Wes and Sadie had been friends as long as anyone could remember. They’d grown up as neighbors in one of the most exclusive apartment buildings in Manhattan, traded lunches on the playground, and, after a disaster of a kiss around the time they were eighteen, had promptly agreed that they would always and forever be friends. Nothing more.
“We do. But that was before I knew you were packing more than the average salami.” She couldn’t keep a straight face and burst out laughing. “Ew. No, I can’t even joke about it without feeling dirty.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Nothing personal. Besides, you’re going to have every other woman in this goddamn city chasing after you now. You don’t need my attention too.”
“Excellent.” He clapped his hands. “Can we cut the locker room bullshit and get back to work, then?”
“No need to get snippy.” Sadie looked too damn smug for her own good.
Wes opened the spreadsheet that had their production budget outlined to the very last detail, with a total that would make most people’s eyes pop. Broadway productions were expensive. Even those classified as “Off-Off-Broadway,” which were held in small theaters that seated fewer than a hundred people, cost a pretty penny. In this case, many of those involved were taking part for next to nothing, hoping the show would break out. But the theater still needed to be paid for, costumes needed to be created, and sets needed to be designed.
All of which required deep pockets.
“I got a final figure from the Attic,” Wes said. “It’s more than we budgeted for, but we can manage it. I’ll push the investors harder, and I have wiggle room with my own funds.”
“You’re already pouring so much of your own money into this.” Sadie frowned.
She didn’t often show her stress, but Wes knew her well enough to detect the hint of concern in her voice. It wasn’t exactly unwarranted. He was putting everything into this crazy idea.
Out of Bounds was his brainchild, a dance production with no separation between stage and seating. The cast was part of the audience and the audience part of the show. It was the antithesis of the world he’d grown up in, one fortified with rules and posture and tradition. With his big-picture view and Sadie’s talent for turning his vague descriptions into something living and breathing, he knew they had something special. All they had to do was back themselves long enough to give the rest of New York a chance to agree.
“I can manage a bit more,” he said. “I want this to work.”
Sadie bit her lip and nodded. “I do too, but I’m worried you’ll get cleaned out if this fails.”
“It won’t fail.”
Even as he said the words, the stats danced in his head. Successful Broadway productions were in the minority, with less than 25 percent turning a profit. And those were the ones with big advertising budgets. Breakouts like Hamilton were rare, and most productions ended up in a financial graveyard littered with the bones of failed dreams.
Fact was, the numbers were against them. They were more likely to crash and burn and end up with bank accounts drier than the Sahara.
“Besides,” he added, “I have the city’s best choreographer working for me.”
Sadie snorted. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Wes. But I hope you’re right. I burned a hell of a bridge leaving your parents’ company to do this with you.”
“You and me both,” he muttered.
Out of Bounds was either going to make or break his future, and Wes wasn’t the kind of guy who backed down from a challenge.
“Now all we need to do is secure the funding and find our perfect ballerina,” he said with a grin. “No sweat at all.”
Chapter 2
“All these women who say ‘looks shouldn’t matter’ are deluding themselves. Physical attraction is part of what creates that first spark of chemistry. Deep down, everybody wants that jolt of lightning.”
—JamieChoo
“It’s a tendu, duh!” Wes’s five-year-old niece, Frankie, did her best impression of a tendu, which looked more like a cross between a ninja kick and a Jack Russell peeing on a wall.
“Of course it is,” Wes said, smothering a laugh. His mind was still full of ideas and plans from his meeting with Sadie earlier that day; however, Frankie made it tough to focus on anything but her. The kid was a whirlwind and a natural-born charmer.
“She’s got my grace.” Chantel laid a hand on his shoulder as she breezed past, a subtle cloud of perfume following her. “Can’t you tell?”
Wes grinned at his twin sister. “What did Mom used to call you? A bull in a china shop?”
“A what?” Frankie cocked her head, but her foot continued to frantically “tendu” as if of its own accord.
“Nothing, darling.” Chantel bent down and kissed Frankie on the cheek, swiping her thumb across the faint lipstick print she left behind.
The action made Wes smile. Their mother used to do the same thing on the rare occasions that she kissed them. Not that he would point it out. Comparing Chantel to their mother was an offense punishable by a withering death stare.
“Thanks for taking her to class.” Chantel stood and smoothed her hands down the front of her all-black outfit. “I told Marnie weeks ago I’d cover for her today. But someone was quite determined not to have her schedule interrupted.”
Apparently when she’d tried to explain to Frankie that they wouldn’t be going to their “parents and kids” barre class today, there had been tears of the end-of-the-world kind. Since Wes’s production wasn’t yet under way, he could spare the hour to keep his niece happy. And he wanted to.
Once Out of Bounds launched, he’d be run off his feet for weeks, doing everything he could to ensure its success. And that would mean sacrificing things like playdates with Frankie and her baby sister, Daisy.
“Someone was being determined? Color me shocked.” He winked at Frankie, who twirled, almost taking out a vase and their old cat, Nellie, with her flailing arms.
