Dancing had become my life. I enrolled in classes and practiced almost every waking moment after that. When I had joined my first class, I’d been a bit intimidated by all the other gifted dancers, but as the year went on, the teacher said I had a natural talent. I didn’t practice because I needed it, but for the pure joy I felt. I could let loose and express myself through dance and the music.
I’d met first Juliette after she’d sat down in the perfect chair to watch the others rehearse on stage—the middle seat, three rows back—the one that I had actually dubbed as mine in my head. When I walked in and saw her there that day, I stopped in my tracks.
She merely waved at me, and I’d sworn she had a sassy glint in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
I wormed my way through the aisle and pretended to sit on her lap while I asked her, “This seat taken?”
“You’re Ollie, right?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
She’d laughed and we became inseparable after that. I did indeed sit on her lap and then proceeded to promptly fall to the ground when she’d let her knees drop.
Sitting on the floor with my legs wide and my toes pointed, I leaned my body down to stretch to the right side and then to the left while my mind focused on the upcoming performance later today. But as I pushed my hair out of my face, I thought I should get it cut short again as it was starting to look a bit scruffy. Then more people filtered in, and I was called through to get changed into my costume.
5
RUTLEDGE
Marshall sat down across from me. “So, I’ve called it in, and they’ve given me a police report number, but they don’t hold much hope of finding out who did this to you. And Brenna is aware too. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said. “That’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I mostly wanted to thank the guy who’d found me. Without him, who knows …” I trailed off, feeling my eyes become glassy.
I needed more coffee before delving into my past. Stuart must have read my mind, because he brought me another cup. They both deserved an explanation, or at least some of the story. Stuart sat down too. “Now, you’ll stay here for a couple of nights and rest up.” The glance he gave Marshall wasn’t one of asking his opinion or thoughts on the matter but more of letting him know that this was the way it was.
I shook my head. “No, I couldn’t impose. Really.” Leaning forward, I let out a groan. I guess my ribs would hurt for a while. “But I do need to call Brenna.”
“Marshall can take care of that. We just want to make sure you’re okay. You need someone to be with you.” His hands moved around like an incoming hurricane. “As long as you don’t mind little cuties who might wake you up with their paws.”
“No, not at all,” I replied quietly. “They’re sweet dogs, but I really think I should go home.” I slowly started to stand up, but Stuart took my hand in an effort to pull me towards the sofa.
“Look, who’s at your place? No one, right?” He tried to reason with me. “So, we have a spare room. If truth be told, at one point that was my room.” His expression aimed at Marshall was filled with so much love and what seemed like a little lust that I had to look away.
“You’re hard to say no to,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Yeah, that’s what he said.” Stuart laughed it off and looked at Marshall, who had turned a bright shade of red.
Marshall cleared his throat. “So, yes, Rutledge, stay and rest. Oh, you can come with us to the awards show,” he added with excitement in his voice. “Carter Hamilton is nominated. You remember him, I think?”
“Yes, I do. Thanks, guys, really. Um, Since Marshall and I struck out when we went back to the hotel, I was wondering if you both could help me find any more info about that guy who helped me? I know it’s a long shot.”
“Sure, of course. Can you remember much else?” Stuart asked.
“It’s all a bit of a blur still.” I touched my lip absently when I felt it throb. “He wears make up, has a lighter complexion. Oh, and there was luggage. I remember now. A luggage tag said Abbott. I’ll let you know if I think of more. Thank you.”
“Your accent,” Stuart said, “makes me think of Chris Pine.” He had a dreamy look on his face, and I couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from me. These guys were hilarious. Even though I’d just met Stuart, like with Marshall, I knew we could become good friends.
“Yeah, I get a lot of comments about the way I speak. I love your accents. Not mine. Actually, my usual reply is that I don’t have one.”
“How did you end up here?” Stuart asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Leave him alone,” Marshall piped up. “He doesn’t need the twenty questions. At least, give him a few hours.”
“No, it’s fine. You guys have been so kind.” I stretched above my head. Ouch. Damn ribs. “I won a reality show type thing over in the States called Models Inc., and that included a modelling contract with Mayfair. So yeah, here I am. It starts out as a six-month contract, but I’m really hoping it’ll get extended afterwards.”
