One Last Dance

by Angela Stephens

  “Billionaire CEO attempting to acquire a new piece of property?” was insulting enough. But beside the inset, the paper speculated whether or not “Henry Medina’s lovely companion was a high-end escort.” Heat flushed her cheeks and fresh tears pricked her eyes. She looked up into Darren’s concerned face.

  “At least they think I’m high-end,” she choked out. Then she burst into tears.

  Chapter Nine

  Reporters had gathered outside of Sophie’s dance studio, their cameras held aloft in the hopes of getting a good shot of Henry Media’s “high-end escort.” Sophie slouched lower in her chair at the front desk, trying to remain unseen.

  Darren set down the phone gently, jaw tight. “That’s the last of them. Classes are all cancelled.”

  They’d spent the entire morning phoning students and telling them not to come to the studio until further notice. “No one else will show up and get caught in that mob.”

  It had already happened twice that morning, the first reporter arriving mere minutes behind Darren. Sophie had barely processed the horrible Post headline when the camera flashes started. She had tried to get ahold of all the students from her first class but hadn’t been able to reach a few of them.

  The feeding frenzy that had ensued when one of her students had arrived had been brutal. Even through the closed doors and with the security shutters down, Sophie and Darren could hear the shouted questions. She cringed just recalling some of the things they’d asked about her. “How did they find me so quickly?” she asked, wiping futilely at the tears running down her cheeks.

  “Well, clearly they’re all rats and they sniffed you out with their disgusting, twitchy little noses.” Darren grimaced, shuddering delicately. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened or are we just going to sit here devising slow and painful deaths for all tabloid reporters?”

  Sophie blinked wet lashes. “The second one?”

  “Sophie come on, you can tell me anything.”

  She sighed, if she couldn’t tell Darren what happened how could she even begin clearing her name in the press? “Henry Medina offered me a thousand dollars an hour to dance with him. At his home. So, I went there the other night and we... danced.” She put her face in her hands.

  She knew Darren wouldn’t judge her, but she was still feeling raw from Henry’s cruel gift of money and the reporters were only making things worse.

  Darren straightened and leaned his hip against the desk. “Danced?” He poked the photo on the front of the paper. “Did it get horizontal?”

  She kept her hands over her face, glancing briefly through her fingers. “Yes.”

  His brows rose in surprise. “And?”

  “It was incredible.” Her shoulders sagged. It was the truth. It had been incredible. Mind-blowing. Fantastic. And a huge mistake.

  Darren whistled. “‘Incredible’ is good. So how’d it go from ‘incredible’ to tossing envelopes of money at him?”

  “What do you think happened? He tried to pay me off. Like I was some whore.” A fresh sob bubbled into her throat and stung the back of her nose as Darren reached for her hands, squeezing them reassuringly.

  “Pay you off? Not just for the dance?”

  “We barely even danced for an hour and there were thousands of dollars in the envelope!”

  “Bastard. If I see him again, I’m going to kill him,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  She opened her mouth to reply but a low, steady knocking interrupted her. It wasn’t coming from the front where the crowd of reporters were milling but from the back.

  She and Darren exchanged a look of sheepish surprise. Clearly, neither of them had considered that anyone might try the emergency exit. Darren rolled his eyes, a gesture that spoke eloquently of how stupid they both were, and walked over to the back.

  From her position behind the front desk Sophie could only see Darren’s face as he registered who was on the other side of the door. His jaw went tight, his handsome face cold and sharp. She’d never seen such a look of biting anger on her friend’s face.

  “Darren?” she asked, tentatively.

  “I should throw you to those wolves out front,” he growled at whoever was at the door. Cold dread seized her—there was only one person Darren would be that angry with right now.

  Heedless of the reporters outside, she stood and hurried to her friend’s side. She could hear Henry speaking as she approached.

  “...me in, I’m sure we can work this all out.”

