I've Always Had a Weakness for a Beautiful Face

The plaster fell while Julian Cross was explaining why the theater's east balcony could reopen by spring. It struck the aisle between us and Nora Bell, bursting into pale dust across the blueprints. A smaller piece bounced off my shoe. Someone behind me swore. The group of donors I had brought for the inspection went quiet, their phones raised. I looked up. A dark c***k ran from the balcony's carved edge toward the ceiling rose. Nora had been telling me about that c***k for three weeks. "Everybody out," she said. "Now. Don't go under the balcony." Julian stepped in front of me. His hand landed at my waist, warm and steady through my jacket. "Easy," he said. His voice was low enough that only I could hear. "That's surface plaster. We've already got it covered." I wanted that to be true. More embarrassingly, I wanted him to be right. "Covered how?" Nora asked. Julian kept smiling for the donors. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead in a way that made him look less like a man who had just been caught in a lie and more like the poster for a very expensive watch. "The temporary netting went up yesterday." "Then why is it on the floor?" "I said the east section is covered. This is the aisle." Nora's jaw tightened. "That is the east section." We were standing in the Bellwether Theater, a century-old jewel on the fictional coast of Bellwether Cove, where my family had made its money shipping lumber and buying up half the waterfront. The Ashcombe Foundation owned the theater and funded arts programs across town. I had taken over as executive director six months earlier, after my father's stroke left the board looking for someone with his last name and a pulse. I had been trying to prove I deserved the job ever since. Julian was the architect I had chosen to lead the renovation. He had a good portfolio, a polished manner, and a face that made people lean in when he spoke. I had not hired him because he was handsome. I had simply noticed that I listened harder when he talked. Nora pointed toward the doors. "The tour is over. We need the building cleared." One of the donors, Mrs. Voss, clutched her pearl necklace. "Is the theater unsafe?" "I don't know yet," Nora said. "That's why we're leaving." Julian gave a short laugh, as if Nora had made an overcautious joke. "We're in the middle of a restoration. Old buildings shed plaster. Nobody's in danger." Nora looked at me rather than him. "The inspection report flagged movement in the balcony supports. I asked for a full structural review before we brought anyone inside." "I thought the review was underway," I said. "It was scheduled for last Monday. Julian postponed it." He lifted both hands. "The specialist was unavailable. We didn't lose time. The preservation team checked the section." "The preservation team checks finishes," Nora replied. "Not load-bearing steel." I felt the attention of the donors settle on me. I could almost hear the headlines they might imagine: Foundation director ignores safety warning. Heiress endangers donors at historic theater. Julian turned his face toward mine. His eyes were clear and intent. "The building's safe. I wouldn't have brought you in otherwise." It was exactly the reassurance I wanted from him. I hated myself a little for how much it worked. "Everyone outside," I said. "Nora, make sure the staff are accounted for. Julian, I want your report on my desk by four." Nora didn't argue. She moved at once, ushering the donors through the lobby with a calm that made my own pulse feel childish. Julian lingered beside me as the room emptied. "You did the right thing." "I'm not sure what the right thing was." "Trusting me." The dust had settled on his lapel. I brushed it off before I could stop myself. ***** By four, the theater was empty, the doors chained, and three local news sites had posted photos of the fallen plaster. By five, the foundation's board chair, Malcolm Price, had called me twice. I answered on the second ring. "Tell me nobody was hurt," he said. "Nobody was." "Good. Keep it that way. We have a donor reception Friday. I want the theater cleared for the city's next walkthrough by then." "The east balcony may have a structural problem." "May?" "I'm getting a full assessment." "Then get it quickly. We're four months behind already." The call ended before I could ask whether he cared more about the schedule or the balcony. At six, Julian arrived at my office with a revised inspection summary. He had changed into a charcoal sweater that made his eyes look almost silver. I noticed that before I read the report. It said the plaster failure was isolated and cosmetic. It did not mention Nora's concerns about the supports. "Where's the structural review?" I asked. "The specialist can come next week." "Nora says you postponed them." "I postponed the first appointment because we weren't ready for the full survey. The team needed access to the underside of the balcony." "You told me the review was underway." "I said we had people checking it. We did." He slid the report closer. "This is accurate. The building is stable enough to proceed with the next phase, as long as we keep that area closed." "And the tour?" "I didn't expect a chunk of plaster to come down in front of you." He said it with a rueful smile. I wanted to smile back. I wanted to be the person he had meant to protect. Instead, I closed the report. "Get the specialist here tomorrow." "I'll try." "Don't try. Arrange it." The smile faded, though only slightly. "Of course." After he left, I opened Nora's email. It contained photos of the c***k, a copy of her unanswered request for the review, and a note that she had closed the east aisle at the beginning of the month. Julian had reopened it for the tour. I stared at the timestamp on her email. I had seen it three weeks earlier. I had skimmed it between meetings, then asked Julian whether the closure was necessary. He had told me it wasn't. I had believed him. I took my phone and called Nora. "You were right," I said when she answered. There was a pause. "About what?" "The balcony. I should have listened to you." "You should have asked for the report before you agreed to the tour." The answer stung because it was fair. "I'm asking now." "Then don't let the board talk you out of it." "I won't." Nora made no promise to trust me. She only said, "I'll send the latest file." When I hung up, Julian's report was still on my desk. His signature sat at the bottom in a clean, graceful line. For the first time since I met him, I wished his face had been less distracting.