CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series Book 1 (Standalone) Read online

  He flips open the notebook resting on his knee. “Daniela and Cory, same section.” He slides his teeth along his bottom lip. Daniela and Cory take the floor. They seamlessly perform the steps Sterling and I just executed as Kent stares off into the distance.

  After a full night’s rest, my body is so stiff and sore I can barely pull on my pants. My hamstrings are screaming from yesterday’s rehearsal and the showing two days ago. The third day is always the worst. I swallow a couple of painkillers with some water and decide to grab a coffee on the road. Gray, gray, gray, but I don’t mind it. It’s kind of like being wrapped in a flat blanket.

  When I get to the studio, half of the company is standing on the steps.

  “Rehearsal is canceled,” Rick says in his charming European accent. He has short blond hair and dark rings under his eyes. “We’re all going to get drunk and puck.” He’s referring to vomit, and not winter sports. My guess.

  He shoves his hands into his bomber jacket and turns back to the small huddled crowd. There is nothing less appealing to me than drinking at the moment.

  I ask why rehearsal is canceled to no one in particular, but I don’t get an answer, so I walk into Fuel, the closest coffee shop. Daniela is sitting at a table sipping an expensive foamy drink. I proceed to the lineup at the till. Once I get my coffee and pass Daniela’s table, she looks up. You’d think she might say hi or invite me to sit with her, but she just looks back down at her paper as though she doesn’t know me.

  The next day at the studio, everyone is talking about progress reviews. There’s a list of meetings on the bulletin board in the lobby that everyone has been staring at all day, trying to decipher if there’s any rhyme or reason to their placement on the list. If they had just made it alphabetical, no one would be worried, but I think they like it when we worry. As far as I can tell there is no reason to the madness; they’ve just blasted off the list of names with random abandon. This is oddly like getting a report card, and it’s not sitting well. None of us are children anymore.

  It’s not that much later that Rebecca comes out of the “important meeting room” with glossy eyes, and I ask her if she’s okay. She looks over her shoulder. Her cheeks are rose-petal pink to match her lips. She sniffs again. “Do you think something is wrong with me because I am not doing everything in my power to make it to the top?” She swallows. Her nose is snotty, but I try not to look at it. Her words hardly make sense.

  “You’re next.” Sterling shows up and starts air humping immaturely. “Kent’s going to give you a piece of his mind.” He strums on an air guitar. I roll my eyes.

  When I open the door to the meeting room, Sergeant Katherine and Kent are sitting behind a long table.

  Kent looks up from his notes and stares straight at me.

  “How are you doing, Branwen?” Katherine asks, and Kent’s eyes watch me.

  Standing there, I could be in one of those judgment day scenes where God’s advocate is deciding if I go to Heaven or to Hell.

  “We have some things to discuss.” Kent keeps looking at me with intensity. I take the empty seat and twiddle my thumbs before remembering to straighten my posture like a good little dancer.

  “We’ve had some complaints from the board about your performance.”

  Shit. And to think that a moment ago I thought they were going to tell me I’m the next… Martha Graham.

  “But everyone seemed very happy with the performance.” I tilt my head. Kent is still giving me this super fierce and knowing look as Katherine nods.

  “It’s our job to discuss these… matters with you.” Katherine’s cheeks are sunken. I pull my focus from Kent’s breaking the eye contact between us.

  Dance is so effing political. I know this is about politics. I just know it.

  “You are making good progress, and we like what you are doing, but at this point you are under review.” She presses her lips together and adjusts the glasses on her nose.

  Review? I am too confused to think right now. Tomorrow I will be hitting myself for not standing up for myself more, but right now I just can’t think. Period.

  “Think of this as an opportunity to improve,” Katherine says.

  Kent’s eyes slice into mine. They flicker.

  “Is that all?” I press my lips together. Is that all you have to tell me, or do you have anything constructive to offer like why, or how, or anything like that? My foot is now air tapping to the point that it could come loose from the joint.