  She gritted her teeth. Not only had Henry screwed her and then sent her out with an envelope of cash, but he had also compromised her livelihood. What could he possibly say to try and justify himself? She touched Darren gently on the shoulder. “Let him in.”

  Darren gave her a narrow look but pushed the door open further so Henry could slip inside. He looked firm and gorgeous in a dark Burberry London wool and mohair suit. Darren had swooned endlessly over the same one in a catalogue earlier in the year. It must’ve cost two-thousand dollars.

  “Sophie,” he began. She slapped him. The flat crack of her palm on his stubbled cheek echoed through the empty studio. Crap. She hadn’t meant to do that; her hand seemed to have moved of its own volition. But she couldn’t deny that it felt good to take some of her anger out on him, although she was still livid.

  Darren put an arm around her shoulders protectively, shooting Henry a look sharp enough to kill.

  “What do you want, Henry?” Sophie said.

  His gaze moved over her face beseechingly. “To explain.”

  “I think you made yourself clear.” Her hands clenched into fists at her side. He’d been so passionate when he made love to her, and at breakfast the next morning he was nothing but sweet. But in a matter of seconds he went cold, and she didn’t understand it.

  Henry frowned. “That money wasn’t... ” He trailed off, shooting a glance at Darren. “Can I talk to Sophie alone, please?”

  “No,” Darren snapped. “You’re lucky you’re talking to her at all.”

  “Sophie,” Henry pleaded. But she shook her head. Be alone with him? No way. She seethed at the thought.

  “You can say whatever you need to say in front of Darren.”

  “That money was just for the dance. I swear. Nothing else.”

  She bristled. “Just the dance? There was five thousand in that envelope, at least. What am I supposed to think?”

  “That I’m incredibly grateful you agreed to dance with me? That I enjoyed that short dance more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a long time? I don’t know. Anything but that I was trying to pay you for what happened after.”

  She didn’t believe him. Not entirely. She’d seen the distant look in his eyes as he’d practically shoved her out of the elevator and stuffed that envelope into her hand. He’d wanted her to go away as quickly as possible. He might not have meant to insult her, but he meant to brush her off.

  Henry opened his mouth to speak again, but she raised her hand, palm out, to keep him from going on. “Fine, let’s just say that I believe you.” She waved an agitated hand toward the front of the building.

  “I’m dying to hear this,” Darren interjected, voice cutting. He hadn’t removed his arm from around Sophie’s shoulder, and he was staring at Henry like he thought he could burn holes through him.

  Tugging a chair closer, Henry sat heavily and rubbed a hand against his face. “When you’re young and rich the tabloids have an interest. Sometimes they hang around and catch something juicy. You just got caught in the middle of that. I’m so sorry Sophie.”

  “So that’s it? I’m just collateral damage? My business can’t come back from this.”

  Henry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Your business isn’t ruined—”

  “Do you think parents are going to want a whore teaching their children? And what about my professional students? Think they’ll stick around and put ‘trained by a famous prostitute’ on their CVs? I’m done, Henry. This,” she stabbed a finger toward the fron
t of the studio, “ends me.”

  He winced as if she’d struck him again. “It doesn’t have to. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Sophie jerked out of Darren’s grip and flung her hands in the air. “How does all of New York believing I’m an escort not ruin my business, Henry? I’m all ears.”

  She saw Henry’s shoulders tighten defensively at her words, but to his credit he didn’t try and placate her. He gave her a minute to breathe before he replied. “You show them you’re not.”

  Darren crossed his arms, cocking his head. Clearly, Henry had piqued his interest, but Sophie wasn’t biting. “It’s too late for that, the story is out. No matter what I do or say they’ll just think I’m lying to cover up my sordid activities.”

  “The story is that I’m paying to have sex with you. It’ll sell papers, and the people who want to make it a problem for me will make sure the story sticks. But you’re right, if we try and protest they’ll just think we’re trying to cover it up.”

