Author's Preface
Chantell stood in the theater, watching Michael rehearse the final act.
Onstage, the Judge had just been knocked unconscious and was about to be sent down the chute. Or, more accurately, a giant stuffed teddy bear was about to be sent down the chute.
It was hardly what she'd envisioned when she'd agreed to put on Sweeney Todd, but needs must. Michael delivered his lines with complete seriousness, gesturing dramatically toward the enormous teddy lying motionless on the floor.
Chantell pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
The teddy, she had to admit, was doing a splendid job of playing an unconscious man.
Unfortunately, it couldn't sing.
And, much to her surprise and considerable relief, Ian hadn't turned up.
She hadn't known whether he'd appear after the gala. Part of her had expected him to, if only because Ian Jenkins didn't strike her as a man who gave up easily. But the afternoon had passed without a phone call, an unexpected visit, or that infuriating grin that had once been enough to make her forget what she'd been saying.
For now, she could concentrate on the production.
"Right," she called toward the stage. "Let's try that again. Michael, you're knocking him out, not trying to flatten him into the floor."
Michael looked down at the teddy.
"Sorry, Miss Lovelace. He looked pretty convincing to me."
A laugh escaped from somewhere in the cast.
Chantell shook her head, reaching for her script. "Just get him down the chute before I have to find him an understudy as well."
"Okay, people, that's a wrap!" Chantell shouted over the rustle of scripts and backpacks.
It was close to four o'clock, and most of the student body had wandered off home. Not the drama department, though. They'd been rehearsing all day, and Ian still hadn't shown up.
Belle had asked Chantell at one point if she should call him. Chantell had answered with an abrupt "No!" before immediately apologizing for her sharp tone.
"So, next Friday." She handed out the master schedule for the weekend performance. "We do dress rehearsals at one, straight after lunch, so no heavy food. We open at half past four to a packed house, okay?"
"Okay. What about our Judge? Will he be here?"
"I don't know, Katie," Chantell sighed, rubbing her aching temples. "And to be honest, right now I hope he's dead in a ditch."
Katie leaned toward her friend and whispered loudly, "Harsh. He was well fit, too."
Katie's friend giggled, nodding in enthusiastic agreement. "I know, right?"
Chantell ignored them completely, rolling her eyes as she clapped her hands together to keep the rest of the cast focused. "If he doesn't turn up, we'll think of something, okay?"
"Okay."
"Right. Off home, everyone!"
The stage cleared out quickly as chatter and the scraping of auditorium chairs echoed into the hallways. Chantell stood alone at the front of the stage, watching the last of her students disappear through the heavy double doors.
As soon as the doors swung shut, the quiet room fell dead silent.
---
"Miss L, can we talk?"
Kieron's voice echoed softly from the back rows.
Chantell turned to see the young man slumped in his seat, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
"Of course, Kieron. Anytime."
"Thank you." He looked thoroughly upset.
"You okay, Kieron? I thought Coach Kilroy had you running drills."
"I..." He hesitated, looking completely miserable. "I snuck away."
Chantell walked over and sat down in the seat beside him.
"Why?" she asked gently. "I thought you'd be happy. I mean, the big game is only a week away."
"Yeah..." Kieron glanced at her sideways. "I am, but..."
"But?" Chantell prompted softly. "Come on, it's just us, and it won't go any further. Scout's honor."
"You mean it?"
Chantell crossed her heart, offering him a warm smile.
"It's the pressure, Miss."
"From who? Kilroy?"
"Him, the school, my parents... everyone."
"Not me, kid," Chantell reassured him. "I only want what's best for you."
"You wanted me to play Judge Turpin."
"I did, but you weren't happy, and Kilroy took that-" She stopped mid-sentence as the pieces suddenly fell into place. "Oh."
Kieron looked up, his eyes searching hers.
"You wanted the choice," Chantell said softly.
Kieron nodded. "Yeah, I mean..."
"It's your life, and you want to be the one who's in charge of it."
"Yeah. You get it. Not like some..." Kieron glanced nervously toward the auditorium doors, as though worried someone might overhear them.
