Reese couldn’t breathe, her skull closing in on itself.
Leo laughed. “You have her mistaken for someone else, Dad.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I spent a year whittling down entrants to my annual contest. By the time I choose my winners, I know their weaknesses, eye color, their competition background. A little over two weeks ago, this girl right here, Reese Stratton, if I’m not mistaken, missed her audition.”
“A little over two weeks ago,” Leo repeated, his gaze ticking to Reese. “Is he…is that right? Did you?”
She pushed the words past stiff lips. “Can we talk somewhere, please?”
The realization that his father was telling the truth washed over Leo’s face and he rocked back on his heels, saying nothing for a moment. “I guess we better,” he rasped, stalking past Reese to the door, leaving her to follow in his wake.
Reese followed on shaky legs, finding Leo outside on the sidewalk. “Leo…”
“You clearly weren’t in my bakery by coincidence.” His stare was penetrating, not a hint of its usual warmth. “Start there.”
His harshness almost buckled her knees, but she forced her chin to rise.
You had this coming. Suck it up.
Reese nodded, folding her hand in front of her waist. “I missed the audition of a lifetime. I was desperate. And…and I’d read an article about Bernard Bexley having a son. It mentioned the Cookie Jar in the piece and I thought maybe you’d help me get a second chance…” All at once the wind left her. “Oh God, this all sounds so terrible saying it out loud.”
“Maybe because it is, Reese.” He closed his eyes, as if bracing. A scattering of seconds blew by. “Is this real? Did you even…like me? Or has this all been for show?”
“Leo,” she whispered, shaken, her stomach roiling. “How can you ask me that? I liked you the second we met. That’s why I couldn’t ask you for anything. That’s why I tried to walk away—”
“Even after everything I told you. About Tate Dillinger,” he said, not really hearing her. She could see that. His emotions were in control and she couldn’t blame him. “You were just waiting around for the right opportunity. God, you must have been laughing at me.”
The genuine hurt on his face stole her breath. “No, Leo. It isn’t like that.”
“Oh no?” His voice dropped in volume. “Would we have met if you didn’t want a shot at meeting my father, too?”
Her pulse pumped in her ears. “No. We wouldn’t have met. Not initially. But, Leo…” The lump in her throat wouldn’t allow her to swallow. She didn’t know where to start. How to clarify her motives. How to make him understand why she’d done what she’d done. “I was going to tell you everything tonight. Please believe me.”
“Why should I? You came to my bakery with the intention of using me.” He laughed without humor, raking a hand through his hair. “Hold on. Why did you need to audition for my father? You have a job.” The delivery of his words slowed toward the end, probably thanks to her slow, outward cringe. “You’re not in the Daliah’s Folly chorus line. Are you?” A sound puffed out of him, his gaze shuttering, closing her out. He turned away from her, paced a few feet away. “Well at least it makes sense now. Why you didn’t want me to watch you perform. You weren’t performing at all. Jesus, what have you been doing this whole time?”
Her lips were stiff. “Open calls. Classes. Anything I could find.”
Visibly, he recalled their time together, piecing everything together right before her eyes. “All those times I set your alarm so you could make the curtain call?”
What could she say to that? Nothing. She had no defense against his disgust. His anger. The center of her chest was going to cave in. It hurt so badly, she pressed a fist there to keep it from splitting down the center. “I had two weeks, Leo. It’s all I could afford and I just…I don’t know, I didn’t want you to think of me as a failure. As the girl who gets cut at every open call. It takes a bite out of me every time. Every. Time. It’s painful and personal.”
Leo shook his head, only seeming to partially process her words. “The fact that you were going to use me…the fact that you lied so easily—”
“Not easily,” she stressed. “Not at all.”
“—that’s the opposite of who I thought you were. God, I’m a fucking idiot.” He started to walk away, but came back, the lines around his mouth pulled taut. “I’d rather be an idiot than a liar, though. That’s what you are. Good luck with your next victim.”
