Minutes later, I’m staring out the window of a Yellow Cab instead of the one in my apartment.
Leslie taps on her phone. “Sure you’re okay, girl?” She looks up. Though she is always busy, I sense she cares. Otherwise, why would she be here? As far as I know, none of this is part of her job description.
I suck in a breath. I’ve been sulking about the miserable turn of events at Driven for months. But now that my life has taken a 365-degree turn—one that could even involve performing—I have a whole new set of issues.
“Did Jonas really agree to dance with me? Like, he knows it’s me, right?” It’s all I’ve been thinking about since she mentioned it, and it’s still not sinking in. I’m getting lightheaded with the effort of trying to figure it out.
“Yeah, why?” Leslie is back to scrolling through her phone. “Hey, what do you think of this picture? I’m thinking it should be one of your next posts.” She holds up a to-die-for photo of a topless ballet dancer with a killer six-pack and heartbreaker eyes, holding a red rose over his...
Oh. My. Fucking. Word.
My tear ducts burn so much I have to turn away.
“I heard he wasn’t crazy about that shot. But I think it’s fantastic. The guy never posts, and he has almost as many followers as you… did.” Leslie has a serious business look on her face. Does she really have no idea who Jonas is and what he meant to me?
“Um, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s the first time I’ve been out in months, and now we’re talking about posting a revealing photo of my childhood best friend on my Instagram feed?”
It’s not just my cheeks that are on fire now. My whole body is. And that photo. Oh my god, that photo. There is no way I could even entertain the idea of dancing with Jonas in the state I’m in.
“You’re right. An Instagram Story would be fine if that makes you feel better,” Leslie ponders.
“Not particularly.” I swallow before she looks up from her phone.
“So how close were you and this childhood hottie?” Leslie cocks a mischievous brow. My whole being must be radiating red.
I may have totally humiliated myself in front of Jonas before he left for London a few years ago. The day before, I tried to kiss him, and he pulled away. Oh shit, and I asked him to pop my virginity too. Granted, I was sixteen. We’d had a few drinks. He said he couldn’t get involved because he was leaving for London and it wouldn’t be right. Maybe he had a point, but the humiliation did not burn any less. He told me he didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I’ve barely talked to him since. There’s been no reason to.
“He was like a brother to me.” The word brother does not sit well, but hopefully it stops the interrogation.
“Interesting.” She looks at me with sharp brown eyes.
The cab pulls up to Prana Kitchen in the East side. It’s the hottest vegan restaurant in town, and the celebrity chef, Dane Forest, happens to be engaged to one of Driven’s dancers. Therefore, it is absolutely the last Manhattan restaurant I want to visit. I’ve avoided everything to do with the dance company for months.
But I am so flustered over Jonas that I don’t have it in me to protest.
“I’m not dancing with him, and I am not doing that duet.”
There. I have put my foot down. And I mean it.
I step onto the busy, humid street, and the slew of traffic and pedestrians makes me dizzy.
“Okay, well, who said you need to dance anymore? Everyone knows dance careers don’t last forever…” Leslie exits the Yellow Cab after paying and joins me on the busy street. I follow her into the restaurant and we quickly snag a table in the window.
Was that supposed to be reverse psychology, like Jonas and the Stars Gala are the only options I have left? Seriously? But what if she’s right? The thought of dancing with Jonas makes blood pump to my head so hard I could burst a vein in my temple.
“What would you like to eat?” Leslie peruses the menu after a bearded hipster delivers us water in two Mason jars garnished with lemon and rosemary.
“Whatever you want.” I could care less. My stomach feels like it’s filled with wood as I cross my legs and obsess over the man I once knew better than anyone. Just seeing him would hurt in so many ways. And I couldn’t bear his sympathy over this mess I call my life. The thought of looking into his dark, stormy eyes makes me squirmy all over.
A hot guy with a black chef suit, a man bun, killer blue eyes, and a deep voice greets us. “Hey, Daniela. Natalie’s been thinking of you. I’m glad to see you out.” He places two plates on the table. One contains deep-fried Brussels sprouts with capers, drizzled aioli, and something that looks like vegan bacon bits. The other is a warm charred-kale and tomato salad. “I thought you might like to try a few specials on the house.” His full lips quirk in a seriously attractive way, and then he leaves the table to talk to another customer.
“Whoa. Now I get why people say the eye candy at Prana Kitchen is as delicious as the food.” Leslie digs into the gourmet veggies while licking her lips.
The food looks so good I can’t help dig in too.
Leslie looks at me funny. “When’s the last time you ate real food?”
“I don’t know?” I shrug and finish my plate.
Leslie keeps steering the conversation back to the Stars Gala: how incredibly significant it is and what an amazing opportunity it would be to perform with a dancer of Jonas’s caliber. She might be right, but I don’t want to hear it. It feels like the impossible.
After lunch, she lures me into a few of my old favorite boutiques, which I am less enthusiastic about. But I humor her anyway. She ends up buying me a trendy shorts jumper—for which I’m sure I will be billed later. Then I strike a dancer’s attitude pose on a tree-lined side street, and she takes a snapshot. Feeling like I have done my duty for the day, we hail a cab.
My shoulders slouch in the back seat, and my thoughts go to the place they always do: to everything that has happened, and the scandal that Cory pulled me into. It’s even worse than it sounds. It’s so bad. So deep. He ripped off the company for millions. He made a fool of me. There’s more. Maybe I didn’t love him like I should have, but he made me look like the world’s biggest idiot. Driven’s star: fallen. I haven’t been able to face anything or anyone, so how on earth will I face Jonas? He’s the only other person who has humiliated me as badly.
No. Performing with him is out of the question. Hopefully I have made that clear.
The Yellow Cab pulls up in front of my place in Brooklyn, and Leslie turns to me with a serious look in her eye. She never takes this much time out of her busy day unless it is important, and she never blows smoke. She tells it like it is. And that’s why I trust her. But I also know to brace myself for what she is about to say.
“So what’s it going to be, Daniela? Sign the contract and dance with Jonas Knight, or kiss your career goodbye?”
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About the Author
Brianna Stark writes romance with an edge. She spends her summers with her BF in a log cabin in the Pacific Northwest, where she is happiest writing. In her spare time she practices yoga, craves coffee more than she would like, and goes for walks with her three-pound Pomchi, who stops to kiss everyone. She is the author of the Driven Dance Theater series.
Also by BRIANNA STARK
CURTAIN CALL: Driven Dance Theater, Book 1
LIGHTS UP: Driven Dance Theater, Book 0
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CLOSING NIGHT: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series, Book 2 (Standalone) Page 25