“And, uh, as far as family goes …” Stuart got up and squeezed Marshall’s hand. “Marshall knows all about crappy relationships, but you’re part of our chosen family now, if you want to be.”
Tears welled up and I bent my head. What had I done to deserve such kindness. There wasn’t enough gratitude in the world. “You guys. Thank you. I’m overwhelmed … but in a good way. It takes me a while to talk to people and to trust them. Marshall”—I looked to him—“I’ve been following your career, your coming out, and am still flabbergasted that I’m even talking to you.”
He came over and embraced me in a hug. “Don’t be upset. You’ve had a lot happen recently. But we’re here for you.” He looked me in the eyes. “So if you want to talk, talk. If not, we get it.”
“Thanks, I think I’ll go lie down again. Sorry to be a party pooper.” Stuart walked down the hall and pointed to a door, letting me know it was the bathroom, and then opened a door to the left, which was the room I must have already slept in before.
“Take your time. Make yourself at home. The only ones who might bother you are Jess and Lola.”
“No worries.” I thanked him profusely again to which he reassured me was not necessary. I tossed and turned in the bed, restless.
The next day, at least I think it was, time had become a strange combination of standing still and moving too fast. I noticed my phone was on the nightstand. It had a crack down the middle, but at least it seemed to still work and the screen was readable. Picking it up brought strange emotions. I knew it wasn’t a person or a pet or anything like that, but I’d thought they’d stolen it or it had ended up in a dumpster or just had been lost forever in the darkness of night. Relief washed over me, simply knowing it was here and in my hands.
And then I saw the missed call list. My father. Twelve times. Considering I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, I had to wonder what brought this on. I’d need to work up to calling him back. The last time we’d talked had ended up with him screaming and ranting into the phone while I put it on speaker and did push-ups. Confrontation was my worst nightmare, and yet he could bring it out in me if I let him. I knew that was what he wanted in order to coerce me into say horrible things, things which he’d immediately use against me at every opportunity for me to regret.
It was the day of awards show. I got up and looked in the mirror, and while there were still some marks on my face, they looked faint. I had high hopes that the makeup artist could work his magic when I walked into the Mayfair Models’ office. I’d also grab a suit there or something formal for Carter’s big night. Marshall took me under his wing and we went together to the wardrobe fitting area.
“This is Carter and his boyfriend, Jamieson,” Marshall introduced me. Jamieson wore tight black fitted jeans and a casual shirt with a long thin tie.
“Good to see you. Wow, I love your style,” I told Jamieson.
He glan
ced up at Carter and they both laughed. “See, I’m the hot one here with the new young models. Move over, Carter.” Carter smirked at him, obviously knowing Jamieson was joking.
“Oh, sorry. Shit,” I said under my breath. “Congratulations on your nomination, Carter. It must be exciting for you.” I twisted one leg around the other and just about fell over. Luckily, Jamieson caught me.
He must have gotten a close-up of my face because he looked worried. “What happened there?” he ventured.
I was too nervous to speak. I could hardly think about it again. The last two nights, I’d woken to nightmares of those guys kicking me harder, bruising me more intensely, treating me like their very own punching bag.
Marshall had to swoop in and save the day again, and I felt like an absolute idiot. “Some guys beat him up the other night. Luckily, a kind stranger found him and made sure he was okay, and then got a hold of me.”
I waited for the belittlement or laughter or a verbal lecture about how I should have been stronger and tried harder to get away, or how it was my fault and I probably provoked my attackers somehow. That’s all I’d heard at every turn growing up.
Jamieson and Carter both walked up beside me and a warm feeling settled in my belly when they hugged me close. “That’s just terrible. What fucking jerks.”
I let out a deep breath. I’d known my dad was shitty with the way he treated me, but to experience the complete opposite felt incredible. These guys were there for me and they barely knew who I was. “Thanks, guys. I’m hoping makeup can work their magic.”
“Okay, let’s go get you ready.” Lacing their arms through mine, we walked together to the hair and makeup area.
After that, I was reacquainted with Antoni, the wardrobe manager. I’d met him a few times before. He was so over the top with his mannerisms that you couldn’t help but smile.
“Hmm, you want a three-piece suit?” He eyed me up from head to toe. All I had on was dark denim jeans and a black tank top. “No, no that won’t do.” He tapped the side of his nose and was about to run away.
