Whispers in the Wings

The theater smelled like dust, sweat, and bad decisions. Elise stepped on the stage, her heels clicking across old wood, her coat wrapped around her like an armor. She was not in the mood for late auditions or arrogant actors trying to get their way into a role. Not today.

"You're late," she said.

Leo Ruiz didn't even flinch. He was lounging across one of her benches, legs spread, peeling a damn orange like he wasn't trespassing on sacred ground.

"Technically," he said without looking up, "you're early."

She exhaled slowly. "This isn't your time slot."

"Didn't think you believed in those." He met her eyes now, bold, playful. "You strike me as more... improv."

Arrogant. Too pretty. Young. God, he was young. That was the problem. That was always the problem.

"Off the stage," she snapped. "Now."

Leo stood slowly, wiping orange juice from his fingers with a handkerchief. Who the hell carried a handkerchief anymore?

"You're Elise Laurent, right?" he said. "Big-deal Broadway girl turned director?"

"Depends who's asking."

He smiled like he could taste the tension between the both of  them. "I'm the guy who's going to get the lead."

She almost laughed. "That so?"

"Yes," he said. "You want to see."

She opposes the request to look back. But he used to sniff like sour and warm, and his skin followed him with his eyes. She hated how aware she was of it. Of him.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

Leo tilted his head. "You always this bossy?"

"I get results."

"Same."

It wasn't flirting. Not really. It was something sharper. Hungrier. And it needed to stop.

"Elise?" he said, voice softer now. "I saw you once. Macbeth. You were... sad. Not mad. Everyone made Lady Macbeth look insane, but you made her look like she was dying inside."

She froze. Just for a second.

"You saw that performance?" she asked.

"Twice."

A pause. Too long. She hated how fast her heart was beating.

"You were good," he added. "Still are."

"Stop."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll remove you myself."

He took a step closer. Not threatening, but charged. His voice dropped a little.

"I'm not a kid, Elise."

"No, you're worse," she said. "You're a risk."

"So are you."

She should've walked away.

She didn't.

""Are you really going to throw me out?" He asked.

"Try me."

His eyes dropped to her mouth. He didn't touch her. Not yet. But the air between them buzzed. Electric. Forbidden. A mistake waiting to happen.

"I could help you," he said. "The show. The press. I'm a good story. Young rebel cast by washed-up legend? That's headline gold."