  “We just think you can do better, and we don’t want you to assume that the lead is yours. You know it is still under assessment.” Katherine’s lips drop at the corners.

  Assessment, review—what is this legal matter?

  “Fine.” I stand up. “I’ll do better.”

  I loop my dance bag over my shoulder and walk out. Somehow it seems like better will never be enough.

  12

  Daniela is lying on a couch—the only soft surface in the building—in the dancers’ lounge when I walk out of the office. Tears are stinging my eyes.

  “How was your meeting?”

  I walk past her to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. All everyone talks about for the rest of day are the meetings. I stick my earbuds in my ears, close my eyes, and pretend sleep between rehearsals. No one seems to be that upset anymore, which makes me think my meeting was the worst, other than maybe Rebecca’s.

  “Let’s talk.” Kent nods after rehearsal.

  “I don’t need any mixed messages right now.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the wall.

  “Look, things aren’t what they seem.” His voice is firm.

  “Of course not. They never are, at least not in this business.” My eyes meet his in confrontation.

  “We should get a coffee,” he says, and I must look at him funny, because he takes it back right away. “I mean—never mind, what I’m trying to say is…” he mutters.

  I can smell the fresh scent of his black shirt spread across his wide shoulders. His jaw clenches.

  “Follow me,” he says, and I follow him down the hallway and then down the fire escape stairs. We’re standing outside and it’s freezing cold. It’s friggin’ January and I am in my seamless, one-pore suit.

  “Do you feel alive?” His eyes slice into mine.

  Cold. Maybe.

  “Even uncomfortable?” I can see the mix of colors in his dark eyes. I have yet to answer when he asks, “Are you uncomfortable when you dance?”

  Um… I shift, noticing that the doorway inside his eyes is not open. It is uncomfortable when he watches me dance. I can’t decide if it’s a good or bad uncomfortable, and what that means.

  His presence is enveloping me, as though we are trapped in a thick bubble. I have an idea of what he means. Then again, it seems like a cliché I’d rather not buy into that artists need to struggle to shine. I don’t know. I shake my head under his warm gaze. All I know for sure is that something is coming over us. My lips fall apart, and his Adam’s apple dips low in his throat. The door creeps open a little more. There’s a strip of light suspended over the ground. He places his hand in the curve of my neck, and then it’s like a warm gust of wind has blown all the windows and doors wide open. We are looking at each other in a focus that shifts, crashes, pulls, dips in deep, and emerges by the second. I can’t make sense of it other than to know that the feeling is beyond physical; it hits me viscerally. Something pulls me back. Maybe it’s the way he flinches as his hand moves off of me. Everyone is so touchy-feely in this company, and yet every time he accidentally lays a hand on me, it’s as though it burns, he pulls away so fast. But the progress meeting: how did I go from accolades and applause to being under review?

  “Maybe I should make friends with Charles Anderson, maybe that would help me improve. It’s all about who you know around here, isn’t it?” I press my lips together, lashing out from the earlier meeting and threat to my role. My gut sinks as I say it, along with the look in his eyes. He pulls away, and adj
usts his neck as his eyes peel from mine. Just like that, all the entrances are locked off.

  We catch looks one last time, but it’s different. Colder, and he takes off into the busy skyscraper-filled street. That’s when I realize he has a jacket and boots on and my arms are bare. How unfair. Once inside, my skin burns. I rub my hands up and down my arms and jog to my locker to put on more layers. Next stop is the coffee maker in the lounge. Daniela is still sauntering around like she is undercover.

  “Hi, Daniela.” I force a smile, and she half-smiles back then saunters over to Sterling and gives him a big hug. My Sterling. She wouldn’t be so smug if I could prove she took his meds to throw us off, which I am positive she did. I turn to face the wall and sip on my coffee. I am aware of my skin like never before, and the neon light in the room is so bright it makes me squint.

