Deal-Breaker

by Siri Caldwell

  Copyright

  Deal-Breaker

  Copyright © 2016 Siri Caldwell

  Cover design by Marianne Nowicki

  ISBN: 978-0-9974023-0-8 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9974023-1-5 (paperback)

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any locales, business establishments, or actual events is strictly coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.

  Brussels Sprout Press

  P.O. Box 42133

  Arlington, VA 22204

  United States of America

  First edition: April 2016

  About Deal-Breaker

  This was not the plan.

  After a career‌‌-‌‌threatening injury, backup dancer Rae Peters crashes at a friend’s in a middle‌-‌of‌-‌nowhere college town to recover. She’d rather be onstage performing with a rock star than stuck in a swimming pool doing rehab exercises, but at least the people‌-‌watching is good. Make that person‌-‌watching, because she only pays attention to one person: the cute water aerobics instructor who’s always lugging around accounting textbooks like she might be smart.

  Jori Burgess is a grad student with a young daughter and a blackmailing ex‌-‌boyfriend. She’s got her hands full being a single mother, and studying, and teaching at the pool, and pretending to be someone she’s not. The last thing she needs is one more complication, but Rae is one complication she can’t resist.

  Rae has no trouble resisting, because she promised herself a long time ago that flirtatious straight girls were not for her. Even if they claimed they weren’t that straight. Especially if they claimed they weren’t that straight. Really, thank you, but no. She’s not going to fall for someone who’s got red flags plastered all over her very attractive…‌‌uh…‌personality.

  Being friends, though? Being friends is not a problem, and neither is dancing together, and neither is holding on a little longer than is strictly appropriate, and neither is…‌

  Yeah. This could be a problem.

  Chapter One

  Rae Peters never thought a pink satin thong would be her downfall.

  As a backup dancer for wannabe chart‌-‌topping recording artist Kaoli Morgenroth, Rae Peters knew how to stick her gyrating dance steps under blinding lights while dodging the bras and panties that flew onto the stage like colorful, deranged birds. She made it look effortless, too.

  Biggest rule for looking good onstage: never look down. Look at the audience, look at the other dancers, look at the distant walls soaring up and up and up into the darkness, but do not look down‌—‌not unless she wanted the audience to think she was unsure of where her feet should be. After which she’d be out of a job.

  She was not looking down as she sprang from the moving platform, leaped into space with arms and legs extended, landed on a scrap of slippery lingerie, skidded, fell. Snapped her ankle. Tore her knee. Didn’t scream. Did not look down. Did her best to make it look like she’d fallen intentionally, like she was supposed to crawl offstage dragging one leg behind her, rolling out of the way of the other dancers, avoiding the musicians and the backup singers and the remote‌-‌controlled, steadily gliding, larger‌-‌than‌-‌life scenery. With all the adrenaline, it wasn’t that hard to do.

  The pain didn’t hit until she’d made it offstage. As her strength failed and agony took its place, she made one last push to make sure she was safely hidden from the audience before collapsing in the shadows on an unyielding coil of electrical cables.

  She shouldn’t have worried. Three stagehands swarmed around her with urgent, efficient, this‌-‌show‌-‌is‌-‌planned‌-‌down‌-‌to‌-‌the‌-‌fraction‌-‌of‌-‌a‌-‌second‌-‌and‌-‌it’s‌-‌my‌-‌job‌-‌to‌-‌keep‌-‌everything‌-‌on‌-‌track speed and hefted her sweat‌-‌drenched, Lycra‌-‌plastered body out of the way before anyone could trip over her. Kaoli continued to sing without a hitch as if nothing had happened. The stagehands were saying something about an ambulance, but the words didn’t register. Rae craned her neck to check out her lower leg. Her ankle didn’t look right.

  But she would be okay, wouldn’t she? She could dance through pain.

  It wasn’t until later, through a haze of painkillers, that it occurred to her that she wouldn’t be continuing with the tour.