“Leo, stop,” she implored, running after him. “I’m the idiot. I never imagined you’d find out like that. It was supposed to come from me. You have every right to hate me, but…”
He was only walking faster and she couldn’t keep up. Not in her heels. And not with the weight of disappointment and failure and shame pressing down on her shoulders. She tripped to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, laughing revelers passing her on both sides, their joy the antithesis to her heartbreak. This searing pain in her middle was nothing short of what she deserved. Having to live with his hurt and Leo’s parting words ringing in her ears was the price she paid for deceiving him. She’d let it go way too far without coming clean. She was at fault. He had every right to walk away without a backward glance.
And with nothing left keeping her in the city, with shame biting at her heels, Reese could only stumble blindly downtown toward her building, her fingers fumbling on the screen of her phone to book a bus ticket back to Wisconsin. As soon as possible.
Chapter 19
Leo pounded his fist into the dough, leaving dents in the shape of his knuckles.
He’d come straight to the Cookie Jar after walking away from Reese, losing himself in the routine of pastry making. Seeing the color drain from her face over and over again when she realized she’d been caught. Hearing her voice implore him to stop—that got to him most of all. What the hell did she care? Why ask him to come back? Wasn’t it obvious she wasn’t going to get what she wanted? He’d been right to be wary of dancers. They were all the goddam same. Always looking for a way ahead, ready to step on necks to get there.
He left the dough to prove and moved on to the next task, refusing to pause, jumping from one job to the other. If he stopped, he would have to acknowledge the gaping hole in the center of his chest. The place where his fucking heart had been ripped out. Hours and hours he’d spent with Reese, falling in love, even becoming a better person, a better business owner. How the hell could she have been misleading him?
And after all of this, how could he still miss her so much? Want her like his body was going to crumble without the sensation of her face pressing into his neck?
With a hard swallow, Leo lifted his head, finding himself standing in the supply room with no memory of walking there. Right in front of him on the shelf sat the small sack of French cocoa powder. His throat burned at the sight of it. Clear as day, he could see Reese walking into the bakery with it as a peace offering after the second time she’d blown him off.
Leo’s hand paused on its way to picking up the French powder.
The last week of his life had been so perfect, he’d forgotten about the struggle at the beginning with Reese. Getting her to agree to a date had been almost impossible. That first evening, she’d run out the bakery without even leaving her number.
After he’d made his distrust of dancers blatantly obvious…she’d left.
He’d been the one to go find her days later. Ask her out. And she’d said no. He could still see her standing outside the theater, flushed from dancing, hair blowing across her mouth.
I-I’m trying to channel all of my energy into my reason for being in the city, you know? I have to eat sleep and breathe dancing to be competitive.
As much as I like you, I just…I can’t say yes.
In the end, she’d never used him, had she? Did she really spend the last two weeks doing open calls to avoid that very thing?
Leo’s gut started to burn.
He backed out of the supply room witho
ut getting what he came for, stopping in front of his work table and propping himself up on two fists.
Every second with Reese came back to him in a colorful, endless ribbon of film, beginning and ending with her dancing in Bryant Park, so achingly beautiful she’d slayed him where he stood. She’d been good enough to get an audition with his father. A good showing would have guaranteed her career. Missing it would have been devastating. More than enough to make her consider doing something out of character. And still she’d changed her mind, trying to make it on her own. Did she succeed? He never even asked. Only accused her of lying.
Which she had.
He had to remember that. But…
I had two weeks, Leo. It’s all I could afford.
His pulse rapped against his temples. At the very least, he should have stayed outside the fucking restaurant and heard her out. He’d put her in the same category as Tate Dillinger and that…the more he chewed over the situation, the more that didn’t feel right. Not at all.
Leo took off his apron and tossed it away, finding his keys and leaving through the side exit, surprised to find the sun already coming up. Jesus. How much time had passed since he’d left Reese? Left those shitty words hanging in the air between them?
