“We’re going to run through the opening scene with the seat sequence.” Sadie brushed her blue and purple hair away from her face. “One of the features of this show is that the audience is mixed in with the cast. So we have two rows of seven seats each on the stage, facing the rest of the audience. Obviously, these aren’t the same as what’s going to be in the theater, and we’ve had to beg, borrow, and steal to get them here for practice.”
The mismatched chairs were set up in a replica of that arrangement, with a few extra chairs facing them to represent the traditional audience area.
“We’re selling tickets for the chairs marked with an X,” Wes said.
Remi’s eyes snapped over to the side of the room.
She’d been so in the zone, she hadn’t even noticed his arrival. He leaned against the wall, a crisp, white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar. Fitted jeans hugged his thighs and dark stubble coated his jaw. She could almost feel the scratch against her fingertips. Remi swallowed and found her mouth dry.
“Since we went over all the choreography yesterday. Today we’re going to practice with a stunt double.” Wes pulled a dummy off the ground. “This is Alfred.”
The dummy, which was dressed in a fancy, old-timey costume including a frilly cravat, stared at them with blank eyes.
“Once we move into the theater next week, Sadie and I will start sitting in the seats, so we can simulate what it will be like on opening night.”
Remi wasn’t even ready to think about that yet. She’d stumbled through the choreography yesterday, trying to master the intricate set of moves, which involved a few kicks past where a real live person would be sitting.
She’d mentally dubbed that spot the “death seat.”
Don’t look scared. You don’t want to give them any more reason to think you shouldn’t be here.
Wes set the dummy down one chair from the end. “Let’s run through the section where you’re already on the chairs.”
He motioned to Remi and held out his hand. Clearing her throat, she walked over to Wes, trying to get into dance mode, which was bloody hard with him standing there looking like Prince Charming. With his strong jaw and those blue, blue eyes, he could have been lifted right out of a fairy tale. She braced herself for a white-hot sizzle of attraction as she slid her palm into his, and boy, did it deliver. Touching Wes was like letting someone hit her with a Taser.
Sex Taser…was that a thing?
Stop it.
She wrapped her fingers around his and stepped up onto the chair. It was such a benign piece of furniture when you were sitting on it, but standing on a chair—in pointe shoes, no less—was all kinds of terrifying.
Who said that you should never work with children or animals? Maybe props should have been included too.
“Face forward,” Sadie said. “Bring your right foot down below the line of the chair. Swish right, then left, then kick out to your right. Repeat on the other side. Then we’ll turn to face the person sitting next to you, up into arabesque. Hold, two, three. Then you come down off the chair.”
Sadie mimicked the steps, making it look easy as pie.
That’s because she’s on the ground.
“Think you can do it without taking Alfred’s head off?” Wes grinned up at her.
Maybe if you stop blinding me with that sexy smile, buddy.
“Sure.” She nodded.
“I’ll count you in,” Sadie said. “Three, two, one. Swish, swish, kick.”
Remi’s toe box made a soft clunk when it hit the dummy’s plastic arm. Dammit.
The whole room was watching her. The dancers were in various positions—some standing and some of the floor. But they were all waiting to see Remi in action. Yesterday, she’d managed to hide in the back for most of the day, catching up on what she’d missed so far.
The choreography was unique, as was the soundtrack, which consisted of a mix of contemporary music and bass-heavy dubstep. Sadie was a creative genius, and Remi was thrilled to be working with her. But something was holding her back—stopping her from fully embracing Out of Bounds and throwing herself into it.
She kept telling herself it was her feet. She needed a few more days for them to adjust to the grueling schedule. But what if a few more days didn’t help? The risk of what she was doing suddenly weighed on her as if she were carrying all of New York on her shoulders.
And sure, she put her pointe shoes on regularly and pirouetted around the barre studio. But it wasn’t the same. If something hurt there, the shoes came off. Here, she didn’t have that luxury.
“Remi?” Wes’s voice brought the room crashing back to her—the uneven surface beneath her feet, the pairs of eyes curiously staring her down, the thundering of her heart against her rib cage. It echoed through her whole body, turning her vision blurry. Making it feel as though a fist were closing around her throat.
Not now, please. Not now.
She’d had one panic attack in her whole life. But she’d never forgotten what it felt like—the strange hot and tingly sensation in her face, the tilting of the room in front of her, the way her hearing seemed to turn inward, amplifying her breath and the rush of blood in her ears.
“Remi?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but the panic had strangled her words. She steadied herself against the back of the chair, her fingers biting into the wooden frame. “It’s just my…allergies. I need a drink.”
“Of course.” Holding out his hand again, he helped her down. “Lilah and Melinda, why don’t we get you up while Remi takes a quick break? We can try the sequence with the two of you on the chairs, and Ace, Angelo, and Marsha in front.”
Remi pressed her hands to her chest as she hurried to the kitchen. Her stomach seemed to be doing Sadie’s moves over and over. She planted her palm against the door to the kitchen and stumbled inside.
