CLOSING NIGHT: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series, Book 2 (Standalone) Page 8

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Terry smiles. “But…” He lowers his focus to my drawings one more time. “I would like to do a shoot with these designs if you are willing, on fashion models, and if we like what we come up with, maybe we can take the premise to a few magazines and see what they offer us. If that pans out, you will be well on your way to at least your own collection, if you should choose.”

  “Wow.” I blink at him in disbelief. “That’s so nice of you, I don’t know what to say.”

  “No worries. I always appreciate meeting fresh talent, and I hope I am not over stepping here, but I really do hope you and Patrick work things out.”

  “Oh, thank you, but that’s not going to happen. We’ve been through too much.”

  Terry gives me a look like he’s waiting for me to say more, but then probably realizes before he comments. “It’s not easy to have a relationship in this climate, yet it’s clearly not affected how you two feel about each other. That might not be something you want to give up on so easily.”

  I nod while rolling my ankle. Terry seems to be speaking from experience. I decide not to pry and take a final sip of my Americano instead.

  “It was so great to meet you. Thank you so much for everything.” I hold out my hand, and we shake before he leaves. Then I cross the street back to the Driven studio steps, and through the large steel doors.

  “These are fucking fantastic.” When I walk in, Cory is leaning over my worktable and going through the copies and leftover designs from the concepts that were not in my portfolio. My heart sinks. I haven’t heard a peep from Patrick since we made our little plan, and for some reason I am dying to tell him about my meeting with Terry.

  Has Patrick finally gotten the message that his constant presence was not wanted? Ugh. I drop my bag on the floor, slide my portfolio onto the table, and sit my butt down on a stool beside Cory.

  “You don’t think these will inhibit the movement?” I sip on an Americano and eye the new designs.

  “They could use some adjustments.” He tilts the top of his head. “The movement will require range, but we’re on the right track.” A grin stretches across his lips, making it obvious he has something on his mind, and I sip my hot coffee obliviously. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I got Daniela coffee this morning?” He asks.

  “Did you?” I adjust my butt on the stool, looking back at the door once more, as though that missing someone is going to burst through it at any moment.

  “No!” He slams his hand on the table before jumping out of his seat, like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, and then he holds up his hand for me to high five it while shaking his booty in his skater shorts. “And…” He pauses. “She got me coffee for a change, oh yeah!” He dances proudly.

  “That’s great.” I slide out the drawings that I just showed Terry in the meeting and go over them. I like them the way they are, and I don’t really want to make any changes to accommodate movement. But it is too early in the process to know if Cory’s new movement will stick anyway.

  “I have more music from Patrick. I mean, if you think you might want to hear it.” Cory shrugs, and when he looks at me he adds, “But forget it, you clearly are inspired enough on your own.”

  I rest the drawing back on the table and look up at Cory. “Patrick was here?”

  “This morning during class. He just popped by for a minute.”

  But I was here, in the wardrobe, during class, and he didn’t stop by? Right. That’s exactly what I asked him to do: stay away.

  “Oh, okay.” I quickly shrug it off, but my voice catches.

  Cory taps his knuckles on the table before leaving the room. “Keep up the good work.”

  After perusing the images on my table and making odd touch-ups to my drawings, the wardrobe door swings open and my heart leaps. I straighten my posture and flick my hair over my shoulder when Renee from administration pops her head in the door. I let out a disappointed sigh.

  “These came for you.” She places something that looks like a contract on my worktable, and I skim through the pages.

  “Thanks, love.” I blink my focus down to the pages between my fingers, realizing it’s the documentation that Sylene requested I sign off on, the contract granting permission for her to use the photos of us. I nearly forgot about it. But I really should talk to Patrick before I sign off on anything to do with his career.

  The papers glare at me from the far corner of my table, while I try to focus on making the patterns for two of the costume test runs. It reminds me that I should have a new dancer walking in here for a standard uniform fitting any minute. If Cory keeps this hiring up, I will have no time for new designs.

  A man’s voice is heard whistling in the hallway, and a familiar-looking dude wearing a biker jacket with a black helmet tucked under his arm pushes through the door.

  He shakes the hair out of his dark eyes and holds out his hand. “You must be Londyn. I’m a big fan of your work.” He curves his full lips confidently. Great. Another cocky one. There’s a glimmer of a silver bead on his tongue, and I can’t help but be reminded of Sterling, one of the dancers last year, who had a tongue stud and was always bragging about what he could do with it.

  I eye him, from his authentic black biker boots to the fitted black pants, square shoulders, tight butt, and hips, and tilt my head in confusion.

  “My apologies for not properly introducing myself. I’m Lake Leduc. Cory sent me over for a fitting. I just flew down from California. Guess I’ll be removing these clothes, then?” He smiles.

  “Okay...” I bite my lip, still analyzing the situation. “Sure, I’ll get my tape measure. Be right back.”

  I turn around and take my time digging in the drawer for the tape measure and walk over to him. Keeping cool, we both awkwardly smile at one another and I slide the tape down the length of his spine and across his wide v-shaped back, writing down the numbers and walking around to face him. I clear my throat when we catch each other in the eye.

