Wicked Dance - Chapter #3 - Free To Read

Chapter Three

Pretty Little Emily

As I headed out Monday morning, I snuck a glance at myself in the foyer mirror.

Really? You are not seriously considering going back there.

I shrugged as I picked up my black tote and stomped out, my pump heels echoing down the hall to the elevator. Not thinking about Olive Eyes all weekend had proven to be mission impossible. It nearly drove me insane. I wanted to see him again.

Needed to.

A block away from Rockefeller, sweaty beads rolled down my back. I arrived at eight on the dot and as always, all souls were migrating to this coffeehouse. I ordered a cappuccino, paid, and after scanning the room for signs of Mr. ID, my shoulders slouched.

He was nowhere to be found.

Deflated, I lowered my gaze.

Idiot.

I vowed to never cheat on my French boulangerie ever again, but right as I was about to leave, my heart leaped then pirouetted back into my chest before landing in my stomach.

There he was, coming through the double doors.

Well, Heaven’s angels must have broken into chorus because my soul danced with glee. I swiftly moved to let him pass. Hooding my eyes and tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear, I sat at an empty seat nearby.

Great, now what?

Decked out in a black, pinstripe suit, blue button-down and no tie, Mr. Iced Double chatted away on his cellphone. He was a lion commanding his territory. The room grew suddenly quiet, all eyes on him. Slowly pivoting my head and inching my butt off the chair, I eavesdropped on his conversation.

“I think we got this one, Jake. I’m telling you, man, we got it. The sale was seamless…hold on a sec.” He looked up at the barista waiting to take his order. “Hey, the usual, Emily. And I’ll take a blueberry muffin too, thanks.” He paid the girl as a bright smile traced across his lips.

“Till tomorrow, Mr. Wright,” she said, batting her eyes.

Mr. Wright?

On instinct, I snorted, then clamped a palm over my mouth, stifling a chortle.

Could his name be any more of a cliché?

My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head, but as he turned from the counter and headed back my way, my body tensed then springboarded upright. I primped my hair and pushed my chest out as he passed me on his way out. I was too busy trying to look pretty to notice if I even caught his eye. Either way, it didn’t matter. My chest caved when he didn’t stop to say hi and pretty much ignored me. Like I said to Jen, he was completely out of my league.

Still, I couldn’t keep my eyes from putting a GPS lock on his bodacious body while, coffee in one hand and brown baggie in the other, he balanced his cellphone between his ear and shoulder, dashing out the door in some type of hurry. Someone on the other end had Mr. ID cackling with laughter. Mesmerized by his beautiful smile, I continued to spy on him from behind the glass window, watching him melt away into the crowd. As I floated away in a dreamy cloud, a jolt of electricity shocked me, driving my hand over my heart.

There it is again—that strange rhythm that hurts with every beat.

I glanced at Emily and frowned at the stupid grin plastered across her face. She also tried to find him as he continued to fade through the scores of city ants.

Jeez, is that what I look like? All googly-eyed?

Pinging with unexplained jealousy, I squared my shoulders, stood up and left, but not before sizing up Googly-eyes. She was probably in her early twenties, short blonde bob, and luscious plump lips. Nice rack.

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes over her, silently declaring war before pushing out through the double doors.

As I walked back to the studio one phrase rang in my mind. The usual, Emily.

Mr. Iced Double was a regular.

Ha!

****

Rebecca ran down the hallway, hair flying, eyes bulging, chasing after three more dancers who were threatening to leave if Alexei didn’t change. “You’re damned lucky to be dancing at all in this city, you ungrateful pipsqueaks. With Alexei Voronov, mind you.”

After demoralizing Jess, Estella, and Dany, she made me clean up the mess. It wasn’t unusual. While I was her assistant, everyone knew I didn’t necessarily hold any loyalties to her, so the dancers used me as their pincushion to vent their frustrations.

I played peacemaker—for their sake, not Rebecca’s. I knew the endless hours they devoted to rehearsals. Food and sleep were a luxury. These dancers ate and breathed their routines as if their lives depended on it. I wasn’t going to allow them to throw their dreams away because of one arrogant, heartless choreographer who had arrived late when God handed out souls.

Two hours after stroking their egos and promising them Alexei wasn’t always going to be our head choreographer—I tried to comfort myself as well—I managed to convince Jess and Dany this job was only a stepping stone to an even bigger and brighter future. They agreed to stay.