Get it together. You gave up a paying job for this. If you don’t make it work, then you’re back at square one.
Chapter 10
“I always wonder if I made a mistake ending our one and only date without convincing him to come back to my place—but he didn’t want to mix business and pleasure.”
—MOMAFan
Was it possible he’d made a mistake? Wes stood at the back of the studio, arms folded, watching his cast work through a new piece of choreography. He’d expected Remi to find her feet and show off her brilliance. But it was day three, and she was…drowning.
The choreography on the chair seemed out of her grasp. Sure, working with props wasn’t the easiest thing, but his other dancers were getting it. During the break for lunch, Lilah had taken some time to practice Remi’s moves—no doubt trying to ensure he’d see her as the natural fit for alternate—and she’d nailed it on her first try.
If he had any hopes of hooking another investor, then he needed to ensure Remi was up to the task. Hell, without her, there might not be a show at all. Because as much as Lilah nailed the moves, she lacked the special quality he’d seen in Remi. It was fine to keep Lilah as a backup option, but not as the star of the show.
Where was that woman he’d seen in the barre studio now?
Obviously, something was holding her back. He’d caught a glimpse of it the day of her auditions, of the fear and drive for perfection that strangled her talent. But time was running out. Next week, they would move to the theater, and then it was three weeks till opening night.
Three weeks to find more money or bankrupt yourself. And for what?
He couldn’t really answer that now. Because if he did, then his gut might tell him that he was pouring everything into this show and his chances of it being successful were not looking good. But Wes wasn’t going down without a fight. After getting his hands on Reed McMahon’s email address, he’d contacted the guy to ask for help. They were meeting the following day.
In the meant
ime, he needed to help Remi find her feet. Maybe it was time for a little cast bonding.
The workday was coming to a close and the dancers looked tired, all except for Marsha—his hip-hop dancer—who had boundless energy and was currently trying teach a few of the ballerinas the basics of popping and locking.
“We’re going for dinner,” Wes announced. It was something his mother used to do with the teachers at their ballet school. At the start of every year, she’d treat them to a dinner so they could all get to know one another.
We’re a team, she used to say. A family. And family breaks bread together.
He wasn’t necessarily fond of the religious connotation, but the principle was a good one. Getting the cast to spend time together in a casual setting would ensure they connected and helped one another during what was going to be a strenuous schedule.
“While this show is in production, we’ll be spending a lot of time together,” he said. “So we should get to know one another a little better. Let’s meet back here at seven thirty.”
He knew a lot of the dancers lived in Manhattan, a few of them in roomed together in the Village. Lilah lived close to him and Sadie on the Upper East Side. He walked over to Remi.
“You’re welcome to shower and get changed at my place, if you like,” he said. “It’ll save you a long trip on the subway.”
Remi’s lithe figure was encased in the typical dancer’s uniform of a leotard, tights, and leg warmers. Many of the other dancers wore footless or convertible tights, where they could roll the legs up over their leotards. Some preferred leggings. But Remi looked like she was still dancing at a school with her black-and-pink outfit, including a gauzy skirt over her leotard that made her look a little out of place.
Reminiscent Sunburst Drysdale.
His lip twitched. That was a hell of a name. Maybe he was crazy, but it suited her…and he liked it. She wasn’t quite what he’d expected. There was a hidden vulnerability to her, a soft center beneath her bombshell persona. A perfect blend of sexy and sweet.
“Thanks.” She pulled a pair of jeans on over her tights and stuffed her feet into a pair of white sneakers. “That’s very generous of you.”
Generous was one way of looking at it. But as Remi bent over to tie the laces on her sneakers, soft denim stretching over her ass, Wes thought maybe it was a form of torture. How exactly was he going to have this woman in his apartment without picturing what she looked like naked under the running water in his roomy double shower?
“See you soon,” Sadie said as she and Lilah headed out of the studio behind the rest of the cast. Lilah gave a small wave.
Remi grabbed her things. “Shall we?”
Outside, the weather had turned from crisp and clean to gray and miserable. Heavy, dark clouds hovered overhead and a fine mist of rain settled over them.
“Damn, I forgot my brolly.” Remi dug around in her bag.
“Brolly?”
“Umbrella.” She gestured to the rain. “I hate this misty crap. You think it’ll be okay and then two seconds later you’re soaked through.”
Wes pulled a black umbrella out of his satchel and popped it open. “There’s room for two under this one.”
She sidled closer to him, her arm brushing against his. Even with his leather jacket and her lightweight coat, he could still feel the heat of her. Or maybe it was his body reacting by jacking up his internal temperature. That seemed to happen a lot around her. As did other things.
Distraction required. You will not walk around Manhattan with a boner like some hormone-riddled teenage boy.
“Wesley Evans, always prepared to rescue the damsel in distress,” she teased. Her cheeks were flushed pink, though whether it was from rehearsals or something else, he had no idea. The rain misted her cheeks and nose, making her skin look slightly glossy. It amplified the subtle smattering of freckles there.
