11. Genevieve

11

GENEVIEVE

G enevieve’s bitter frustration mounted with each new minute of Monday’s rehearsal, her keen eyes fixed on Eden as the young actress moved through the scenes. Something was off today. The fire that had burned so brightly lately in Eden's performances seemed to have dimmed, and had been replaced by a hesitancy that set Genevieve's teeth on edge.

As Eden delivered line after lacklustre line, her voice wavered, sorely missing the conviction it had held just days before. Genevieve felt herself getting dangerously close to breaking point. This wouldn't do at all.

"Stop," she commanded, her voice cutting through the air like a whip crack. The other actors froze, their eyes darting between their director and their fumbling lead actress.

Genevieve strode forward, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor like the pounding of a war drum. "Eden, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Eden blinked, chewing on her lip in clear embarrassment. "I'm . . . I’m working on the scene, Ms. Howard."

"Are you?" Genevieve arched an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're sleepwalking through it. Where's Beatrice’s passion? The conviction? I don’t remember us agreeing to recast you as whomever this dull character is."

She saw the hurt flash across Eden's pale face, but Genevieve pressed on regardless. This was too important. She couldn't let her affection for Eden, or whatever might be growing between them, stop her from doing her job.

“I’m sorry,” Eden mumbled. “I’m in my head. I need to loosen up.”

The director gazed at her lead actress through narrowed eyes, yearning to dig into her brain and figure out what was strangling her talent. But now was not the time for a heart-to-heart. They were professionals, and if Genevieve Howard showed an ounce of leniency, word would spread like wildfire.

"Let's take it from the top," Genevieve instructed, her tone brooking no argument. "And this time, Eden, I want to see the Beatrice we've been working toward. Show me why I cast you in this role, before I give it to someone else."

Eden nodded, wide eyes glistening with the threat of terrified tears. As she began the scene again, Genevieve could see her struggling to find that spark, that connection to the character that had been so effortless before. It was there, flickering beneath the surface, but something was holding her back.

Genevieve watched with pursed lips, her arms crossed, as Eden pushed through the scene. It was better this time, but still not up to the standard they'd set in recent rehearsals. The other actors seemed to suffer from her waning energy, their own performances slightly stilted in response.

As the scene drew to a close, Genevieve held back a groan. This wasn't working. Whatever was going on with Eden, it was affecting the entire production. She'd have to address it head-on.

" All right, that's enough for today," she announced. "We'll pick this up tomorrow. I expect everyone to come back ready to run the entire act, top to bottom. If you’re not running lines in your own time, you’re a drain on this whole production and I. Will. See. It."

The cast began to disperse as if a bomb had been dropped, hurriedly gathering their things and chatting in hushed tones. Genevieve's eyes remained fixed on Eden, who was dumping her script and water bottle into a tote bag, her shoulders slumped in dejection.

"Eden," Genevieve called out, her voice softer now that they were almost alone. "A word, please."

Eden looked up, her brows raised in clear apprehension. She nodded, making her way over to where Genevieve stood.

"Yes, Ms. Howard?"

Genevieve studied her for a moment, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she clutched her bag. "What's going on with you today? That performance was subpar, to say the least."

Eden's gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I just have some things going on. Slept badly. It won't happen again."

Genevieve felt a twinge of concern, quickly suppressed. She couldn't allow herself to get emotionally involved. This was about the play, nothing more. "Care to elaborate?" she pressed.

Eden shook her head, still not meeting Genevieve's searching gaze. "It's nothing for you to worry about. I'll do better tomorrow, I promise."

Genevieve narrowed her eyes again, sensing there was more to the story. Part of her wanted to push, to demand answers. But another part, the part that remembered the vulnerability in Eden's eyes as they'd lain tangled together on her couch, held her back. It wasn’t her place to demand that Eden share whatever was troubling her because they weren’t together. Genevieve had insisted they wouldn’t end up in a relationship, she couldn’t get too close. She certainly couldn’t demand that Eden laid bare her emotions just to appease her nagging concern.

"See that you do," she said instead, her tone clipped. "We can't afford any weak links, Eden. Not at this stage. I, um . . . I was bluffing earlier. I obviously can’t replace you. And I don’t want to."

Eden huffed a nervous chuckle, finally looking up. For a moment, Genevieve thought she saw longing shimmering in those impossibly blue eyes. But before she could be sure, Eden had turned away, hurrying out of the rehearsal room.

