Certainly, what must be refused · 13. May 2025

CWMBR 22

Chapter 22

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*Past

On that point, Bridget had a hundred mouths to feed. For if Ronan hadn't come straight to Glynford when her parents' deaths were announced, the Grand Theater might indeed be gone now.

"I care about this theater as much as you do. But I've been there, done that, and I'm looking at this situation realistically and objectively."

Bridget lowered her gaze, her expression deadpan. Seeing that she had lost her momentum, Ronan soothed her in a sweet tone.

"Well, what do you know, my brother raised you well, and it's not your fault. I had to run it myself before I realized the Grand Theater was a money-grubbing hippopotamus, and you know better.”

Ronan patted Bridget affectionately on the back.

"I think it's better for the Grand Theater to fold now. This is a good opportunity."

".................. But, Uncle Ronan. The Grand Theater is my father and mother's cherished dream."

The Penningtons were artists whose dreams were not fulfilled. Her father, who never got his work on stage because he couldn't find a patron, and her mother, who bounced around from role to role in small theaters for meager pay.

The Glynford Grand Theater was not just a building. Bridget grew up playing in the theater, watching different plays and dreaming about them, and it became clear to her that the theater was a collection of things her parents had seen and heard on their travels when they were young. It was their little dreamland, a fantasy land, a place for poor but dreamy artists like them.

"It's just a building, an old building!"

Ronan had no idea. He could only say that because he had no idea with what eye her father and mother looked after the theater, how carefully they chose each employee, or how intently they read each play before putting it on. The Penningtons were always proud that their theater was named after the city, and they tried not to be ashamed of it.

"You said it wasn't in the red, and uncle told me just yesterday to leave it to you, that it was all going well, and there was no reason to sell it."

"Bridget, do you want me to repeat myself? If they’re going to buy this old, dilapidated building for that much money, we should fall on our faces and say thank you............."

A soft voice interrupted the two, who were unable to come to an agreement.

"It doesn’t look like this conversation is going well."

Ronan's scowl hardened, and he looked back at Finn with a quick, gentle smile.

"Ah, Mr. Emerson. No, of course not. Just a little more time and I'll be right there......"

"Well, waiting any longer would be a waste of time."

Patrick interrupted, his voice unconcerned. Ronan frowned at the interruption, as he'd been silent the entire time he'd been talking to Finn, and had assumed he was one of Finn's entourage. Whether he was or not, Patrick was looking free and uninterested.

Finn glanced at him and muttered in a troubled voice.

"But I kind of like this location and the name of the Grand Theater..................”

Finn muttered to himself and then shook his head.

"Well, I can't help it, let's end this conversation."

"Yes? No, no, no!"

Ronan threw up his hands in exasperation, grabbing Bridget by the shoulders and spouting excuses.

"It's just that she's so attached to the Theater that she can't see right now. She needs a few days to prepare herself."

"Is that so?"

"Of course."

With that, Ronan tightened his grip on Bridget's shoulders. It felt like he was urging her to say something, but she bit her lip tightly and remained silent.

Sensing that she wasn't going to give him the answer he wanted, Ronan quickly changed the subject.

"In other news, would you like to meet one of our theater's leading ladies? She's a beautiful, brilliant actress, beloved by the people of Glynford."

Ronan had always brought Donna with him on important occasions, and this time, he seemed to be using her to try to win Finn's heart.

Almost half-coercively, Ronan pulled Bridget to the door and shoved her out of his office.

"Bridget, go get Donna."

He demanded, before she had time to respond.

"Hurry!"

Bang!

The office door slammed before Bridget.

She could reopen it, but it would be a waste of time. Standing there, Bridget reluctantly turned around. She wasn't going to pick up Donna.

Pausing in front of the stairs in the center of the hallway, Bridget leaned her back against the banister. Her steps slowed as she remembered Ronan's wide-eyed desire to sign the contract, even though she knew the theater couldn't be sold without her final approval.

Had things really gotten that bad?

It wasn't like there weren't gigs, even if they weren't enough to fill the year. The local newspaper occasionally covered the theater, and people still came to see shows at the Glynford Grand Theater. And as the theater's resident actress, Donna's fans include some of the area's most powerful people, and she often had private meetings with them, so it didn’t seem like it would be hard to get investment. ................

No, Donna was already doing a good enough job of attracting audiences. She couldn’t ask her to get an investment. That was for the owner to do. Bridget sighed, covering her eyes with her hand.

Ronan was whining about how difficult it was, and now that he was the owner, what could she do? She'd be lucky if she wasn't ignored, as Ronan had said.

"So he's right."

Bridget dropped her hands at the sound of someone’s voice. Patrick, one hand in his pocket and a cigarette in the other, strode toward her, a haughty look on his face.

"I don't think you have much authority."

His voice was too uninspiring to ignore, but Bridget felt more embarrassed than outright sneering, so she stammered out an excuse.

"It's just that my uncle runs most of the business, and he's been having a rough time of it lately, but he'll come to his senses."

"I don't think so."

Bridget lowered her gaze. He'd seen what happened in the office earlier, and he'd know what a blustering shell of a woman she was.

Stroking her ego in the name of master would only make her look more ridiculous. Quickly resigned, Bridget turned away in a half-evasive manner, intending to descend the stairs, but he seemed unwilling to end his conversation with her.

"Are you going to follow your uncle's instructions, and why are you wasting your time?"

He asked, tilting his head as if he didn't understand. Bridget replied in a calm voice.

"I don't know much about running a business, so I'm just doing what else I can."

"Menial labor? Errands?"

Patrick's lips quirked up.

".................. I don't know, and I don't know why you didn't just turn it all over to your uncle sooner. Isn't it more disgraceful to be a menial under a false title?"

Bridget, who had intended to end the conversation in peace and quiet, gritted her teeth and looked back at Patrick. Patrick was nonchalantly tearing into her and lit a cigarette and completely at ease. Like someone who spat out a joke that didn’t matter. Bridget burst out laughing at his insolence, as if he didn't care how offensive it was to his listeners.

"Why are you mocking me like this? Did it bother you so much that I said I wouldn't sell the Grand Theater?"

Bridget asked sharply, and Patrick raised an eyebrow and replied nonchalantly.

"Just curious. It's a little odd that you're so fond of the Theater but you don't want to run it. Is there a flaw in it?"

Bridget couldn't help but be struck by his choice of words, which was anything but polite.

But she didn't want to respond on the same level. Unlike the man, Bridget had been brought up in a home where she was taught to be respectful.

"It's not favorable for a young woman to be in business, my uncle said…...”

"Aha, your uncle. I guess you’re about ten years old since you need his permission?”