God she was pretty. So damn pretty.
As they headed to the garage where his car was parked, the rain came teeming down. Remi snuggled in closer, her footsteps falling in time with his. Under the dark shroud of the umbrella, it felt like they existed in their own little bubble. This time, they weren’t working together. They weren’t putting on a show for the sake of what others might see.
“Why do you think I’m trying to rescue you?” he asked.
She tilted her face up, her lips full and ripe and so close it would only take the slightest tilt of his head to capture them. To see if she tasted as good as she looked.
“Well, you plucked me out of obscurity to be in your show.” Something uncertain flickered across her face. “And then you’ve so kindly offered up your shower and your umbrella.”
So kindly. Like he got nothing out of it.
You don’t. Because you won’t be joining her in the shower, just like you’re not going to kiss her now.
But damn it, he wanted to. Even though she’d set her boundaries and he really should set his. It wouldn’t be wise to get involved with someone from the cast, since it could create rifts with the other members. Create an illusion of unfairness. People might even call into question why he’d chosen Remi to be his lead. He couldn’t have that. More importantly, he needed to uphold his decision not to get involved with people who needed or wanted anything from him.
Not that it stopped his body from reacting to her. With each innocent brush of her arm, his cock grew harder. His hands twitched around the handle of the umbrella, fingers tingling with the need to trace her long lines and gentle curves.
“You mean I’m doing my job by picking the best dancer for my show and being a decent human being by offering some shelter from the rain? Not exactly a high bar to jump over.”
She smirked. “You’d be surprised.”
“You’ve dated some jerks?”
“Yeah.” She bobbed her head. “But I figured out what I like, so at least I know what to look for now.”
“And what have you found? Have you got a type?”
He had no idea why he was asking that. A, it was none of his goddamn business, and B, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know about the guys she’d dated. For some reason it made an ugly, uncomfortable feeling surge through his veins. It was basal, primal. And it made him want to hold her closer, as if he might tell the rest of the world to back off.
“Do you mean whether I like bad boys or nice guys? Clean shaven or stubble?” She laughed and leaned into him as she avoided a puddle on the sidewalk. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really have the whole perfect-man checklist like some women do. I want good chemistry, someone who makes me laugh.”
“So not a six pack, then?”
“Sure, a hot body is always nice. No different from how men love a bit of T and A.”
Wes raised a brow.
“But I need to feel the chemistry. I know I like a guy when I get that prickle under my skin. It’s like a thought I can’t shake. I want someone who makes me forget about everyone but him.”
She wanted consuming love. Or lust.
“What about you? Have you got a list of future-wife requirements?” She paused. “I mean, other than a Victoria’s Secret modeling deal.”
He snorted. “I dated one model.”
And really, dating could only be used in the loosest of terms. It’d been a whirlwind adventure of travel and sex. A vacation from his real life, but the whole paparazzi thing was a total turnoff. For how well known he was, Wes generally didn’t date people in the public eye, preferring to keep his private life just that. Hence, the Bad Bachelors thing pissing him off so much.
“Hardly enough to know if they’re really your type,” she teased.
“I guess I want someone who’s independent,” he said.
A.k.a. someone who didn’t want anything from him other than good company and good sex. He’d dated enough users to have learned his lesson there. He’d had an in
dependent partner once, or so he’d thought. Emily was the kind of woman who filled a room with her presence; it would linger like perfume even when she’d gone. To say he’d been infatuated was an understatement. For a hot minute, he’d dubbed her “the one.”
Turns out, he was in a one-sided relationship.
“Independent.” Remi nodded, clearly pleased with his response.
“You look surprised. Did you expect me to give a cup size?”
“No, I didn’t. But I guess I’ve dated too many macho types who wanted me to play the doting partner.” Her lips twisted, the joking expression morphing into something darker. “Guys who wanted me to feel like I wasn’t at their level.”
There was definitely a story there.
“Guys or guy,” he asked.
Her lips tilted up and she shot him a knowing look. “Guy. I didn’t go back for seconds.”
He understood that logic. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
“I learned my lesson,” she added.
There was no need to guess what that lesson was: Keep people at a distance. It explained a lot—notably, her ultimatum and why she had trouble showing vulnerability when she danced unless someone pushed her.
That would need to change. And he was more than happy to help her out.
“I was hoping to get you alone so I could ask a favor, but this conversation has taken a turn.”
She looked at him, curiosity alight in her deep-brown eyes. “You can’t say that and then not tell me what you were going to ask.”
“I’ve got a cocktail party to attend on Thursday night. It’s an industry thing. There will be a lot of potential investors there.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her for a reaction. “I’m hoping that having a gorgeous ballerina on my arm might bring me luck.”
“You want me to be your date?” She blinked.
“In a work capacity,” he clarified. “All aboveboard, I promise.”
She nodded slowly, and he couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. “Of course. I’d love to come. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help, but if you think it might make a difference, I’ll be there with bells on.”
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