Two down. One to go.

Before calling Estella into my office, I trudged into the kitchen to fetch some of our notoriously stale, afternoon coffee. With lead-laced limbs, I sluggishly reached for the pot, poured myself a cup, and plopped on a chair at one of the tiny lunch tables. I blew out a heavy breath, hoping to expunge my body of the strain of Rebecca’s and Alexie’s baleful antics. I needed to summon happy thoughts, anything to help dissolve the mind-twisting problems of the company’s circus. As my brain painted a beach getaway in Tahiti, a pair of olive-colored eyes materialized in front of me.

“Girl, what you smiling at, ‘cause it sure ain’t about that shit you’re drinking?” Martha’s voice startled me out of my daydream.

“Oh, hey,” I said, shaking my head. “Um…smiling? I wasn’t smiling.”

“Yes. You were. Like a big-ass grin. What’s his name?”

“Who’s name?”

“The guy who’s got you all stupefied, that’s who.”

Jeez, is it that obvious?

I smoothed down my hair and took a sip of the battery acid in my cup. Avoiding her gaze, I said, “You’re too funny. You know I don’t believe in men.”

Martha let out a belly laugh as she walked to the fridge and retrieved a yogurt. She took a seat next to me and peeled off the top to her afternoon snack. Martha’s mocha-colored eyes matched her skin, and her black weave sat neatly combed into long, sleek tresses. She looked me straight in the eyes and did her famous head-jiggy, the one she gives people trying to sidestep an issue. “Honey, you ain’t foolin’ nobody. You’ve been acting strange since last Friday.”

“Define strange,” I said.

“For starters, you’ve been walking around all spacey and now you’re drinking…that.” She nodded toward my cup.

“Well, I need caffeine, and right now I don’t give a rat’s ass how it tastes.” I smiled then added, “And I’m not spacey.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mmmhmm.”

“What?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. Is it the new delivery guy? He’s kinda cute, although a bit bony for my tastes. You know I like my men plump and juicy,” she reminded me as she licked her spoon.

“No. It’s not Adam.”

“Ooh, you know his name,” she chirped.

“Everyone knows his name, so stop it. There’s no guy. You know I’d tell you if there was.”

“Right. Anyway, back to work.” She threw the yogurt cup in the trash and winked at me before leaving the kitchen. “Say hi to Adam for me.”

I laughed.

His name is Mr. Iced Double.

I poured the remaining coffee down the drain and went searching for number three—the beautiful, brunette starlet, Estella. She proved harder to convince and after much deliverance, I was forced to use my last card. “As a Ukrainian immigrant with a pending legal status, finding another dancing job in the city could be difficult, Estella. I guess you could try your luck back home.”

She sat in front of my desk, her eyes filled with brimstone, arms crossed in frustration, aware we had her pinned.

It was a low blow, but Rebecca made me use it to our advantage. When Estella sent us her portfolio, we knew we’d hit the jackpot. We immediately offered to sponsor her green card, contingent upon her staying with the company at least for a year after obtaining legal status. Estella would have been picked up by any dance company in Europe, but we knew she wanted to come to the U.S. to be close to her family.

Having to practically coerce her made my stomach boil with disgust. I really despised Rebecca for making me use Estella’s family against her, but reminding her of the promise she made helped change her mind. By the time the day came to a close, I’d saved the company from having one amazing show but no performers. I could have patted myself on the back, instead I felt like I’d sold my soul to the devil.

On my way home that night, I passed Rockefeller Plaza. It wasn’t my normal route, and I tried to convince myself it was just a coincidence I’d taken a different way home, but lying to myself was lame. As soon as I spotted the coffeehouse, my chest tightened as thoughts of Mr. ID rushed in. What would be the chances he’d stop for a cup of Joe after work? Maybe if I ran into him again I’d finally have the guts to say hi. Perhaps he’d see me and ask for my number?

Yeah, right. Keep dreaming. A guy like that, interested in little old me?

Fat chance.

That didn’t stop me from fantasizing. Before I knew it, I pushed through The Int’l House of Java’s doors.

Oh, how nice. Pretty Little Emily is still tending the counter.

I ran my fingers across my brow, smoothing away the tension.

“May I take your order?” she asked as I reached the counter. Her eyebrows pinched in the middle as she tipped her salon-perfect, blonde bob, making it swoosh at her neck.

“I’ll have a medium cappuccino with skim milk. Two raw sugars and cinnamon powder, please,” I replied.

