Certainly, what must be refused · 27. May 2025

CWMBR 25

Chapter 25

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*Past

"Donna, watch what you say."

Bridget, who had been examining the chandelier, glanced in the opposite direction and quickly pulled Donna out into the hallway.

As soon as they were out in the hallway, Donna swatted Bridget's hand away and said impatiently.

"You're the one who should choose the work. What's the point of you and me working so hard to make money? You're spending all your money doing charity work for the poor. If you're going to do that, why don't you just hand over the reins to someone else? Do you think business is some kind of child's play?"

I guess I was more comfortable with Donna not showing up to work.

Bridget was beginning to think so. While she stood there with her hand on her forehead, Donna sulked and spun around, then stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh, Mr. Emerson!"

Donna's voice fluttered like a flag in a stiff breeze.

"Well, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Did I seem a little edgy? It's just a small disagreement, and as an artist, I'm bound to be a little sensitive in my work, you understand, Mr. Emerson?"

Donna's tone was soft, as if conscious of the way she'd treated Bridget earlier.

"Anyway, the president said there was something he wanted to talk to Mr. Emerson about, and he happens to be in his office right now, so why don't you come with me?"

Donna tugged on Finn's arm in an affectionate gesture. After a moment's hesitation, Finn obediently followed her hand as Bridget let out a long sigh. As she held her throbbing head, she heard a blunt question from the side.

"Do you get to choose the artwork?"

Patrick, whom she'd assumed had left with Finn, had somehow lingered by her side. Glancing at him, Bridget replied wearily.

"Not all of it, but I'm the owner, and I expect my uncle to have some input."

"You mean the poster in the lobby?"

"Yes. Have you seen it?"

"Finn said it's by an artist he’s never heard of."

"That's because it's his first work."

"If people haven't heard of him, he's probably not supported.”

If it was a gathering that Finn Emerson attended, it was probably a gathering of fellow playwrights. Or, to expand it a bit, a place for artists in similar professions to interact.

In any case, everyone was either a successful artist, an established artist, or a rising star. The person who decided to post their work this time was, of course, someone who had never been to such a big gathering before.

Patrick snorted, recognizing the answer from Bridget's silence.

"So there's a reason you're not making any money."

Bridget glanced back at Patrick with a furious expression.

"Not all of the work was famous from the start."

"Some things have a way of making money. Like Finn Emerson."

Bridget paused. No one in the know was unaware of the sensation that Finn Emerson's first play had created. At least, everyone who ran a theater or had anything to do with it knew. Who didn’t know the buzz about the young, handsome playwright who came out of nowhere, and how the premiere of his debut was a success, with a lavish stage and a stellar cast.

"Does it have to make money?"

"Not necessarily, if you're the only one starving to death."

Bridget was once again speechless. Patrick wasn't wrong; she wanted to follow in her parents' footsteps, but the reality was that she couldn't afford to put words in her mouth. Bridget lowered her gaze, her expression somewhat blank.

"I can see you don't have the right values for the business.”

"You said I was better than my uncle."

She hadn't really taken Patrick's words to heart, but now that she was being laughed at, she found herself bringing them up one more time. Bridget's comment was met with a nonchalant response from Patrick.

"Because you have a love for the theater. It's an unorthodox emotion, but one that can lead you to perform beyond calculation."

Bridget's lowered lashes fluttered. It was a harsh way of putting it, but it was still a positive assessment, which was somehow comforting. But Patrick's cold voice shattered her comfort.

"But perhaps my judgment was hasty, because you don't seem to be willing to commit to the business in the first place. If you really wanted to run a theater, you wouldn’t be here inspecting the stage equipment, not poring over its records."

Bridget looked at Patrick with trepidation, then turned away from him without answering.

..............Aside from the fact that she didn't want to sell her parents' legacy, the Grand Theater, to anyone, she had no interest in running it. If she had wanted to run the theater in the first place, she would have learned the business while her parents were still alive. Mr. and Mrs. Pennington would have been happy to support their only daughter's future as a young woman entrepreneur.

Bridget had no interest in running a theater. Rather, her dream was to work in the theater her parents had opened....

"Don't you write?"

"Are you asking if I write…?"

"Yes."

Bridget looked at Patrick in surprise. Patrick looked unimpressed for someone who had asked such an innocent question.

"It looks like it's going to be used."

"What does it look like?"

He didn't say more, and she didn't pursue the subject further, but she actually wanted to talk to him more. She'd always been subtly curious and intrigued by Patrick's off-the-cuff remarks before, but this was especially so. It looked like she was going to write.

How did he know that?

Bridget wondered, but she didn't get a chance to ask because he soon walked away from her.

The next few days were a bit of a slog. The crowds in the Grand Theater had increased, which was not good for Bridget herself. Finn's soulless compliments and Donna's jealous glances were enough to make her head spin, and Patrick would pick on her whenever he saw her.

"Don't you think you have bad taste in art?"

He'd even pick up on a point she was very sensitive about.

"If you really want to make money, you should sign with a big theater company."

"Have you seen that new theater in front of the station? If I had to put on a show in Glynford, I'd want to put it there."

What's more, the new theater had the full support of the mayor. Ronan, who entertained the mayor for an entire month, lamented that the money was wasted.

One day, Bridget, who was going to put up promotional materials, took a quick look around the theater and was struck by the splendid lights and dazzling decorations.

She remembered coming back completely dispirited after checking out the facility.

“What the hell do you owe? No matter where I look, I don't see any money involved.”

Bridget's retort fell on deaf ears, and Patrick clicked his tongue and launched into a familiar tirade. Where it's bad, where it's broken, where it's dirty................... It was an intellectualized review, and from the sound of it, not even the Royal Opera House in the capital could live up to his exacting standards.

"Glyndford cannot attract enough visitors to sustain a great theater of this size."

No matter how prosperous Glynford was, a provincial town had its limitations. And unlike in the past, there were other options now that didn’t involve the Glynnford Amphitheater.

"But with the poor maintenance of the facility and the lousy productions, it's not going to work."

Bridget tried to ignore Patrick's comment.

She had to be diligent to clean the theater in the morning and then head out in the afternoon for her second job. A side job, that was, giving tours of the city. She wasn't a full-time employee of the tourist office, but she didn't commute to work, which meant they didn't give her work unless she was there in person. Unless the city was overrun with tourists, that was.

After Finn and Patrick showed up, Bridget, who had been anxiously glued to the theater for a while, was finally feeling the need to get back to work.

But she realized she wouldn't be able to finish her work in the morning. She didn’t know if she would have a whole day, let alone a morning. As long as that damned man was there, kicking the dust away with his boot.

Seeing the dust and trash scattered and trampled all over the place with no reward for sweeping so hard, Bridget finally leaned against it roughly. Then she looked back at Patrick with a raised eyebrow.