  * * *

  It wasn’t hard to figure out who was outside Rae’s hospital room harassing the nurse.

  “No cameras. No recording devices. No nothing,” commanded a man who could only be Kaoli’s bodyguard, his testosterone‌-‌laden voice projecting down the hallway. He rarely spoke, but when he did, this was the sort of thing that came out. “I’m dead serious. If I find out you have a camera hidden on you…‌” He left the threat unfinished. Way more movie‌-‌star action hero that way than admitting there was very little he could legally do.

  “Why would I have a camera?” the nurse said.

  Ooh, a male nurse. That explained the hostility. If it had been a female nurse…‌well, suffice it to say, paparazzi were rarely female.

  “Why should we believe you?” Kaoli countered.

  “Oh no,” Rae said quietly. “Please don’t.” If Kaoli alienated the nurses…‌ She really didn’t want her to alienate the nurses. After having her broken ankle set and her torn knee ligaments surgically sewn back together, the last thing she needed was an angry nurse controlling her pain meds.

  “This is a hospital,” the nurse said. “I have more important things to do than take photos. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care.”

  “Kaoli Morgenroth.”

  “Never heard of you,” the nurse said.

  “Don’t you listen to the radio?” demanded her bodyguard, like it was a personal affront that he didn’t recognize Kaoli, even though his obliviousness meant the risk that the nurse would try to sell a photo of her to the tabloids was nose‌-‌diving. Her bodyguard did have kind of a short fuse.

  “I listen to the radio. And like I said, I’ve never heard of you. You’re not as famous as you think you are.”

  Yikes. That was not going to go over well. Rae cringed, waiting for someone to respond. She didn’t hear anything. Maybe Kaoli was giving the nurse one of her angry glares and saving her voice for her next show. One could hope.

  Some silent agreement must have been reached, because the next sound was footsteps approaching her door.

  “Surprise!”

  Suddenly everyone was crowding into Rae’s room and Kaoli was smiling her professional onstage smile and Kaoli’s assistant was setting a vase of purple and yellow irises on the shelf under the muted television. Rae sat up straight in her bed‌—‌as straight as she could with her leg immobilized‌—‌and tugged on her flimsy hospital gown to make sure she was decent.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to visit.” She couldn’t swear to how much time had passed‌—‌a day? Two? She’d been in and out of consciousness too much to keep track‌—‌but it seemed like the tour should have already packed up and hit the road. And spared her the embarrassment of being seen like this.

  “Just checking on how you’re doing.” Kaoli moved the vase of irises to the tiny table by Rae’s bed. How typical of her to do something nice like bring flowers and then choose colors that would remind Rae of her bruises. She was sure it hadn’t been intentional, but that’s how everything had always been with Kaoli. “Everyone’s thinking of you. The dancers, the band, the tech crew�
��‌even Mr. Hard‌-‌Ass here.”

  Kaoli’s bodyguard frowned like he didn’t appreciate the nickname.

  Ignoring him, Kaoli dropped a magazine in Rae’s lap and leaned over to open it to the page she’d flagged with a sticky note. “Have you seen this? Hot off the press.”

  The magazine lay open to a full‌-‌page photo of Kaoli onstage belting out a song, but Rae barely glanced at it before she fixated on the smaller, inset photo in the lower right‌-‌hand corner. She picked up the magazine and drew it closer. It was a photo of herself, crawling across the stage, one leg dragging, her teeth bared like a growling animal in what she’d thought was a smile while the dancers behind her aligned in perfect formation performing the acrobatic moves of Kaoli’s current hit, “Wildcat”. Chloe and Sylvie looked amazing, captured at the peak of a split jump, toes pointed, arms outstretched. The caption read: “Kaoli Morgenroth backup dancer declares: ‘I hate your choreography, Kaoli! I’ll make up my own moves.’”

  Great. Her first photo by a real news photographer and she couldn’t use it on her résumé. And her face‌—‌she’d had no idea pain made her look so unattractive. At least they didn’t print her name.