“The human tornado strikes again.” Chantel shook her head.
Frankie leaned in close to Wes and whispered, “That’s me.”
“Go and grab your dance bag, Frankie,” Chantel said. The second her daughter raced from the room, she turned to Wes. “Last time I asked Mom for some advice on dealing with Frankie’s ‘spirited temperament,’ she told me it was karma.”
Wes snorted. “Sounds like something she would say.”
“I guess I shouldn’t complain. We are on speaking terms at the moment. That’s got to count for something, right?” She rubbed her fingers against her temples. “And she agreed to take Daisy for the afternoon.”
“She wasn’t up for a barre class?” he teased, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Are you kidding me? She thinks bringing ballet ‘to the masses’ is an abomination. You know, because such things should only be available to those serious enough to pursue it properly.”
Black or white—that was his mother in a nutshell. One should chase the prima ballerina dream until they soared, or until it burned them to the ground. If they weren’t willing to push themselves to the limit for the sake of art, then they had no place standing at a barre. He’d heard those words over and over as a kid. Which was exactly why Chantel and his mother’s relationship had barely survived her quitting the ballet world at eighteen. And it was precisely why he’d never wanted to be a performer. His place was behind the scenes, directing and creating. Bringing his visions to life.
“How’s the show going?” Chantel asked.
“It’s coming together.” He bobbed his head. “We’re almost ready to begin rehearsals and we’ve got a venue locked in.”
“Fabulous.” Chantel squinted at him. “You don’t look like someone who’s escaped the clutches of the day job to follow some big, crazy dream. You should be bouncing off the walls.”
Wes laughe
d and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be bouncing off the walls when I know we’ve got a full cast.”
“Still no perfect ballerina?”
He shook his head. The hunt for the centerpiece of the show had proven difficult, despite his industry connections. Last week, he’d lost the ballerina originally cast as the lead for Out of Bounds. Ashleigh had checked all the boxes—impeccable technique and training, she was also a gifted actress and had some musical theater experience, which gave her stage presence greater depth.
However, after signing, she’d asked if it was possible to meet with his mother for a mentoring opportunity and, of course, Wes had agreed. He’d hoped it might show Adele Evans how serious he was taking this work. But all it had done was prove people were out for number one. Ashleigh had used that connection to score herself a company role, thus dropping out of his show at the last minute, and his mother had lent her a helping hand.
And you’re surprised people are using you as a stepping-stone? When has that not been the case?
“What about that ‘diamond in the rough’ Mom found in Detroit?”
“Oh, I thought of her. But she’s the perfect little protégé now.” Wes let out a humorless laugh. “I guess I could completely napalm my relationship with Mother Dearest.”
“Not advised,” Chantel said with a shake of her head. “Have you talked to her about what happened with Ashleigh?”
“I tried. But she fed me some bullshit about how she must do what’s in the best interest of the dancer. I didn’t even bother after that. It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“Ah, so I take it she still isn’t on board with your ‘weird’ idea?”
That was an understatement. “What did she say? I’m ‘taking all she holds dear and bringing a hammer down on it.’”
For years Wes had fooled himself into thinking that drama was part of the Adele Evans charm, a persona of sorts. But the last six months had proven him wrong. His mother had acted like Wes’s dream to create his own show was a personal attack on her, the family company, and the art form she adored.
“Are we going yet?” Frankie planted her hands on her hips. She wore a pink leotard and tights, and a pair of purple high-top sneakers. “It’s rude to be late.”
Wes raised a brow, and Chantel shrugged. “Hey, I’m not going to complain if she wants to be punctual.”
“All right, human tornado. Let’s go.” He held his hand out, and Frankie shoved her chubby, little fist into his palm. “First, class. Then, we can go for gelato.”
“I want peppermint.” Frankie nodded as though giving it serious thought. “With chocolate sprinkles.”
“You can have whatever you want, princess.”
* * *
Remi eased herself into first position, rotating her turnout from the hips and resting both hands on the barre. Her touch was featherlight, as though her fingertips meant to graze the polished wood. She rose into a relevé and held the position for a second before pressing her heels back down into the floor.
This gentle up-down motion came as naturally as breathing. As naturally as being.
Despite all the tangled-up feelings in her heart when it came to dance, her body still knew what it wanted. What felt right.
She repeated the action a few times more, warming her ankles and calves in preparation for her class. Words swirled in her head, snippets of the Skype call she’d had with her parents last night.
Her mother hadn’t bought the whole “great opportunity to support a local business” angle that Remi had pitched them when she’d described her work at the new barre fitness studio. Opal Drysdale might be all peace, love, and light, with her predilection for crystal healing and daily positivity mantras, but the woman knew bullshit when she smelled it. And Remi was no actress. As usual, her father hadn’t said much and simply looked adoringly at his wife whenever she spoke.
But no amount of chiding from Opal was going to change things. And Remi certainly wasn’t going to “meditate on it.”
“Excuse me.” A deep, smooth voice startled Remi out of her thoughts.