"Look, Kieron, I'm going to be blunt with you," Chantell said, her tone deeply empathetic. "I know what it's like to have the power to choose whipped right out from under you. It can leave you feeling utterly powerless."
"How did you deal with it?"
"Well..." Chantell gave a small, rueful smile, thinking of her ruined weekend. "I'll let you know when I do. But I chose, for this moment right now, to focus on what I want."
"And what's that, Miss?"
"To be me. To come to work and help you young people get where you need to go... That was my choice."
"And a noble choice, too, Miss L."
Ian's deep voice echoed from the shadows behind her.
---
"Can we talk?" Ian asked.
Chantell stood abruptly, gathering her papers and shuffling away from him. Kieron remained seated, watching them both with a protective frown.
"Go away, Ian. I don't want to talk to you."
"Miss, is this guy giving you trouble?" Kieron asked, getting to his feet.
"No, Kieron. Thank you, but go home."
"Come on, Chan. We need to talk."
"What, so you can string me along while you wait for another no-thanks?"
"Seriously, Miss, I'll take him out," Kieron offered, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward.
"You shut up." Ian pointed a warning finger at Kieron before turning back to Chantell. "That's not what happened. You've got it all wrong."
"Did I?" Chantell shot back, angrily slapping her papers against her clipboard to align them.
"Miss, I can-"
"No. Thank you, Kieron."
"But, Miss-"
"Chantell."
"Both of you, shut up!"
Her shout rang sharply through the empty theater. Both men froze and fell instantly silent.
"Thank you." She stood there breathing hard, clutching her papers to her chest.
She turned to Kieron. "Kieron, thank you for your concern."
He opened his mouth to argue.
"No." She pointed a finger right at him, stopping him before a word could escape. "You're upset. I get it. If you don't want to play football, then don't. If you do, then do. But it's your life. Understand?"
"Yes, Miss," Kieron answered, stunned, his gaze shifting nervously between her and Ian.
"Now, Kieron, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't go to homeroom. Come straight to me. Understand?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Good."
She waited until he turned and started toward the exit before rounding hard on Ian.
"And you..." She jabbed a finger straight toward his chest. "You... you... why is it that all I want to do is slap you and kiss you?"
"I-"
"No, shut up!" She huffed, shaking her head. "You leave for London in one week."
"But Susan didn't-"
"Yes, she did! I was going to give you the papers on Saturday, but..." Her voice faltered, the memory of Maxine shouting "You're mine, Ian, not hers" flashing behind her eyes. "But..."
She swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.
"Now leave."
Ian stared at her, his expression raw. "Chantell, please-"
"Leave, Ian." Her voice cracked. "Please." The word came out low and quiet, but she held his gaze, refusing to let him see how much it was breaking her. "I'm not doing this with you. Not today."
For once, he had no clever answer. No teasing remark to make her roll her eyes, no crooked grin to soften the moment.
He took a step toward her.
She stepped back.
That stopped him dead in his tracks.
After a long, agonizing moment, Ian nodded stiffly, his jaw tight, and turned toward the doors.
Chantell stood motionless, clutching the papers against her chest, refusing to watch him go.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind him.
Only then did she let out the ragged breath she'd been holding, the silence of the empty auditorium rushing back in around her.
---
She found herself staring into the full-length mirror, sitting on the cold bathroom floor wrapped in nothing but a bath towel.
She'd been there for a good twenty minutes, completely lost in thought, staring at her own reflection. She didn't even know why or how she'd ended up on the floor. She just had.
The intercom buzzed suddenly, shattering the quiet.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Chantell stood up, pulled her towel tight around herself, and marched over to the wall unit.
"Ian, if that's you..." she snapped into the mic, her voice dripping with venom.
"Erm... hi?" a voice crackled back over the speaker.
Chantell froze, her throat tightening. "Mum... oh my God, I'm so sorry."
"Who's Ian?"
"Nobody."
"Clearly somebody..."
"It's fine, Mum... what are you doing here?"
"Let me in and I'll tell you," her mother replied dryly.
---
Chantell hit the buzzer to release the front door and hurried to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a soft knit sweater before her mother made it up the stairs.
