Certainly, what must be refused · 13. May 2025

CWMBR 12

Chapter 12

***

*Past

Finn looked at Bridget with delight and then made eye contact with each member of the group and smiled broadly.

He didn't seem overwhelmed by the attention of everyone in the waiting room. In some ways, he seemed to be used to being the center of attention.

As he walked into the waiting room, he turned to Bridget and asked.

"I don't see any staff at the door, is this an area I'm not supposed to be in?"

Of course there was no staff. The staff in charge of directing the audience would probably be guarding the entrance to the main theater.

There was no need to staff the hallway leading to the waiting area. At least for now.

"Below, yes. This is an authorized waiting room."

Bridget's answer was interrupted by Patrick, who stood sullenly by Finn's side.

"Then you should have posted a guard."

He spoke nonchalantly, his gaze scanning the waiting room, his disdain for the place evident in the occasional frown and click of his tongue.

But even if he did, he didn't have to express it out loud. How could anyone be so rude and obnoxious?

Biting her lip and staring at Patrick, Bridget replied in a blunt tone.

"I've never had a visitor who couldn't read a sign."

There was a tattered sign at the entrance to the hallway that led to the waiting room that read, "Unauthorized personnel not permitted.”

Bridget's point should have made Patrick retreat, but he didn't seem the least bit bothered.

"Oh, the piece of paper with all the words crossed out? Was that the sign?"

When I get back, I'm going to put that sign up again, on a clean sheet of paper, in bold letters, so no one will ever miss it.

Inwardly, Bridget pulled herself together. With so many eyes on her, she didn't want to make a fool of herself.

"Do you happen to know any of the members of the troupe?" (Bridget)

"Not at all."

"You must have a reason for being here."

Instead of answering, Patrick looked around the waiting room. Like a shopper in a store, he seemed to be appraising everything he saw.

Bridget, offended by his attitude, was about to say, "I don't understand," when Finn chuckled softly and answered instead.

"I was looking for the office and stumbled this way."

He glanced over at the group, who were now paying attention, and added, in a slightly lower voice,

"I wanted to talk to you a bit about business."

"Oh.”

Bridget let out an involuntary gasp. Her green eyes lit up for a moment.

Business, coming from the mouth of Finn Emerson. As a famous playwright, if there was a business he could talk about, it had to be theater!

If he could bring even one of his plays to the great theater, she would be able to pay off her debts in one fell swoop. Perhaps she could even give her employees a raise, and afford to renovate the old theater.

Just the thought of it thrilled her and kept her mind busy. She wasn't sure if uncle Ronan was in the office right now, as he was usually away on business.

Still, she'd have to get Finn to the office first. She was the paper owner of the Great Theater, after all, and without Ronan, she'd have to make do with what they had.

"Follow me, please. Magella, I'll see you later."

"Yes? Ah, yes. Go on, Miss."

Magella stood there, dumbfounded, and waved quickly. The others waved at Bridget as well.

But they couldn't take their gaze off the two handsome men.

Leaving the curious group behind, Bridget walked briskly away. Patrick followed quietly behind, and when they were far enough away from the waiting room, he spoke up.

"Is she really the owner?"

He muttered, not waiting for Bridget to answer.

"If she's offering to show us around, she's at least involved. She didn't lie to us."

Bridget, who had been heading for her office, her heart racing with excitement, looked back at Patrick with a narrowed brow.

"What do you mean, lying?"

"You lied to that woman earlier, and you did it very skillfully."

The woman Bridget had been talking to just before the two men entered the room was Magella. Bridget, realizing that Patrick was referring to Magella's skills, turned to him with a cold, hard look. Unperturbed by Bridget's stare, Patrick continued his harsh assessment.

"The trumpet was very difficult to play. Such a delicate instrument for someone so unskilled to pick up."

How lucky they weren't in the waiting room. Bridget was relieved that there was no one else in the hallway they were now passing through. If anyone had heard those words, they would have passed from mouth to mouth and reached Magella's ears, for this was the great theater, where visitors were there.

But not having ears to hear didn't mean she could keep watching that flapping mouth. Warm green eyes stared straight at Patrick.

"You came here to talk business, so why don't you stick to that?"

"Ha, that's a very classy way of telling me to shut up."

Luckily, Patrick was a man who had the ability to understand what a person was trying to say-aside from whether or not he was willing to follow through.

Satisfied that she had made her point, Bridget smirked coldly.

"I'm glad you understood."

"Ha!"

Suddenly, a loud roar of laughter erupted next to them. It was Finn, who had been listening to their conversation with interest the entire time.

Bridget pursed her lips in embarrassment, having momentarily forgotten Finn's presence in her anger at Patrick. Seeing the slight blush on her cheeks, Finn quickly stopped laughing and explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've never seen anyone who would put Mr. Sherman in his place before.”

Finn's voice was filled with amusement that he couldn't quite contain. Resuming his paused pace, he asked in an easygoing voice,

"What's your name?"

He said he recognized her face, but he didn't remember her name. Should she thank him for remembering her face?

After all, the famous playwright seemed to be trying to remember her properly this time, so why not? Bridget's lips curled into a favorable smile.

"I'm............."

"Bridget Pennington."

Patrick’s gruff voice overlaid the soft voice. When Bridget looked back at the voice's owner, he added in a deep tone.

"I have an excellent memory."

"I am flattered."

Bridget's annoyance at Patrick had gone deep underground in real time.

Whether he realized it or not, Patrick lowered his gaze arrogantly.

"I'm glad you realize it's an honor."

He strode ahead of her, returning the favor, and just in time to see the plaque on the office door, which he opened without knocking, leaving Bridget stunned and forced to swallow her anger.

Later, when she realized who he really was, she understood how amazing it was that he remembered her name, but at the time, he was just an annoying man.

And on the day Bridget was venting her anger in front of the office, a rumor spread through Glynford as the troupe members who had witnessed the three of them in the waiting room.

A big businessman had come to the Glynford Grand Theater.

***

*Present

The room Bridget left was cold and bare, as if no one had ever stayed there in the first place.

Ain stood in the center of the room.

His choice to come to this room had been, quite literally, impulsive. Though when he thought about it, it seemed like everything he'd done since coming to this mansion had been just that................

The truth was, he didn't know why he was standing here now, dumbfounded. There was absolutely no reason to look around this room.

He had only............... noticed the maids crossing the hallway with their cleaning tools in hand since early morning, and he knew their steps were directed toward this room. He was so annoyed by the way they were carrying all the tools as if they were waiting for him to leave that he stopped them. The maids looked at him with puzzled faces.

Ain gave them the most bizarre excuse he could think of: that he needed to look around the room first, in case Bridget had left something behind. The maids looked puzzled, but meekly complied and left.