Remi turned, her heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the man in front of her. He was one of those “so hot he should come with a fire hazard warning” kind of guys. Wavy, dark hair. Piercing blue eyes. A touch of stubble coating a jaw sharp enough to slice butter, a.k.a. the type of guy she usually avoided because they tended to be entitled douches who were selfish in and out of the bedroom.
And you’re thinking about bedrooms now because…?
He walked toward her with a practiced roll of the hips that was halfway between a John Wayne movie and a wet dream. Remi sucked in a breath. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” His gaze flicked over her like he wanted to look but was trying to retain a semblance of human decency.
That’s right, buddy. Eyes up here.
“My niece is in your class.” He thumbed the belt loops on his jeans. “Francesca Mancini.”
Francesca. The name didn’t ring a bell, and Remi prided herself on learning everyone’s names, especially her young students. Shit, how could she have forgotten Francesca?
It’s the hot-dude voodoo scrambling your brain.
“Frankie,” he offered.
“Oh, yes, Frankie.” She nodded. Rambunctious five-year-old, a bit of a handful due to her high energy levels. But she was adorable and charming. Must be a family trait. “Of course, Chantel’s daughter.”
“And I’m Chantel’s brother.” He smiled and Remi studiously ignored the ripple of attraction that shot through her, warming her insides like palms turned to an open flame. “I’m on Frankie duty today.”
She found herself returning the smile. “Lucky you.”
“Absolutely. I’d spend all day every day with that kid if I could.”
Her heart melted into a puddle of marshmallow goo. Okay, so not a total douche then.
“What time does the class finish?” he asked, taking a step closer. A blue-and-white checked shirt hugged broad shoulders and strong arms, the cuffs folded back to reveal a heavy watch and strong hands. The kind of hands that looked incredibly…dexterous.
In fact, he looked familiar, now that she thought about it. But she couldn’t place him.
Maybe in your nameless-hot-guy dreams?
“We say forty-five minutes, but it can run over depending on how many people we have.”
“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes on the dot then.”
“Back?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his dark brows crinkling slightly. “To pick Frankie up.”
“This is a parents-and-kids class,” Remi said, stifling a smile. “Parents are required to accompany their kids for the duration of the class.”
Her gaze skimmed down his body, over the tan belt highlighting his trim waist, to the faded denim hugging his thighs and… Oh. The soft-looking denim hugged everything.
Hey, no double standards here. Eyes up, soldier!
“And by accompany I assume you mean participate?” he said.
“That’s right.”
He shook his head, a rueful smile crossing his lips. “Funny how my sister didn’t mention that bit.”
The thought of this insanely hot man following her command was doing unspeakable things to her insides. Tingling things. The kind of things that were definitely “not safe for work.” She’d been attracted to men who could dance ever since she’d first laid eyes on Paul Mercurio in Strictly Ballroom. And later on, her theory that skills on the dance floor translated to skills in the bedroom had been upheld on almost all occasions.
Instinct told her that this man would not disappoint.
“I’m sure you can keep up,” Remi said, walking past him to greet the other students streaming into the room. “You look like you have a few moves in your arsenal.”
“More than a few,
” he replied, his eyes tracking her as she breezed past.
“I look forward to seeing them.”
Frankie raced into the studio and tugged on her uncle’s hand. His intense, burning gaze dissolved into something softer and a whole lot sweeter as he bent down to fix the ribbon in her hair. The little girl waved frantically, almost knocking her uncle square in the face.
Remi waved back and began preparing for her class. It appeared she wasn’t the only one interested in the handsome newcomer. Each Allongé Barre Fitness location had a slightly different clientele. They predicted more groups of girlfriends at the new Brooklyn studio, people who were looking for a fun and relaxed atmosphere. The Midtown location had a lot of office workers seeking a pre- or post-workday stress release. And the Upper East Side studio had a lot of well-dressed women wearing designer workout gear and perfectly styled hair. But overwhelmingly, their clients were female, regardless of location.
Which meant Mr. McHottie stood out like a sore thumb. Or would that be a sexy thumb?
Focus. Pretty sure Mish wouldn’t want you fraternizing with the customers.
Her brain immediately refuted that thought. Technically, he wasn’t a customer. He was simply helping his sister out. Brownie point number one. And Mish didn’t actually have a no-fraternization policy for the studio that she was aware of.
Besides, indulging in a little eye candy was hardly cause for concern.
“If everyone can take their places at the barre, we’ll get started.” Remi waited for the class to settle. A few of the women tried to casually shuffle closer to Frankie’s uncle.
“You’re not supposed to wear shoes,” Frankie said loudly. She pointed to the sneakers on her uncle’s feet, and he looked at Remi.
The eye contact was like having a hole blown through her, and she sucked in a breath. Since when did a worldly woman like herself get all shaken up by a sexy, blue gaze? Never. Remi wasn’t a blushing wallflower by any means, but it seemed like all her carefully curated composure had melted away.
“Shoes off,” she confirmed with a nod, swallowing back the fizzing excitement that seemed determined to bubble over.
Bad Reputation Page 2
