The crew would occasionally touch up on Ivyâs makeup or give her some costumes to try, so Balfour was not surprised by the noises.
âThat outfitâs a bust, not nearly as sharp as the one you had on before,â Margot grumbled.
It was Ivyâs last scene of the day, and although her costume had been decided on ages ago, the director and a few big shots upstairs couldnât seem to make up their minds. Margot, ever the outspoken one, had chimed in with her two cents.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Ivy had to agree; the previous ensemble was the winner. âBut that oneâs back in my lounge,â she sighed.
âI got you,â Margot volunteered with a wave of her hand. âYou stay put-Iâm done for the day, so Iâll run and grab it for you.â And with a pat on Ivyâs arm, she was off, darting toward the lounge.
Inside the lounge, Clara gazed at the man lounging with his eyes closed, her heart racing. It wasnât every day you came across a man as handsome and capable as this. What kind of woman wouldnât dream of a future with someone like him?
She knew the odds were stacked against her; he was a high-flyer, and she was, well, Clara. But she wasnât without her charms and certainly no less fetching than Ivy. If Ivy could snag a catch like him, Clara was convinced she could, too.
Just as she leaned in to steal a kiss from the unsuspecting Balfour, the door flew with a bang.
Margot, in her rush to fetch Ivyâs costume, had barged in unannounced, only to freeze at the sight of a strange woman hovering over a sleeping Balfour.
âWhat the heck are you two up to?â she blurted out, her voice echoing around the space.
Jolted awake, Balfourâs eyes snapped open, and he quickly scooted away from Cla tumbling off the couch in his haste.
Claraâs cheeks flushed a deep crimson under Balfourâs icy gaze, sending shivers down spine.
âI wasnât doing anything! I just wanted to, I mean, I was just trying toâ¦â
Margot let out a snort of disbelief. âWhat, get a closer look to see if Mr. Howard has a mole on his face?â
Despite the absurdity of the excuse, Clara latched onto it. âYes, exactly! I mean, everyone knows about Mr. Howard of the Howard Group, right?â
She had just remembered why the man seemed so familiar; she had seen him before and then, amid the chaos, forgotten.
The revelation of his identity only deepened Claraâs resentment. Why on earth would a man of his stature be interested in Ivy? Did he have no taste?
Any sensible person would choose a match from their own social circle, or at least a lady of unblemished reputation. Why settle for Ivy, of all people?
Clara was flummoxed, convinced that Ivy must have some dirt on Balfour or that he was being blackmailed. Regardless of the reason, Clara couldnât shake her fascination with the man. A catch like him was right there for the taking, and she wasnât about to let him slip through her fingers.
If only she had seized the moment before and made an impression, surely, once he got an eyeful of her figure, he would be smitten, right?