Soulmate, Stage Right by Bixby Jones

Author:Bixby Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, soap opera, harlequin, contemporary, actors, sweet, wholesome, sweet romance, romcom, hallmark
Publisher: Bixby Jones

Looking back on it, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to take a nap. Not only did Dean wake up with a sore neck and stuffy nose, he was also in a complete fog afterwards, so dazed and useless that it took two cups of coffee to return to even a remedial level of functionality. If Abby had let him, he could’ve slept another sixteen hours, and that level of soul-crushing exhaustion could only mean one of two things: either he was coming down with something, or he was going to have to start going to bed earlier. Man, he really hoped it was the latter, because tonight was the worst possible night to get sick. He had to get it together, because in a little more than an hour, they were streaming live to an audience Ray estimated to be between five and seven thousand people. At that very moment, there were thousands of people scattered all over the country, gearing up to watch him—and the closer showtime drew, the more conscious he became of it.

The last time he felt this nervous, he was pacing outside a room full of stone-faced, high-powered network people, praying they’d be receptive to his imminent audition. Funny thing. He thought that once he’d powered through that, he could handle just about anything…and then he got to the studio. The sheer volume of things he had to learn, virtually overnight, was intimidating enough to make him second guess his good fortune, and it took weeks to figure some of it out. Where to stand, which camera to look at and when, the importance of staying out of someone else’s shot, how to interpret your own damned character and scene, because the director never had much to offer by way of notes or feedback unless you were doing something wrong, and, perhaps most importantly, remembering to listen for your name over the PA, because if they had to summon you twice, you would never hear the end of it.

All of that, on top of endless monologues, medical lingo he didn’t understand the meaning of, but still had to say with authority, and trying to get comfortable being half naked on a wide open set more often than not. It was a wonder he’d made it at all, really—he swore he held his breath for the whole first thirteen weeks, prepared to find himself out of a job by the end of them. Still, as nerve-wracking as that might’ve been, the AON set had one major plus that McMillan’s stage did not: a safety net.

If he stumbled over bilateral tension pneumothorax or thoracostomy with pleurodesis, he could get another crack at it. If he froze up and forgot what he was supposed to say, he could take a minute and refresh and try it again, and that was a luxury he never should’ve taken for granted. Now, the pressure was on—really on, and if he messed this up, it wasn’t just the assembled audience who’d

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