I sat back in my chair, my mind ticking over the possibilities.
“There might not be any profits,” I pointed out.
Selma smiled. “I believe in this project. And if it goes as well as I think it will, I’ll be amply reimbursed for my time.”
I studied her thoughtfully.
“It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” she said. “What your husband is doing, it’s new and fresh. For now, I’d keep my job at the theater, but if Slave takes off—and I really believe it will—it’ll be a huge stepping stone toward working as a theatrical producer full time. Everyone wins.”
“Have you discussed this with Ash?”
“You’re the producer, honey. He’s just the talent.”
I laughed as she winked at me.
“I’ll get back to you,” I said, and we shook hands.
Luka waved as soon as he saw me, and I sat next to him, trying to ignore the fact that Yveta seemed oblivious to my presence. Again.
“How’s it going?”
“Good, very good,” he said, leaning forward. “See that older guy, the small one at the left? That’s Oliver—he’d make a great Sergei.”
Hearing his name, I shuddered, and Luka threw me a sympathetic look.
“It was really good of you to come here,” I said. “Especially when everything was on a wing and a prayer.”
Luka seemed uncomfortable.
“It was the least I could do. I couldn’t help him before, so . . .”
Then he turned back to the dancers on the stage.
Ash was there, wearing a black wife-beater, gray sweatpants and his ballroom shoes. He and Gary were working together to give the dancers the steps they wanted them to follow. His expression was focused and thoughtful, a small frown of concentration etched on his forehead.
I glanced across at Luka who was watching Ash carefully, his lips pursed in confusion.
“He’s different, Alja?, I mean. He was always such a kid. Not immature exactly, just . . . playful, always joking around, pulling pranks. But now . . .” he shook his head. “He’s so serious.”
My heart fractured for the loss of that Ash—playful, happy, carefree Ash.
“You’re good for him,” Luka said quietly. “I couldn’t imagine him being with someone who isn’t a dancer, but it works, doesn’t it?”
I nodded stiffly, thrown off by his backhanded compliment.
“I think so.”
At that moment, Yveta stood up and walked away, Luka’s eyes following her.
“She doesn’t like me.”
Luka shrugged.
“She doesn’t hate you. She’ll get over it. Probably when she meets someone else.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you talking about yourself by any chance?”
He shook his head, and for a second I saw flicker of some strong emotion, but then he grinned at me.
“I’m no one’s dream.”
Ash
I loved having Laney watching the auditions, loved having her see what I could really do.
By the end of the day, we had our full cast. It was scary, but exciting. The scary part was knowing that I’d be paying them a salary from Laney’s loan soon. I was still kind of mad about the way she did that, but I’d also accepted that there was no going back—for any of us.
Laney walked across and gave me a much needed hug.
“Ugh,” she said, as her arms tightened around me. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Want to get sweaty with me?” I asked, kissing down her neck.
“Yes, but not here,” she laughed. “I loved that movement you got them to do with their arms. It somehow made the sequence of steps. I couldn’t believe how that one small thing made such a difference. How did you come up with that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just heard the accent in the music.”
“Accent?”
“An emphasis, something louder or more dramatic, but it can be subtle.”
“What goes through your mind when you’re performing?”
That was easier to explain.
“The music—I’m always lost in the moment.” And I leaned in closer so only Laney could hear. “That’s why I made a very bad gigolo. When I danced with my partners, I would be lost in the music and forget I was supposed to seduce them. Bad for business.”
Her face went red and she glanced around.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she hissed nervously.
“Laney,” I said seriously, “it’s part of my story.”
She sucked in her cheeks, and I could tell she was thinking it over. She took a step away from me and folded her arms over her chest.
“Show me that thing with the arms again. I want to understand why it made a difference.”
I studied her, my head cocked to one side. If she needed time to think about what I’d said, about what I wasn’t saying, I’d give her that.
I demonstrated the sequence of steps that she’d asked about, watching her eyes the whole time.
“Accents like that are good staging and they help draw the audience in. But they need to be rehearsed, because if the person you’re dancing with did them for real, impromptu, they’d surprise me, distract me. It’s all pretend, Laney. Except when I dance with you.”