  He smiles, and I force the corners of my lips upward again before looking away and press the tape measure across the front of his shoulders with my thumbs. Feeling weird about the next measurements, I look away and jot the rest of the numbers down. I swallow a deep breath after measuring the length of each of his legs—only two more measurements to go. I reach around his waist as he raises his arms.

  “Whoa, there.” He jerks, and I jump.

  “Kidding.” He smiles down at me and I shake my head before having to lean in to make my arms reach around his butt. I hold my breath. Almost there.

  “A little to the left,” he says, and I bolt my head back again before I can get the measurement. “Joking.” He winks, and I squint my eyes at him, not impressed.

  Looking down at me unabashedly he adds, “Let’s try that one again in a minute. Muscle pain.” He coughs, and I take a step back to cross my arms over my chest.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready.” I grimace, even if he has me half-laughing at his absurdity.

  “Don’t mind me. I have a terrible sense of humor. Should we try that again?” He winks.

  I give him a suspicious look.

  “Sorry, I promise to behave,” he drawls with that infectious smile. The one he probably uses to smooth the audience over while he’s on stage.

  I steady my breath as he holds still. I’m making my final reach when I notice his fingers crossed behind his back, and a sneak of a smile escapes me.

  “Done.” I mark the number on the sheet on my table, shaking my head.

  He waits till I’m finished to start dressing. “You need to chill, Londyn. A scowl like that isn’t good for you, even if you wear it well. Might even take years off your life.”

  “We don’t do chill in Manhattan. You’ll see.” With a sliver of a smile, I walk over to my bag slouched on the floor and pull out a pack of smokes. “Enjoy the fast lane.” I stuff a cigarette between my lips and wave out a salute, leaving him cocky and grinning in my wa
rdrobe.

  I can see why Milla Rose fired him for being trouble, even if he’s supposed to be one of the best male dancers in the country. He’s definitely full of himself.

  It’s the day of the cattle call audition. No doubt it will be a painful one.

  Cory’s the only one who’s been remotely thrilled about the idea from the beginning, and I am starting to wonder: with all of my pep talks, have I created a monster? Or given the latent monster the permission it needed to emerge?

  The moment my favorite Bally striped sneakers round the corner to the strip of Manhattan sidewalk that Driven occupies and I see all of the unfamiliar faces, dread heaps in my solar plexus.

  Dancers are lined up down the street, making me wonder if something strange is going on, but when I get closer, I realize they are all lined up to check in with Renee, who is looking flustered in one of my specially designed black tops and black Converse runners.

  “What’s going on?” I mouth to her as she rubs the top of her forehead, her eyes scanning a list on her iPad.

  “I don’t know where all of these people came from. I warned Cory he was to do a pre-selection to avoid this problem.” Her finger lands on a name. She looks up over the crowd to call it. A girl in tights reports in, and Renee forces a stressed-looking smile.

  Inside, the building is littered with bodies bearing numbers. I bite down on my lip, looking for anyone I know, but come up short. I squish myself into an elevator full of women speaking in different languages and practically leap out on the third floor, which is thankfully a bit quieter due to the fact that there are mainly offices on this floor. There are a few bodies on the floor, stretching and blinking up at me with wide eyes. There’s a tight-ass smile plastered on my face as I aim for Cory’s office door.

  Once inside, I shut the door and sigh.

  “What the hell is this?” I blink my eyes open, startled.

  “Fuck if I know.” Daniela is sitting in Cory’s chair.

  “Where’s Cory?” I ask her.

  “Like I said, I don’t know.” Her eyes gloss up. “You know it was my idea to make him Artistic Director. No one else thought he had what it takes, but I did. My parents were very generous in ensuring he would have this opportunity, and this is how he repays me, by auditioning every effing dancer on the planet?”

  Then there’s the sound of the steel door swinging open and booted feet hitting the floor.

  “What’s going on in here?” Cory raises a brow. “Daniela?” He looks over, and she stands up.

  “We need to talk.” Her lowers.

  “Okay.” He makes his way toward her.

  “Hello? Is there a plan for all of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of bodies lurking in this building?” My voice rises.

  “I don’t want you to go ahead with the audition.” Daniela eyes him in close quarters.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” His eyes remain glued on her.

  I clear my throat again.

  “Londyn?” Cory says hesitantly, without taking his eyes off Daniela. “Do you think… you could… um…” He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “… tell Renee and the girls that the audition is called off?”

  “You’re joking, right?” I blurt, thinking of all of the disappointed people that will have lost money on plane tickets and accommodations. Could there even be a lawsuit? A dancer would not sue the best dance company in the world and burn a potential bridge—or would they? I bite down on my bottom lip. But this means he won’t be firing any of my peeps.

  I leave them, head back to the downstairs lobby to find Renee, and whisper in her ear what is going on. She shoots me a look of exasperation after nodding and tells the next girl in line that the audition is full. The disappointed young girl turns around to tell the girl behind her, and the girl behind her tells the girl behind her, and so on it goes.

  We close up the front doors, pressing our backs up against them and tilting our chins together with mutual looks of exasperation.