  Sophie tapped her foot impatiently. “So what’re you suggesting?”

  “We admit it.”

  Her jaw fell open. “How does that help me at all?”

  He held up his hands defensively. “Hold on, let me finish.” Sophie jerked a short nod. “We admit part of it. Pretend we’re a couple. Be seen in public together. It takes the starch out of the story. A couple having a spat is no news at all.”

  “No.” She didn’t even have to think about it. It was ludicrous, she never wanted to see Henry again let alone play house with him. She would have to get herself out of this mess on her own, he was only going to make things worse. “No,” she said again.

  “Sophie, this will save your business. We have to diffuse this situation. You need—”

  The cauldron of anger in her belly had been bubbling ever since he’d arrived, but the sheer arrogance of his words sent it boiling over. “Don’t.” she bit out through clenched teeth. “The only thing I need from you is for you to get out of my life. Now.”

  She pointed at the back door, breath quick and short. Heat burned in her cheeks like a fever as Henry rose, his face grim. “Sophie—”

  “Out.”

  His shoulders slumped. Darren opened the rear door, motioning for him to exit. Henry went, pausing on the threshold at the last second. His dark eyes were deep and wide with apparent remorse. “I’m sorry, Sophie. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

  “Goodbye, Henry.”

  The second the door closed behind him she began to shake. Darren was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in strong arms as she wept.

  “Oh, god, Dar. What am I going to do?”

  “First things first. Let’s get the heck out of here.”

  She sniffled. “I like that plan.”

  They quickly gathered their things, not bothering to turn off the lights in fear that they might alert the paparazzi to their escape. At the back door, Darren took her elbow and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Ready to go?”

  Sophie nodded. “Beyond ready. If I don’t get away from them now I think I’m going to scream.”

  Darren swept open the rear door and ushered her through it. “Your wish is my command.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Oh god, I’m going to explode.” Sophie pushed her plate away. The gesture was an empty one, since the plate was scraped clean. Wayne chuckled.

  “But, there’s lemon meringue pie. Or coconut cream. Or Boston cream.”

  Sophie groaned. Boston cream pie was her favorite dessert. Which Wayne and Darren knew, of course. Just like they knew she liked baked ziti and French cut green beans and salad loaded with radicchio. And Shiraz. They’d plied her with all her favorite foods from the minute Darren had ushered her through the door of their cozy Bed-Stuy apartment. As if comfort food, no matter how delicious, would make her forget her new reputation.

  “Let’s have some coffee,” Darren suggested. “Watch a movie. We can have pie later.”

  “Guys. I really appreciate all of this but pie or no pie, I’m still ruined.” She gulped her wine.

  Wayne patted her shoulder. “There’s always Henry’s propositi—”

  “No,” she and Darren answered in unison.

  Wayne held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Plan B. You could sue for libel?”

  Darren grimaced. “I don’t think she can. For one thing, that would take too long. By the time she won a case, the damage would already be done. And they didn’t claim she was an escort. They just speculated as to the reason Henry Medina would be handing a gorgeous woman an envelope full of cash.”

  Sophie thunked her forehead against the table. “See? I couldn’t even really prove them wrong. Like I told him.” she sneered the pronoun. “We did sleep together, and he did give me money. So I guess I am what they say I am.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Darren said. “The two events are unrelated, remember? And even if they weren’t, you didn’t take the money.”

  “So I’m not even good at being an escort. Great.”

  “Well,” Wayne said. “You’re in good company. Julia Roberts wasn’t either.”

  Sophie’s head jerked up. “What?”

  Wayne’s brows merged with his hairline they shot up so high. “Pretty Woman. The movie? How have you never seen that? We have to watch it. Right now.” He began tugging her up from the table. Sophie gave a soggy giggle.

  “Honey,” Darren warned softly. “I don’t know if that’s the best choice right now.”

  “Oh.” Wayne’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Soph.”