  Was that because Griffin Broadnax, Kaoli’s high school sweetheart, current boyfriend, and now high‌-‌and‌-‌mighty editor‌-‌in‌-‌chief of one of the best‌-‌known gossip magazines in the country, was doing Rae a favor? Or did he simply not recognize his teenage nemesis? Maybe he didn’t review the pages before they went to press, or at least not the last‌-‌minute additions. She honestly didn’t know what the job entailed, only that Griffin was impressed with himself for becoming the hotshot boss before the age of thirty‌—‌their youngest editor‌-‌in‌-‌chief ever‌—‌and made sure all his old classmates knew about it.

  But that caption…‌

  Rae let the magazine fall to her lap. “I wish Editor Boy had asked me if I minded.”

  “Oh, honey, why would he recognize you?” Kaoli said.

  Rae’s mouth fell open. She didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s not like you were friends,” Kaoli said.

  “I think he knows damn well who I am.”

  “Ancient history,” she said breezily.

  Maybe to Kaoli, but not to Rae. Some memories never had the grace to fade.

  And maybe calling to check his facts was not something he did with someone who had, back when the three of them were in high school together, come damn close to sleeping with his girlfriend.

  * * *

  Several weeks later, in the front row of the largest lecture hall on campus, Axel Nye finished scrawling his answer to the last question on the final exam for Advanced Financial Accounting Standards and flipped to the front of his test booklet to double‌-‌check everything. Some students chose Tonoloway College for its proximity to rural Pennsylvania’s cross‌-‌country ski trails and autumn deer hunting, but Axel had chosen it for the academic reputation of its master’s program in accounting. The fact that his parents lived a mere twenty minutes away had had nothing to do with his decision pro or con, although it had turned out to be convenient for laundry and free meals.

  Mentally blocking out the sounds of anxious breathing and scribbling pencils, he slid down in his seat and stretched his large‌-‌and‌-‌tall‌-‌size legs out in front of him, taking full advantage of the legroom that came with claiming a front‌-‌row aisle seat instead of retreating to the upper tiers of the hall’s stadium seating like the wusses who were afraid to make eye contact with the professor. The professor wasn’t even in attendance today, just Vance What’s‌-‌His‌-‌Name, his short little squirt of a teaching assistant who’d been unlucky enough to draw proctoring duty. He seemed to be grading papers to pass the time and not really keeping an eye on the room.

  Axel sprawled his legs wider and nearly tripped one of his classmates as she jogged silently down the aisle to turn in her exam. Jori Burgess. Not just his classmate, but his ex‌-‌girlfriend and the mother of his child. Athletic‌-‌looking‌—‌one of those scary chicks some guys didn’t want to work out with because they couldn’t handle the idea she might outperform them in the weight room‌—‌but not a dumb jock. She might look like she should be starring in her own fitness video rather than trying to fit in with spreadsheet‌-‌obsessed nerds whose skin never saw the sun, but in class she blew everyone away with how smart she was. He wasn’t surprised she was one of the first to finish the exam. Or that she’d smirked at him and cheerfully waved goodbye with her middle finger noticeably extended.

  He was surprised that Domenic Eubanks was done early, dropping his completed test booklet on top of Jori’s on the lectern a few seconds after she left. Maybe he’d studied. For once.

  Domenic lingered at the front, whispering with the proctor. Whisper, whisper, whisper. Could they be any more annoying? Axel drummed his heels on the floor to drown them out. Some people were trying to pass an exam.

  When the boys finally stopped and remained silent for more than two seconds, Axel glanced up to see what Domenic was still doing up there and immediately wished he hadn’t. He didn’t need to see them making out. They should learn to control themselves.

  He stared at his answers. Couldn’t focus. Glanced up again. Glanced away. What did Vance‌-‌the‌-‌Squirt see in that guy, anyway? Domenic was such a player. You could tell just by looking at him that he’d bang anything that moved‌—‌he had that yes‌-‌I‌-‌am‌-‌a‌-‌god attitude down pat. The confident hip swivel, too.

