Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

Millie, one of the admins who works part-time in the corporate office, part-time
here at the front desk. She’s a spry seventy-five, a voracious reader, and she
officially joined Shakespeare Club last year. “You gotta move your car, toots.
They’re paving.”
“What?” Frankie groans. And that sound… It goes straight to my groin.
I clear my throat and have to recall a particularly traumatizing memory
involving Viggo, Oliver, and a Costco-sized jar of mayonnaise to stop my body
from further responding. “I’ll move it for you, Frankie.”
“Nah.” She’s halfway to the door, when she turns and points her cane at me
in the air. “I’m not done with you, Bergman. I want answers.”
I give her an innocent smile. “Sure thing.”
Grumbling, she leaves, passing Millie, who holds open the door and crooks a
finger at me. I follow in Frankie’s wake, stopping when Frankie turns the corner
and I’m close enough for Millie to whisper, “Club meeting is still on for next
week?”
“No, the following week. Two weeks from now.”
She smiles and adjusts her glasses. “Oh, okay. Good thing I asked. Now, I’ll
admit, this is my first time reading As You Like it, and I’m a little confused.
Everybody’s in love, but nobody’s together, and they’re all hiding something.”
“That’s Shakespeare’s version of romantic comedy. It will all be clear in the
end.”
Her laugh is soft and wispy. “Fair enough. But—” She pulls out a few pages
and unfolds them. “Can you help me break down this dialogue? I’m worried I’m
going to read it wrong…”
I take a few minutes to help Millie find the subtext in her lines, but we’re
interrupted when Tyler comes strolling our way. She pockets her script and is
halfway out the door before she stops and spins to face me. “Say, maybe you
should make sure Frankie’s not having trouble with her car.”
I frown. “Why would she have—” Suspicion dawns. “Mildred Sawyer. You
did not tamper with Frankie’s car.”
“Who, me?” She grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “‘Love goes by haps;
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.’”
“You’re getting Second Yeoman next script,” I hiss as I breeze by her and
jog toward the parking lot.
Mildred’s cackle echoes down the hallway. Maybe I’ll cast her as a witch
instead.
I stumble outside, then freeze as I see Frankie sweating over her car. The
hood is thrown open, her hair’s up in a haphazard bun, and she has car grease on
her cheek. I stand there stupidly, committing the image to memory.