she hadn’t let Charlotte leave so early. Now she was stuck dealing with this . . . “Grant Owen,” she murmured to herself. The name was familiar, but then so many of them were. But Genevieve was sure she’d heard this name recently, and outside of the dailies and other scuttlebutt. Where?
She should have just sent him away, told him to call and make an appointment like anyone else. Now, as the purr of an engine sounded outside, she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. Genevieve had made a life of saying “no,” after all; it wasn’t difficult for her.
The bell rang, but Genevieve took her time in answering. These actors usually needed lessons—plural—in patience, and she believed in training early and often. Not that she’d agreed to anything with this one, she was quick to remind herself. In fact, Genevieve hadn’t taken anyone in particular under her wing in almost nine years.
She made her way across the oversized entry, her three-inch heels echoing on the marble. During office hours there was staff, of course, but Genevieve liked to have the house to herself in the evenings.
Which made an unexpected visitor less than welcome.
She pulled open the door in one brusque motion designed to communicate efficiency and maybe a little displeasure. But actors were thick, so she doubted this one would catch any of the nuance. If it had been a role on set, he’d have understood it perfectly, but that was the thing about actors: They had no real-world functionality. And Genevieve had little patience for them.
Still, she stopped short of tapping her foot. That would have been overkill.
Wondering about my A to Z theme? It’s explained here. And remember: these scenes aren’t necessarily in chronological order!