A moment later, the front door opened, and in walked
Evelyn Lovelace.
She was immaculate as always, wearing a sharp, tailored cream pantsuit that practically screamed high power. Evelyn looked so much like Chantell same high cheekbones, same striking eyes, same posture except for her hair, which was kept in a neat, stylish dark brown bob rather than Chantell's vibrant dyed red.
"Mum," Chantell greeted her, leaning in for a quick, hesitant cheek kiss.
"Chantell, what on earth is going on?" her mum asked, taking one step into the apartment and immediately sweeping her sharp eyes across the cluttered living room.
"Nothing. It's just been a rough few weeks."
"I'd say so," her mum muttered, her judgmental tone slipping right past her initial concern.
"Mum, it's Sunday, and I just got out of the shower. What should I be wearing?" Chantell asked, defensive as ever.
"Fine." Evelyn waved the subject away with a quick flick of her hand, as if swiping right on a phone screen.
"Anyways..." Chantell crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. "You never come around, so what's up?"
Evelyn set her designer handbag down on the dining table. "I'm selling the building."
Chantell blinked, staring at her. "You're what??"
"Selling the building, dear."
"To who?"
"A company called CIHY."
Chantell frowned, running the letters through her head.
"Never heard of them.""They're new," her mum said, carefully sitting down on the edge of Chantell's sofa.
She perched right on the border as if she'd catch a disease if she dared sit all the way back.
Mind you, her mum wouldn't sit or even stand anywhere in this apartment if she knew half the fun Chantell had had in here over the years.
"A young CEO in town wants to focus on restoring old buildings like this one," Evelyn continued, smoothing out her pantsuit.
"What does that mean for me and the other residents?"
"Nothing, dear. You all keep your leases-nothing changes. The Pritchard Group assured me."
Chantell froze, her heart stopping in her chest. "The Pritchard...? Why does-"
"Are you okay, dear?" Evelyn asked, noticing the sudden drain of color from her daughter's face.
"Yeah... Mum, can you just excuse me for ten minutes?"
"It's fine, dear. I'm off to meet the girls for lunch anyway," her mum said, rising gracefully and picking up her designer bag. "I'll send you the details of the sale soon."
"Okay, Mum."
She fumbles for her phone, finds Ian's name, and smashes the call button.
"Hello?" Ian answers instantly, his voice a rush of relief. "Chantell, thank god. I didn't want to leave things like we did the other-"
She cuts him off flatly. "You ever heard of a company called CIHY?"
"Erm... no. Why?"
"They're part of the Pritchard Group... ring any bells?"
There's a heavy silence on the other end of the line.
"Fuck's sake, Maxine..." Ian sighs, his tone shifting from relief to sheer, unadulterated frustration. "I don't know what game she's playing, but clearly it's meant to get to me some kind of petty bargaining chip."
"I'm not a piece of corporate property, Ian!" she snaps, her grip tightening on the phone.
"No, but Max is like this. She gets... competitive," Ian groans, running a hand through his hair on his end.
"Look, I'll call her, find out what the hell is going on, and call you right back."
"Don't bother, because for whatever reason, she's just bought my apartment complex. No doubt I'll have to pack my things and sleep on the damn street."
"I'll never let that happen, okay? You can have my apartment."
"That's not the point, Ian!"
"You're right... I should have done what you did when you told me about Huey."
"I told you about him because I'm an adult," Chantell snapped, "and as an adult, I trust other adults... especially those I'm sleeping with."
"I didn't think, to be honest..."
"Too busy trying to get into my pants."
"Trying?" Ian purred, his signature charm bleeding back through the receiver.
"Not the time, Ian."
"Look," Ian sighed, softening his tone. "Meet me for dinner at Lorezza's in half an hour, and we can talk, okay?"
"Fine... but this is not a date."
"So, I'll see you at five-thirty?"
"Yes."
"It's a date," Ian declared, hanging up before she could fire off a response.
Chantell lowered the phone, staring at the dark screen. Despite the lingering hurt and the hot prickle of tears still fresh on her cheeks, a helpless, exasperated smile broke across her face.
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