Genevieve watched her go, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She told herself it was just concern for the production, nothing more. But as she gathered her own things, she couldn't shake the image of Eden's hurt expression from her mind.

Back in her office, Genevieve sank into her chair, rubbing her temples. She replayed the interaction with Eden over and over, wondering if she'd been too harsh. But no, she decided. This was her job. She couldn't coddle her actors, no matter how talented they might be. No matter how soft their skin felt under her fingertips, or how sweet their moans sounded in the dark . . .

Genevieve cleared her throat, banishing the thoughts. This was precisely why she'd told Eden their arrangement couldn't be anything more than physical. Emotions complicated things, and made everything messy. Genevieve couldn't afford that, not with so much riding on this.

Her phone buzzed, startling her out of her reverie. A reminder flashed across the screen: meeting with Sammy in ten minutes. Genevieve sighed. The last thing she needed right now was to deal with Sammy's probing questions and knowing smirks.

She stood, smoothing down her blouse and checking her reflection in the small mirror on her office wall. Her hair was impeccable as always, her makeup flawless. No one looking at her would guess at the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.

As she made her way to Sammy's office, Genevieve gave herself a mental slap. She could handle a little meeting with her boss. Even if her mind kept drifting back to a certain blonde actress with eyes like the summer sky . . .

Genevieve entered Sammy's office with a confident stride, her professional mask firmly in place.

"Ah, Gen!" Sammy greeted her, his smile wide and gleaming. "Come in, come in. How's our little experiment coming along?"

Genevieve settled into the chair across from his desk, crossing her legs and adopting an air of casual assurance. "Everything's going great, Sammy. The cast is really coming together."

Sammy leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished surface of his desk. "Is that so? And our star? How's she holding up?"

There was something in his tone that set Genevieve on edge, a hint of knowing that made her wonder if he suspected more than he let on. She pushed the thought aside, maintaining her composure.

"Eden's doing fine," she replied, perhaps a touch too quickly. "She's living up to expectations."

Sammy's eyes narrowed, and Genevieve felt a flicker of unease. He'd always been unnervingly perceptive, a trait that made him both an excellent artistic director and a constant thorn in her side.

"You sure about that?" he pressed. "You seem a bit . . . tense."

Genevieve waved a hand dismissively, forcing a light chuckle. "Just the usual stress of carrying this entire company on my back. Nothing I can't handle."

Sammy leaned back in his chair with a small scoff, regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "If you say so. But remember, I'm here if you need anything. We're in this together, after all."

"Of course," Genevieve nodded, eager to steer the conversation away from Eden and her own state of mind. "Now, about the budget for the set design?"

But Sammy wasn't so easily distracted. "You know," he interrupted, his tone deceptively casual, "I've been hearing some interesting rumours from the crew."

Genevieve felt her heart rate quicken, but she kept her expression neutral. "Oh? What kind of rumours?"

Sammy shrugged, trying far too hard to look innocent. "Oh, you know how it is. People talk. Apparently, there's been some . . . tension between you and our lovely Beatrice."

"Tension?" Genevieve echoed, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Come now, Genevieve," Sammy chided, wagging a finger at her. "We've known each other too long for this song and dance. If there's something going on that could affect the production, I need to know about it. People are saying you’re barking and biting more than ever. Do you hate the girl or are you desperate to fuck her?"

Genevieve felt a flash of irritation. Who did Sammy think he was, questioning her professionalism? Even if he had no idea just how right he was. But she tamped it down, reminding herself of the delicate balance she needed to maintain.

"There's nothing going on," she insisted, infusing her voice with a hint of innocent exasperation. "Eden and I have a perfectly professional working relationship. Any 'tension' the crew might be picking up on is simply the result of my pushing her to reach her full potential."

Sammy held her defiant gaze for a long moment, as if trying to read the truth in her eyes. Finally, he nodded, though Genevieve wasn't sure he was entirely convinced.

" All right, if you say so. But Gen," he added, his tone growing serious, "you know how much is riding on this production. We can't afford any . . . complications."

Genevieve knew all too well what he meant. The weight of what was at stake never left her shoulders. This wasn't just about putting on a good show. It was about proving that RBC could evolve, could attract a new generation of theatre-goers without sacrificing their artistic integrity. And more personally for the hopeful director, it was about securing funding for her student program, and getting the chance to open doors for talented individuals who might otherwise be shut out of the industry.