“Will that be all?”

“Um…” As I decided on a non-hip-enhancing dessert, my thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a man blabbering behind me.

“Hey, Bob. Yeah, it’s a done deal…I’m serious…drinks at The Pussy Cat’s Meow tonight. Eight. See ya later, man.”

Iced Double.

My body temperature immediately skyrocketed from cool to scorching. “Actually, just the coffee,” I said to Ms. Googly-Eyes.

The counter girl looked up, a smile stretching past her cheekbones. “Evening, Mr. Wright.”

My hands trembled and my clothes were wet from all the perspiration.

Sweating like a hog. Oh, yeah, this is attractive.

Not wanting to trip again, I carefully pivoted, but my heel twisted anyway and I went flying.

No!

As I shut my eyes, bracing for the face-plant, a man shouted, “Whoa, careful there.”

When I opened my eyes, I turned to stone. I’d expected to be peeling myself off the ground. Instead, I was wrapped in a pair of iron rods, my face inches away from a set of mystic green eyes and luscious lips.

Holding me up, Mr. ID asked, “You okay?” A short smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

I couldn’t blink. “Um…ah…yeah. Th-thank…you,” I stammered.

His crooked smile only widened, melting me in his arms. Goosebumps flared throughout my skin. As his large hands released me from his embrace, Olive Eyes settled me back on my feet. I steadied myself, straightened my twill dress, and glanced up.

“Looks like you keep falling for me,” he said with a chuckle, his smile broadening as he waited for me to respond.

My brain failed to compute what happened. My thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Say something witty, you klutz.

All I could muster was a shrug and an awkward laugh.

He frowned.

Oh, jeez.

He flirted and I’d basically brushed him off.

His glorious smile faded. “Okay…” he droned, nodding goodbye. Then he turned back to the counter to order his espresso.

Mortified, I lowered my head, grabbed my coffee from the counter, and scurried away. That was not how I intended things to go.

Mental note to self—start wearing flats.

My humiliated old self was already at the door and ready to book out of there, but the new me, the one who emerged from under some rock to torment me, actually contemplated sticking around to thank him again for not letting me fall flat on my face. I turned around, expecting to find him walking toward me, but my heart choked when I saw him still chatting up Googly-Eyes.

The skin on my face turned into the surface of the sun. That chick needed someone to hand her a bib for all the drool dripping off her chin. What really had my blood boiling was the way he smiled at her, as if they were sharing some stupid, secret joke.

Ugh. I wanted to kill them both for ruining my mood.

Who was I kidding? Why did I even care?

My old self grabbed me by the arm and saved me from continuing to act foolish. I stomped out of there determined to never return.

This time, I really mean it.

But when do people actually have a say in how things will pan out? Who gets to say never and gets away with it?

The farther I walked from the coffeehouse, the more the aching pain in my heart crept up on me, harder and stronger. The space between us might as well been a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon, not two city blocks.

What is happening to me? My arteries must be clogged and I am undergoing the early signs of a heart attack.

It was a perfectly logical and medical explanation for the physical pain I experienced every time I lost sight of Iced Double. That had to be it. Otherwise, the only alternative was the impossible.

Love at first sight?

I stopped mid-step and looked behind me at the fading plaza.

Nah.

There was no such thing as love at first sight. Plus, I thought I had found my soulmate once before, which turned out to be a complete and utter disaster.

So, there.

I walked again.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about this guy? Assuming there was such a preposterous thing as a soulmate, why hadn’t he run from the coffeehouse after me, hoping to whisk me away into a kiss worthy of the silver screen? Hadn’t he heard the angels sing? Hadn’t the world stopped spinning for him also?

Sara, the hopeless romantic…

Ah, no.

I didn’t believe in that crap. Not anymore. I was Sara—the one with no hope of ever finding true love.

Yeah, that was it.

But was it?

On my way to the apartment, I pulled out my phone and texted Jen.

Me: Hey, any plans tonight?

Jen: Working a double. Why?

Me: Just wondering if you were gonna be home for dinner.

Jen: Why?

Me: No reason. Gotta go.

I didn’t like lying to Jen, but I also wasn’t up for a lecture. Contemplating a stop by The Pussy Cat’s Meow, a nightclub downtown? All by myself? To look for a guy I didn’t even know?

Yeah. I’d gone from not believing in soulmates to becoming a creepy-ass stalker.