  A few days later I’m waiting for the elevator when Kent appears beside me.

  “Miss O’Hara.” His eyes flick to mine as the elevator doors swing open, and he waits for me to proceed. I cross my arms over my chest and suck in a breath. The doors begin to close, along with the air around us.

  Inside the elevator, I try not to look at him, but the tension is so strong, I have to fight it. The doors swing back open, and before they can shut, Renee steps in, wearing a black pencil skirt.

  “Good morning,” she says quickly, almost cutting the words short to glare at the ground. She taps the toe of her high heels until the elevator lands on the next floor. “Have a good day.” She pushes through the doors before they’re fully open, adjusting the papers under her arm. I look at Kent with a swallow, and he looks back at me with intensity. He clears his throat. My ears prick, and I remind myself to breathe.

  “So what will it be today? Am I feeling the movement too much, or are my arms too sloppy, am I a count behind the beat, or maybe I’m just too… comfortable?” I mutter. My eyes are planted on the door.

  “The last two, but not the first.” Kent answers with more force in his words and stares straight ahead.

  “So then, what about the second?” I do the math, not making eye contact either.

  “To be determined. See you in rehearsal.” Our focuses clash before I glance away. The elevator dings.

  “Darn, this is my stop,” I say, not at all sarcastic, and push my way through the barely open doors, just as Renee did a few seconds ago. When he is safely out of range, I can breathe again.

  Rehearsal gets off to an unpleasant start. Kent isn’t present and Sergeant Katherine runs us through what we have. At first I’m discouraged by the feedback in the meeting yesterday. But then deflation turns into anger and I start hitting the steps with extra gusto.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Sterling purrs with a suggestive look.

  “Nothing, just forgetting everything I’ve learned.” I force a smile, and the comment makes him back off. I suppose he’s as stumped about it as I have been for a few months now.

  After rehearsal, I pass by administration and Renee tells me that Kent would like to speak to me in his office. My breath stops. I can’t deny there are bubbles of anticipation rising in the center of my chest as I make my way down the hall.

  Kent is on the phone when I walk in the room. He looks up. Light shines through the window and makes a severe shadow across his face.

  He exhales into the phone receiver. “Does he understand that I am here to complete a dance and not follow his party train around the globe?”

  Kent’s eyes slice my way as he holds the phone to his ear and nods.

  He hangs up, takes a seat at his desk, and motions for me to sit down across from him.

  “Miss O’Hara.”

  “You wanted to see me.” I sit straight and clasp my hands on my lap.

  He smooths his full lips with his fingers. There’s a distant look on his face. He places his hands on the desk, his mind clearly somewhere else. There’s an expression I can’t read.

  The phone rings again. “Sorry,” he says, and presses a button on the desk phone interface. This time I hear Renee’s voice through the speaker. “Anderson’s assistant is on line one.”

  Kent gives me a cautious look. “Put him through.” Kent speaks into the phone. His gaze flashes my way before a man’s voice echoes through the speaker.

  “Hi, Kent. It’s Blake again. Anderson is on his way over. He’s heading out tomorrow and determined for you to join him. He wants to show you his new toy. Take it as a compliment. He likes to hang with the ‘in’ crowd—and you’re it.”

  This part of the conversation makes me chuckle, but my director doesn’t notice. He’s too busy dealing with what appears to be an unexpected demand of the job.

  “Last week it was race cars in France, the week before polo in Aspen. Doesn’t he realize he sponsored us to create a show?” Kent inhales through his nose and takes the phone off speaker to complete the call. His chest collapses under his wide shoulders as he finishes the conversation and hangs up.

  “You’re busy,” I say once he’s done. “We can discuss the notes later.” I assume that was why we were to meet. I stand up.

  Kent’s gaze is far away.

  “Hold on,” he says.

  I sit back down and cross my legs, and he draws in a harsh breath, as though he is still thinking it through. I look down at my hands in my lap.