"I understand, Sammy," she said, raising her hands as if he were pointing a metaphorical gun right at her chest. "You don't need to worry. I have everything under control."

Sammy studied her for another charged minute before breaking into a wide grin. "That's my girl. I knew I could count on you."

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of budget discussions and marketing strategies. Genevieve found herself operating on autopilot, her mind constantly drifting back to Eden and the mess she'd found herself in.

As she finally rose to leave, Sammy called out to her. "Oh, and Gen? Do try to relax a bit, won't you? You're wound tighter than a knock-off watch."

Genevieve forced a smile, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll take that under advisement," she replied dryly, before making her escape.

Once in the hallway, Genevieve let out a long breath, feeling as if she'd just run a marathon. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried to centre herself.

What a tangled web she'd woven. Here she was, lying to her boss and pushing away the one person who'd made her feel truly alive in years. All in the name of professionalism and artistic integrity. Was it worth it?

She thought back to Eden's performance that morning, the lack of spark, the hesitancy in her movements. It was a far cry from the passionate, uninhibited woman who'd writhed beneath her just a couple of nights ago. Had Genevieve done that? Had she freaked Eden out somehow? Pushed her too far out of her comfort zone?

Genevieve shook her head, trying to dispel the thought. No, she knew what it looked like when a woman was flying through ecstasy. Eden might be a brilliant actress, but nobody could fake that level of enjoyment if they weren’t having the time of their life. Whatever was bothering her, it couldn't be about the sex. If Eden said it had nothing to do with her, then Genevieve could trust her enough to believe it.

And yet, as she stood there in the empty hallway, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake. The memory of Eden's hurt expression that morning and the way she'd avoided the director's gaze . . . that gnawed at her.

Genevieve pulled out her phone, staring at Eden's contact information. Her thumb hovered over the screen, torn between the desire to reach out and the fear of pushing the boundaries she’d so vehemently insisted upon.

What would she even say? “Sorry I was such a bitch this morning. Want to come over and fuck?” Genevieve almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. How had she, Genevieve Howard, acclaimed director and notorious hard ass, found herself in this predicament? Not even sure how to compose a simple text message.

She thought back to that first steamy tryst in her office and the way Eden had looked at her with such trust, such openness. It had awakened something in Genevieve, something she'd thought long buried beneath years of ambition and self-imposed isolation.

And now? Now Genevieve was standing in a hallway, agonizing over whether or not to reach out, when Eden was clearly going through something. It was pathetic, really.

Genevieve straightened up, squaring her shoulders. No, she wouldn't let doubt consume her. Whatever was going on with Eden, it couldn't be anything that a good, hard fuck wouldn't solve.

With a decisive nod, Genevieve began composing a text. My place, 8pm. Wear something easy to remove. She hit send before she could second-guess herself, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

As Genevieve tucked her phone away and headed back toward her office, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. This was what she was good at - taking control and finding solutions. Eden might be thrown off her game, but Genevieve Howard was as sharp as ever.

She ignored the small voice in the back of her mind that whispered doubts, that suggested maybe, just maybe, she was using the sex as an excuse to hold Eden for another moment . . . to be there for her, even if she couldn’t share her struggles. Though if Eden wanted to lay them bare, of course Genevieve could comfort her, take care of her.

No . She wouldn't entertain such thoughts.

Genevieve didn’t need nor want anything deeper than the easy dynamic they’d already established.

After all, what were a few orgasms between friends? The two of them already had the perfect solution to any worries thrown their way. No strings and no expectations. Just pure, unadulterated pleasure.

As she settled back into her office chair, Genevieve allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Yes, this would work out just fine. Eden would come over, they'd fuck until they couldn't see straight, and tomorrow everything would be back on track.

She turned her attention to the stack of papers on her desk, pushing thoughts of soft skin and golden curls to the back of her mind. She had work to do, and Genevieve Howard always got her work done.

Let Eden figure out her personal life in her own time and space. Genevieve would be ready and waiting to fuck her anxieties right out of her system. And if a small part of her thrilled at the thought of holding Eden close again, of tasting her lips and hearing her desperate, tender moans . . . well, that was nobody's business but her own.