  Not like Gus. Gus had an even hotter hip swivel, but Gus didn’t parade it around indiscriminately. He only showed it off in private, which was the way Axel liked it. He liked knowing Gus was all his.

  Axel glanced up at Domenic again, just to prove to himself the poser was nothing he wanted.

  And wasn’t that a mistake. The boys had moved on to dry humping as they kissed, getting off on some kind of exhibitionist fantasy. Domenic was not completely into it, though. Couldn’t be. Not if he had enough brain cells and coordination to multitask and keep Vance distracted and neglecting his proctoring duties while Domenic reached behind him for the meager pile of test booklets on the lectern and peeled off the top two, which had to be his own and Jori’s.

  Domenic rolled up the two test booklets together and broke off the kiss. “I’m going to think about my answers some more,” he told Vance in a hushed, test‌-‌appropriate voice, quickly turning his back so his body shielded the test booklets from view.

  Axel sank lower in his seat. He should’ve kept his eyes on his own test, because now he had another thing to feel guilty about on top of all the lies he told his parents about his quote unquote “roommate” Gus.

  Better to feel guilty than to create problems for himself, though. He didn’t need to accuse Domenic of cheating and end up entangled in the backlash. Because backlash there would be, especially when it came to light that employee sexual impropriety was involved. He had only one semester left to go. This was no time to volunteer for a headache.

  Chapter Two

  Feeling awkward and slow and sick of the smell of chlorine, Rae squinted against the glare of the early morning sunlight and bobbed upright at the deep end of a massive outdoor swimming pool nestled in the Pennsylvania woods, her body suspended by two flotation belts strapped one on top of the other around her waist. Despite the flotation belts and the steady bicycling motion of her legs, she sank enough that the hair at the nape of her neck escaping her short ponytail was getting wet. Ugh. It was the beginning of summer, but when the water hit her neck, it was cold.

  She’d ended up at the Mountain Laurel Center because her older sister Connie had mentioned her injury to Sierra Mosier, one of Connie’s best friends all through elementary school and middle school and high school. Rae suspected Connie had mentioned that Rae was in desperate need of housing, as the apartment she shared with another dancer in New York City was currently occupied since they sublet it while they were on tour. Her parents had take
n her in for several weeks, but as much as she appreciated their help, she’d been on her own long enough that living under their watchful eye felt almost as confining as the cast on her leg. When Sierra graciously invited her to stay at the yoga retreat center she and the love of her life co‌-‌owned, Rae had wasted no time accepting.

  Rae told her parents it would be nice and quiet and relaxing to live with a bunch of vacationing yoga enthusiasts out in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of some sleepy college town no self‌-‌respecting city dweller had ever heard of, but the truth was, she wasn’t here to relax. She wanted to be back onstage, and she would have traded a windowless dance studio that stank of stale sweat for a swimming pool with a view of beautiful clear sky in a heartbeat. But that wasn’t an option, so she was reminding herself to be grateful to be free of her awful plaster cast and jogging in the pool sooner than anyone had predicted. Challenging her atrophied muscles with water resistance wasn’t dancing, but pushing herself to the point of exhaustion was close.

  And at least being in the water meant she didn’t have to look at her weak leg. The scars left by the surgery were bad enough, but the loss of muscle tone? Scary. The leg had shrunk to half its normal size, a visible reminder of how much work she had to do. She’d rather look at just about anything else.

  Fortunately, while she exercised at the deep end of the pool, the shallow end provided the perfect distraction: water aerobics classes. Well, not the classes. The instructor. Jori. As usual, Jori strode along the lovely slate pool deck in a faded turquoise one‌-‌piece swimsuit, quick‌-‌dry shorts, and sockless sneakers and shouted instructions and encouragement, her voice hoarse from fighting to be heard across the water over blasting music. Not exactly what Rae expected from a yoga center, because weren’t these places supposed to be oppressively silent and meditative? And teach nothing but yoga? But far be it for her to complain.