He jogged to the corner and waved down a yellow, not wanting to lose time walking, even though it was a short distance to her building. He didn’t remember the exact address, only the avenue and cross street, so he relayed that information to the driver, falling back against the seat, his jugular squeezed in an invisible fist. Dread was trying to edge its way into his bones, but he wouldn’t let it. They’d talk about this. He’d listen to her side of the story.
There’s always someone better. I’m just…I can barely keep up. That’s the truth.
Reese’s confession from over a week ago echoed in his head.
Her side of the story was important. That much was obvious. And he wanted to know it. He wanted to go back to last night and fucking listen, instead of storming off. What was the matter with him? She’d been on the verge of tears, yet so accepting of his anger. Like she knew she deserved it. Why did that make him want to tear out his hair?
The cab pulled to a stop at the corner and Leo swiped his credit card through the payment terminal, his fingers numb as he punched the buttons. Barely sunrise, there was no one on the sidewalk when he left the cab, striding quickly to her building and entering the vestibule, caught in the chin by memories of the last time he was there. How she’d wanted to avoid him coming upstairs. Was there more to the story that he was missing? He was going to find out. He needed to know everything.
Right after he apologized for walking away. For saying such hurtful things.
Every second that passed with that last encounter between them was painful.
LaRue.
He scanned the buzzers for the name of her landlord, the French woman she’d mentioned the day she gifted him the cocoa powder—and there it was. Sixth floor. He was probably going to catch hell for buzzing the door so early, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he could wait for a decent hour. He needed to see Reese now. Immediately. Nothing felt right. Nothing.
A tired voice came through the speaker, threaded with static.
“Oui?”
“I’m here to see Reese Stratton. I’m her boyfriend. Is she home?”
No answer. But the door beeped after a second and Leo went, pushing inside the building and punching the call button for the elevator, relieved when it opened right away. Was he imagining her scent lingering in the air? The sweet familiarity of it twisted something inside of him until he could barely walk straight off the elevator.
When he stepped out, there was a woman waiting in the hallway with her arms crossed. “She is not here.”
“What?” Cold coated his skin. “I don’t…why did you buzz me up?”
“Your girlfriend. She left all of her shit behind. I don’t want to deal with it.” She jabbed a finger in his direction, disappearing into the apartment. “You will deal with it. Come.”
Body chilled, head on fire, Leo had no choice but to follow the woman inside. If Reese wasn’t there, where was she? Was she safe? Jesus, why did he leave her like that?
The apartment was well furnished, a nice view of the avenue via a balcony. But he didn’t see anything right off the bat that called Reese to mind. These drab antiques couldn’t have been further from her style. Reese was fresh, optimistic, creative, provocative, nostalgic. None of those things were represented here…and the dread inside of him multiplied.
“Come,” the French woman said briskly. “Her room is this way.”
Room. Okay, she was renting a room. Not unusual in this city. Also, a good explanation for not inviting him upstairs after their date. Still, wouldn’t the lack of privacy have been a good reason to spend the night at his place? She’d never stayed. Not once. Always holding that final piece of herself back. Out of guilt for lying? Or self-preservation, knowing he’d condemn her when the truth came out?
Leo’s pulse pounded at the base of his neck as he advanced into the room indicated by the landlady, his brain taking a moment to process what it was seeing. “This is not it,” he croaked, taking in the discarded dance shoes, forgotten in the corner. “Tell me this is not where she’s been sleeping. On a…a beanbag chair? You can’t even fit a bed in here.”
“I slept in worse when I came to New York City years ago. It’s safe and clean. That is the important thing. Dancers are resilient. The girl was resilient.” LaRue paused, seeming to view the closet through fresh eyes. “It surprised me that she left.”