  Now, what to do with the few hundred people inside?

  Renee and I agree on a plan and head to the second floor.

  Sergeant Katherine is given the cue to be on call, and Renee and I start mapping out something with the names and tidbits of info we can find on each dancer checked on the list.

  We decide on a Kent Morgan–style audition for the first one hundred people who meet our requirements. That is a barre with Katherine Morris followed by some Push the Limit repertoire led by Daniela—that will keep her happy and less likely to sabotage anything. After an appropriate break to be in line with union code, there’ll be an hour and a half with Cory and the routines from his new movement—eliminations ongoing—and a few solo performances by the finalists, something they already have in the bag to show their range. The others who don’t make the one hundred in the first round will all be told that we have now selected, and we will kindly send them off. All in the name of saving face.

  Renee rolls her tense shoulders and I fold up the piece of paper with scribbled names and the rest of the day’s plan scratched over it, lick my finger, and drop it into my bucket bag.

  “Just a minute.” I excuse myself and change into one of the more formal black uniform suits that I made for Driven reception and staff.

  “Good plan.” Renee winks, and we take the crowded elevator up to the third floor to tell Cory and Daniela what’s what.

  “Is this really necessary?” Daniela plucks something from under her long nail as she sits in Cory’s chair, crossing her legs.

  “Yeah,” I say, “unless you want us to go through with the audition Cory planned with thousands of dancers. Or maybe you would prefer a huge class-action suit? Besides, what do you care? You will be running part of the audition, and everyone there will spread word that you are the company’s top veteran since you’ve been asked to lead an audition-based rehearsal. That says something.”

  Daniela sighs, and Cory nods his head. “It’s a good idea. We can’t just let everyone know that we’ve been abusing our power.”

  I lift a brow at Cory that says, You are telling me.

  “What? I was doing exactly what you said to do.” He shrugs, and Daniela shoots me an evil look.

  “This is not what I told you to do.” I press my lips into a straight line. “Now, if you really want to save face, you might think about hiring one or two dancers, but there isn’t room for more than that, as there’s already a lot of talent that isn’t being properly used in this company.”

  Cory nods, biting down on his finger as we all stare at him. He blinks up at us, as though realizing he is actually supposed to be the one in charge. “Thanks, everyone, for all your good work, and my apologies for the misunderstanding, but maybe now that the dancers know I am serious, they will start performing.”

  Daniela shoots him a wicked glare. It looks like she might lunge out of her chair and claw him to death.

  “Not talking about you, babe.” He winks at her, and she scowls.

  “Okay,” I sigh, and Renee unfolds the paper we drew up in wardrobe. “Let’s go over this schedule in detail one last time.”

  Katherine tilts her chin high in the air with her toes turned out as she walks through the door, and Robert takes his place on the bench before the piano. Renee checks in the numbered dancers at the door, all wearing different-colored leotards and tights and clutching wrap sweaters, scarves, and water bottles as they nervously pace side to side and stretch their limbs.

  Once the audition is in full swing and the piano notes are muffled in the distance, I retreat back to wardrobe, crack open the window, and light up. There’s a strict no-smoking rule inside, but this day seems worthy of breaking it. Besides, I can’t bear the idea of sitting on the steps and watching heartbroken performers leave this studio one by one. Cory even asked me to stand in on the audition to be a part of the decision making team, but no, thank you. I have to draw the line somewhere. It still said costume designer on my payroll the last time I looked.

  The so
und of my phone ringing snaps me out of my daze, and I automatically reach for my bag, butt out my cigarette, and press the phone to my ear just in time.

  “Londyn?” Patrick hesitates on the other end, and some of my anxiety lifts as I lean against the windowsill, ready to start from the beginning.

  “You would not believe the day I just had.” I sigh into the phone and proceed to tell him the story. He softly laughs from the very beginning till the end. I don’t know. Was it a big misunderstanding, an abuse of power, or is Cory not the brightest tack in the stack? It is yet to be determined.

  “Sounds like you could use a drink,” Patrick says.

  Without thinking, I enthusiastically blurt, “Could I ever!”

  The line goes quiet. We are both probably trying to figure out if I really opened the door in the way I just might have. But I quickly cut the lingering silence short by bringing up that thing that is still sitting on my desk.

  “Sylene sent me some photos and a contract. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Right.” He sucks in a long breath. “Vin thinks we should use one of the photos of us together for the album cover.” Patrick clears his throat, and there’s another stretch of silence.

  “Oh.” I am not sure what to say other than “I don’t understand why.”

  There is the obvious fact that the photos are gorgeous and expressive, and they are Patrick at his most natural and raw, like his music. But am I missing something? What does that have to do with me?

  Patrick draws in another breath. “You haven’t listened to my album, have you?” There’s a longing in his voice that matches the emotional note inside me.

  “Um…” I let out a pained sound, one that clearly outlines my guilt. “No.” I eye the spot on my worktable where the disk has been resting for weeks now. I just cannot bring myself to listen to it. I already know how fantastic it will be. Especially considering the music he just made for Cory and Driven. He has grown into an exceptional artist over the years with his natural ear and raw talent.