  “No, it’s fine. Let’s do it. Clearly my cinematic education has been lacking. Show me this Pretty Woman you speak of.”

  Wayne moved to the DVD player and sorted through the collection of movies him and Darren stored beside it. “You know we’re going to back out of the deal,” he said as he pulled a movie from the pile.

  Sophie frowned. “What deal?” Was he reneging on the Boston cream pie?

  “The apartment. There’s no way we’re going to go through with it now. Right?” He cast his husband a raised brow.

  Darren nodded. “Oh, totally. He can stick his apartment in his incredibly cute backside.”

  Both Wayne and Sophie shot him dark looks. Darren held up his hands. “What? He’s a total jerk, and there’s no way we’re taking that apartment, but you can’t deny that his butt is fantastic.”

  She gave a soft laugh knowing that it was true. “You guys are taking that apartment.”

  “Soph, no,” Darren replied.

  Wayne squeezed her shoulder. “We don’t have to, Sophie. We’ll find something else.”

  “At that price? Hardly. And anyway, if you’re in there then Henry can’t make more money on it. Think of it as sticking it to him for me.” She poked a finger into Darren’s chest. “And not a word from you.”

  Wayne’s gave her a skeptical side glance as he poured them each another glass of wine. “Okay then. To sticking it to Henry Medina!”

  “Hear, hear!” Sophie cheered, raising the glass to her lips.

  ***

  “I never should have had that last glass of wine.” Sophie groaned. Her reflection seemed to agree. She looked terrible. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her skin was a little pale. Not to mention the fact that her head was throbbing like a particularly difficult tango beat.

  She, Darren, and Wayne had run through almost every romantic comedy the couple owned and two, maybe three, bottles of Shiraz. She had awoken that morning sprawled on their couch, still in her clothes from yesterday. As usual, she was the first one up. Even hungover, Sophie was an early riser. She’d left her friends a note and gone home to shower and change.

  And then she’d found herself here. At the closed studio. The place was empty and with all of the lights off it seemed sad and forlorn. Thankfully, the reporters were no longer crowding the studio’s entrance. They must have gotten the message that she wasn’t going to talk.


  She sipped her water and took a deep breath. She’d always done her best thinking while rehearsing so she cranked up the classical music and began moving through her yoga stretches. She ignored the world outside her window and just tried to concentrate on herself.

  There had to be some way to clear her name. But no matter how she wracked her brain, no solution came. Except Henry’s. And there was no way she was going to agree to spend any more time in that man’s company. Whatever he claimed, he’d meant to push her away when he handed her that money. She wasn’t about to let him off just because it was inconvenient for her.

  A light knock interrupted her reverie. She let out her breath and cautiously approached the back door. It was Darren, surely, or the more persistent of the reporters. But the quickening of her heartbeat said maybe it was Henry.

  But when she pulled the door open it wasn’t any of those people. Sophie blinked up at the tall form of Carl Barrett, her mouth hanging open. His cropped blond hair was thinning on top and the slight paunch of his belly pressed against the grey button-down he wore tucked into his slacks. But his blue eyes twinkled from their web of lines with the humor that was his trademark.

  “I know,” he said, mouth twisting wryly. “I get that reaction a lot from women. Can I come inside before you throw yourself at me? I’m not really big on public displays of affection.”

  Sophie hiccuped a surprised laugh. “Uh. Come in, Mr. Barrett. You know we’re closed, right?” He’d come to the back door, which seemed to indicate he did. But the news was full of stories about the odd stunts he pulled. Maybe this was one of them? Was he looking for a headline too? “Also, I’m really not an escort. So if you’re here for that...”

  Carl chuckled. Heat splashed Sophie’s cheeks as he stepped past her into the studio. “I am aware of both of those things, Ms. Becker, believe it or not.”

  She closed the door, watching him with wide eyes as he strolled around the office area. He picked up a stack of flyers for children’s free style dance classes and fanned them out. “I’m a terrible dancer, did you know that?”