  That’s when we are interrupted by the sound of the door being jerked open. Kent looks up, and I swivel in my seat to stand up, on guard. A silver-haired man in a wool peacoat pushes through the door and walks straight into the office with a shiny white smile. He looks familiar. I recognize him. It takes me a second to remember from where.

  The man looks me up and down and walks straight toward Kent. He gives him a fist bump. “So are we on? Grand Cayman, later this week. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Blake said you were busy.” The man, who I assume is Charles Anderson, frowns at Kent and then goes back to giving me an assessing look. “Who’s this?”

  Kent doesn’t say anything. Anderson pulls out his hand. “Will you be joining us?”

  I lift my shoulders into a shrug. I’ve missed something.

  Kent’s jaw knots as his eyes slice into mine. “Branwen needs to rehearse.”

  Branwen.

  Charles turns to me. “Perfect. You’ll both be my guests on board my new yacht in the Cayman Islands this week. You’ll fly out tomorrow. I’m leaving tonight. It’s all arranged. You can rehearse there. We are going to have so much fun.”

  Charles nods, and Kent’s nostrils flare.

  There’s a stretch of silence after Charles leaves as abruptly as he arrived. Kent is focused fiercely on a distant object. He rakes his fingers through his hair.

  “Was he serious?” I bite my lip.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re going.” Kent sits at his desk and starts to clear off the papers. “Even if the maniac pulls our funding.”

  “He would do that?” I’m kind of stunned over the entire scenario.

  Kent smirks as he keeps his fingers busy over his desk.

  I receive an electronic itinerary from Renee in my inbox box later that day. It explains the business trip with Charles Anderson in detail.

  The first thing I do is run it by Marnie over the phone. Maybe saying it out loud makes it real, but it also confirms how out-there Charles Anderson is.

  “Excuse me?” she says, clearing her throat. “Did you just ask if you should accept an invitation to further your career on a tropical island with the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan?”

  It would be a nice break from the weather. I bite back a grin before I remember Kent’s irritating comments in the elevator and how strange things have become between us.

  “It’s not like anything is going to happen between us.”

  It seems secondary that Charles Anderson is the one who invited us. Though I know enough to be wary of the man who is obviously trying Kent’s patience. Maybe Kent needs my support.

  “Don’t you find it all a little…
strange?” It’s still not sitting well.

  “If you don’t want to go, I’m happy to go for you,” she says. I’m not sure if that’s reverse psychology, but it works.

  I’m packed and waiting on the front steps with a brand-new bag. A driver shows up in a black car. He places my bag in the trunk and opens my door. We make a detour to an unknown Soho address. Then Kent walks out of the building in his sleek black suit, hops down the steps, and opens the car door. My heart skips a beat.

  “Miss O’Hara?” He stops abruptly before getting in. There’s a strong wrinkle taking over his brow.

  “Mr. Morgan.” I’ve wanted to say that forever.

  He frowns. “Branwen, what are you doing here?” He steps into the vehicle and sits beside me.

  “Um… Renee sent me an itinerary for Charles Anderson’s… boat party. I’m not sure why, except that I happened to be there when he recruited you. He obviously enjoys your company, and I assumed you had changed your mind about my attendance, since you must have read the itinerary.” My cheeks burn. I should have just stayed home.

  “Fucking Anderson,” he says, and calls Renee to remind her who she works for. But by what I can hear, she assumed that Kent was on board when Charles asked her to send out the details of the trip.

  The rest of the drive is a quiet one, and our check-in procedure not that much different. A female flight attendant offers us moist warm towels with silver tongs, Kent orders a black coffee, and I decide on the same. I put on a headset and look for a movie when the attendant returns with our coffees.

  I’m about to fall back into the chair and zone out when she looks at Kent. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” She leans against the seat in front of us, her lips curving up into a flirty smile, while a plume of her perfume closes my airways. “You’re that famous choreographer that’s been all over the news lately. Driven Dance Theater, right?”