Leo could barely hear over the rushing in his ears, his horror only allowing him to kneel down and pick up her shoes, turning them over in his hands, wincing over the blood stains in the heels of each one of them. To his right, there was a stack of magazines, newspaper and printouts from the Internet, open calls circled, crossed out. Dozens of them.
This girl had been killing herself.
Absolutely running herself ragged, living in this depression closet, and she’d still shown up to see him every day with a smile, with hope in her eyes. She’d opted for this instead of using him. Instead of asking him for help.
That spoke to her character a lot more than her lying, didn’t it?
Who wouldn’t lie about being this desperate to someone they liked?
Why wouldn’t she feel compelled to keep her rejections to herself? How hard that must have been, day in and day out. And to come back to this…?
Christ, he needed to find her. Hold her.
Why did she leave her dance shoes there? Was she giving up?
No. No, fuck that. Not on his watch.
Leo surged to his feet. “You said she left this stuff behind. Where did she go?”
“She’s Wisconsin-bound, Bexley,” said a voice behind Leo. He turned to find a vaguely familiar girl coming through a door on the other side of the hallway, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “She was going to catch the next bus at Port Authority.” She craned her neck. “Are any of those shoes a size six?”
Leo tore out of the apartment with his heart in his mouth, forgoing the elevator for the stairs, already pulling the phone out of his pocket and calling Reese. Straight to voicemail.
No. No no no, she couldn’t be gone.
She couldn’t have just left.
There were solutions to their problem. He’d had them the whole goddamn time. She’d never asked. She was never planning to, was she? She was just going to try until she couldn’t afford it anymore? But two weeks wasn’t enough time to make a career happen. Not for the majority of dancers, let alone people aspiring to any profession. Didn’t she know that?
Leo hailed another yellow, burying his head in his hands in the backseat, his organs seized up inside of him. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. He tried calling her again, got her voicemail again and almost smashed a fist through the window. Thankfully, at this time of the morning, traffic wasn’t gridlocked yet and they made
it to Port Authority in five minutes. This time, Leo threw cash at the driver and booked it, searching through gritty eyes for an information booth. Anything.
“Where would I find a bus to Wisconsin?” he asked a woman in a red vest. “Cedarburg.”
“Follow the signs for the departure terminal,” the person replied, pointing. “What bus line are you looking for? Greyhound or…”
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, plowing his fingers through his hair.
The woman seemed to pick up on his distress. “I’m pretty sure there’s a group down there now waiting to depart. Terminal nine. It would be going to Philly first—”
Leo was already running, dodging people with suitcases to propel himself down the escalator, sweeping the massive lower floor for Reese. There was no group actively waiting to board a bus. Was he in the right place?
He would never be sure what caused him to turn around and move the opposite direction, past the escalator blocking his view. Maybe it was sense of Reese being close. Whatever the reason, through the glass, he spotted her. Waiting in a line outside to board a bus, purple coat pulled tightly around her body, suitcase in hand.
Relief almost capsized him.
“Reese!” Leo shouted her name and forced his unsteady limbs to move, to go to her, throwing himself out the door into the dark, windy underpass. “Reese.”
She whipped around, her expression astonished. “Leo?”
“You’re still here. Thank God, you’re still here.” Pulse going a thousand miles an hour, he took the suitcase out of her hand and set it away, out of her reach. “Enough of this. You’re coming home with me.”
“What?” she sputtered. “No. I’m not. I’m going home. My home.”
“This is your home,” he growled, taking her by the arms, aching so deeply he could barely get a breath. “I’m your home, Reese. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for last night. I was an asshole.”
“No.” Her disbelief was obvious. “No, you weren’t. You were right.”
Trying to stave off the mounting dread, Leo pulled her closer. “You’ve been sleeping in that tiny room, working yourself to the bone. Bleeding for this. All so you wouldn’t have to ask me for a favor, Reese. I can forgive the lying, all right? I understand why you felt you needed to. Just don’t get on that bus. Please.”
The Sweetest Fix Page 16
