, practically hidden in a corner as Oliver spoke with Gregory, who had apparently come on his own to size up the place. She barely heard their small talk as she struggled to breathe normally.

  Do not panic. Do not panic. Do not—

  “Tamara will show you around,” Oliver said, interrupting her pep talk. “Isn’t that right, Tam?”

  She hated when he called her that, like they were friends. And now she hated that nickname more than ever. It was too close to the name she’d been called. Tam. Tammy. Way too close. Why hadn’t she changed her first name as well as last?

  But there was no time to regret past decisions, because Gregory had moved to the doorway and turned back as if waiting for her to join him.

  As she walked to his side, the full force of the situation hit her. Gregory was the new owner. She was either going to have to leave this place—her home—or work beside him, hoping against hope that he never figured out her secret. Praying he never got too close.

  * * * *

  By the end of the tour, Gregory had learned every bit of history and film trivia he could ever hope to know. He was left with only one question—where the hell was the woman he’d met the week before?

  It was with something close to horror that he found himself staring at this stranger who bore a startling resemblance to the mesmerizing, charismatic young woman with the sexy gown. They stood in awkward silence in the theater’s lobby. Oliver had long since left and the tour had come to an end. Gregory knew he should take some time, think of a diplomatic way to address the situation. He knew that was what he should do, but—

  “I’m curious. Do you always require a case of champagne to interact with people, or is it just me?”

  That got her attention, at least.

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Tamara lifted her head enough so he could see her entire face and not just glimpses through her long, blond hair.

  “Excuse me?”

  There. He could even hear her voice now that she wasn’t speaking softly with her head tilted down like some sort of servant from another era.

  He took a step closer and watched as she backed away. A wall was two feet behind her, and he experienced a pang of guilt at the realization that she was scared of him. People were not scared of him…. Well, maybe business rivals, but certainly not his employees. And definitely not women.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stopped advancing and forced himself to loosen his posture. See? Nothing intimidating about this guy.
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  He even attempted to soften his tone. “I merely meant…” What? That she’d been a sassy, confident vixen the other night and had apparently transformed into a shrinking violet. How to put it delicately…

  But she seemed to know what he was thinking, because her cheeks turned a violent shade of crimson and her tongue slipped out to lick her lips in a nervous gesture that made him more aroused than he’d care to admit.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she said, her hands twisting together as though she were wringing out a rag. “I had too much to drink the other night, but I assure you—”

  “What? No.” He bit back a sigh of annoyance. Was she deliberately being obtuse? For the love of God, he wasn’t complaining that she’d been a charismatic siren. “You have nothing to apologize for. I just meant…” Oh hell, he was making a mess of this. “I liked the woman I met the other night.”

  She stared at him from beneath lowered lashes, her gaze inscrutable.

  Guilt kicked in once again. That had sounded like a come-on. And maybe it was, if he was being honest. He would have given anything to see that flirty little temptress again. To be so close to her and be stuck with her shadow was beyond frustrating.

  But he had to remember where he was. At the theater…her workplace. Which meant she was now his employee. Of course she wouldn’t flirt with him, and he shouldn’t be forcing the issue. That didn’t mean he had to accept her role of self-conscious wallflower, however. But this was about business, so he tried a different tack. “Look, I need someone who can be a spokesperson for the theater.”

  Her chin tilted up, and he caught a flash of interest in her blue eyes. A china doll, that’s what she reminded him of with those big eyes and tiny features. Everything about her seemed delicate, fragile. The other night that delicacy had been tempered with strength—a rare and intoxicating combination of vulnerability and indomitability. But today, there was just fragility. The need to scoop her up in his arms and protect her from the world threatened to make him do something stupid.

  When she spoke, her voice was only slightly louder than it had been, but there was more strength to it—more substance. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a spokesperson, Mr. Blanchard.”

  Her formality in calling him “Mr.” was duly noted.

  “I’m not very good at speaking in public and…” She pressed her lips together for a moment, as if summoning up courage. “Despite my behavior the other night, I am not typically good at speaking with strangers.”

  He studied her for some time, trying to reconcile the woman before him with the one from the other night. “I think you’re wrong,” he said. And then dared to add, “Either that or you’re lying.”

  He’d merely meant to tease, but her instant and over-the-top reaction was intriguing.

  “I’m not lying!” Her cheeks flushed again almost instantly and she dipped her head. “Why would you think that?”

  Pausing to consider her reaction, he finally explained, “I merely meant that perhaps you were lying to yourself. Doing yourself a disservice, at the very least.”

  She peeked up at him, and he could have sworn her eyes were filled with suspicion.

  “You were brilliant the other night when you spoke about the theater and its significance.”

  Her cheeks couldn’t grow any redder without her head exploding, he was sure of it. It was charming, really. Perhaps Vanessa and his other exes had taught him that modesty and humility were a thing of the past—a remnant of another time—but Tamara’s embarrassed reaction made something in his chest tighten.

  “I wasn’t brilliant,” she murmured. “I was drunk.”

  His head fell back as a loud laugh escaped him. He hadn’t expected that response. When he looked at her again, he was pleased to see a small smile hovering over her lips.

  “Trust me, you were brilliant.” He caught her self-deprecating eye roll and added, “You convinced me to buy this place, didn’t you?”

  Her head shot up and her eyes narrowed on him. “Now who’s lying?”

  Laughing softly, he admitted, “Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely your sales pitch. But you and your enthusiasm for classic films did get me thinking.” That much was true. He’d already committed to donating to the cause, at the very least, after that night. And the theater wouldn’t have been so high on his priority list that fateful day at his father’s office if he hadn’t been so hung up on his Veronica Lake mystery woman.

  With the mood between them infinitely less tense, he laid it out for her. “Look, I’m taking a gamble on this theater. If it were just my money going into this, it would be one thing, but I’ve invested in the property through my family’s company, and there’s quite a bit of pressure on me to make it a success.”

  He could no longer see her eyes, as she’d tipped her head back down, but her posture was tense, and he knew she was paying close attention.

  “The theater doesn’t bring in enough money to warrant me hiring an employee who will be the spokesperson for the theater, but that is exactly what I need.”

  That had her looking up, and now her eyes were wide with fear. He was tempted to take it all back and pull her into his arms, assuring her he wouldn’t pressure her. But she was his employee, dammit, and he’d seen her play the role he needed her to play. It wasn’t like he was asking her to sell her body to turn a profit; he was merely asking her to be the face of the organization.

  “I’ll do my part, obviously,” he added. “But I have other obligations and can’t make the theater and its success my only priority.”

  She nodded slowly, and he smiled in relief. “Is that a yes? You’ll be the face of the company?”

  Her big eyes grew even bigger. “No! I mean, that’s not what I meant when I nodded. I just meant…” She shrugged, and her voice faltered. “I meant, I understand your predicament.”

  His smile faded. Hell, he didn’t want to have to threaten her job, but that was exactly what he was going to do. This was business, after all. He had a point to prove to his father, and even if he didn’t, Gregory Blanchard never did anything in half measures. If he put his name behind this theater, he was sure as hell going to make sure it was a success. “This theater can’t afford to hire someone new,” he said again. Before he could finish, she beat him to it.

  “I understand. If I won’t do it, you’ll replace me with someone who can.”

  His silence was answer enough. Shit, he didn’t want to be the bad guy here. This was not how it was supposed to go.

  * * * *

  That had not gone as planned. Not that she could ever have planned for her theater to be bought by her former crush and current… Well, current crush, she supposed. It was humiliating, but it was the truth. His presence still had the exact same effect on her that it had had when she was a teenager. It turned her into an addlebrained moron. And one who blushed way too easily. It was just as bad as the last time she’d seen him when she was sixteen. Maybe even worse, because she couldn’t act on it or even allow herself to daydream that her fantasies would come to life.

  “So how did you leave things with him?” Marc was sitting next to her at Cagney’s, and they each cradled a hot toddy as they watched Jake work. Meg leaned across the bar from her, and Caitlyn leaned against the bar beside Marc.

  Alice was supposed to join them so the whole volunteer crew could hear about the new owner and his plans for the theater. Meg’s younger sister was running late again, as usual, and Meg said they could go ahead without her since she’d been acting weird lately over some guy.

  The rest of the crew had listened attentively as she’d told them about her run-in with Gregory.

  Now, though, everyone wanted to know what she’d tell Gregory. She’d told him she’d think about it even though every instinct told her to run screaming in the opposite direction. Working with Gregory would be bad enough, but to go public and let herself be the face of the th
eater, as he’d put it? Disaster waiting to happen.

  “What does he mean by ‘face of the theater’?” Caitlyn asked.

  She sighed. “He wants me to go to social functions with him and talk up the theater. Give some history and a pitch on why film preservation is important.” In theory, it sounded like a cushy gig. In reality…what he was asking was her worst nightmare. Interacting with the general public was one thing. But when he said ‘social functions,’ she knew exactly what he meant. Whether he realized it or not, he was asking her to revisit a world she’d left behind.

  “So he wants you to convince his friends and acquaintances to donate money?” Caitlyn guessed.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly. He’s hoping to turn the theater into a legitimate moneymaker.” At their confused looks, she added, “Alice did too good a job with the gala. He saw the potential of this place and he wants to exploit it by expanding the services that the theater offers—”

  “Ugh, he doesn’t want to show current movies, does he?” Meg asked.

  “No.” There was an audible sigh of relief amongst her friends. They were all purists in that sense. Classic film deserved to have a dedicated theater. She cleared her throat and told them the rest. “But he does want to use the space for events, screenings, that sort of thing.”

  Caitlyn pursed her lips. “He wants to make it trendy, doesn’t he?”

  Tamara nodded. That was the gist of it. She didn’t want to delve into just how he intended to do that. To her it was obvious; he planned on tapping in to his influential circle. The movers and the shakers of Manhattan—though he hadn’t called them that. Where Gregory Blanchard went, press followed. Where the Blanchards were, so were the rest of the elite. He was hoping to cash in on his name and his crowd to make their little world hip.

  Marc laughed. “Why do you have to make ‘trendy’ sound so horrible, Cait?”

  As her friends teased one another about who was more of an old lady—Caitlyn with her knitting store or Meg with her new urge to nest—Tamara quietly panicked. The urge to drown the problem with another cocktail was tempting, but drinking too much was part of the reason she was in this mess in the first place. She sure as hell couldn’t show up at his office drunk, much as she’d like to. And she had to go—he’d given her forty-eight hours to decide, and her time was nearly up.