“Uh, maybe something like Jamieson? I like his style,” I said. I didn’t know what came over me. I hardly ever voiced my opinion, usually agreeing with whatever someone else wanted. Maybe coming to the United Kingdom was another new chapter in my life, like the television show had been.
“Earth to Rutledge,” I heard, along with a clearing of someone’s throat.
“Oh, sorry, I was in my own world there.” I stood up straighter.
“I was saying that I do think an edgier look would work well for you. Still formal for an awards show but not too buttoned up like an aristocrat.”
I was whisked away and unceremoniously stripped down to my boxer shorts; then, there was pulling and prodding and admiring of my torso. Antoni was a hoot.
“Oh my, no wonder they swooped in and grabbed you. Have you seen the definition?” Looking down stupidly at my own abs, he called to someone else I didn’t know. “Keating!” Antoni was always scurrying about with an air of urgency. A young guy, who was probably around twenty, a couple of years younger than me, emerged from a far corner. Despite his young age, he was everything I wasn’t: outgoing, full of confidence, and a chatterbox—a younger version of Antoni. In fact, he looked like he’d mirrored Antoni’s style and had on a waistcoat and long sleeve shirt—cufflinks and all. “My, my, another delight.” Bouncing up and down, almost giddy, he rushed to the rack of clothes near the far wall and then reappeared.
As if I wasn’t even present, they discussed me like I was their favourite cut of meat. When I laughed to myself, Keating took notice and winked at me. While I wouldn’t deny I was flattered, I felt like I was too awkward or too inexperienced.
I quickly became very focused on the job at hand. “So, do I get a say in what I try on?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Get in there, and we’ll hand you stuff.”
Antoni laughed as Keating shoved me behind a curtain. I wasn’t entirely sure what the point of the curtain was anyhow since they walked in whenever they felt like it.
About ten outfits later, I checked my hair in the full-length mirror and then strutted out in grey fitted jeans and an untucked collared shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and I added a gold-and-blue bow tie, even though they hadn’t suggested it.
“Twirl.”
“Now sashay.”
Directions were coming at me from all angles. I did as they requested, and then heard Keating. “Yep, that’s it.” He came over to me and flattened down a non-existent crease, over and over, near the buttons. “You look fabulous, dear.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Then I joined the rest of the Mayfair team in the conference room. Carter was there, and Marshall, along with several of the other models I’d worked with a few times. Brenna was there, too, looking stunning. A gentleman who I knew was part of the management group stood up. “Thank you all for being here. Win or lose, we are all here to honour Carter Hamilton and his nomination. It is a big night for Mayfair and for Carter.”
Carter got up and took a bow as we all clapped. “Thank you, everyone. I’m excited for this. Now let’s enjoy the night.”
I followed Marshall as we all got in the limo to take us to the venue where we’d enjoy a lovely dinner before the ceremony. Stuart and Jamieson were there, and I tried not to feel like the third wheel—or fifth, I guessed.
As soon as I sat down, I congratulated Carter again. I was never any good at small talk, but I’d try my best. Maybe some liquid courage would help. I ordered a scotch on the rocks, and Carter nudged me. “What are you, like eighty?”
I slightly smiled and shrugged it off, wanting to push the attention away from myself. “So, how did you two meet?” I asked him and Jamieson. They both sighed in unison.
“They had this love-slash-hate thing going on for a while,” Marshall piped up. “Stuart and I like to think we played some part in getting them together.”
“Eventually,” Stuart added, then laughed.
As Carter looked ready to tell a different version, the lights died down, and everyone clapped at all the right times. We were all patiently waiting for Carter’s award. When his name was announced, along with the other nominees, I held my breath even though it wasn’t anything to do with me.
Carter stood up, then hugged and kissed Jamieson after they’d announced he was the winner of Fashion Icon of the Year. We all cheered and whistled while he walked up and onto the stage. It was a wonderful moment. When he returned, beaming ear to ear, we all offered our congratulations again.
“Uh, Marshall”—I tapped on his shoulder—“sorry to disturb you, but can I, uh, grab a ride home with you guys.” Almost sounding too desperate, I added, “Don’t leave me to find my way.” I thought back to the man who’d saved me again. Why hadn’t I gotten his name, or any other info about him? How lucky was I that he came to my rescue. I let out a sigh. “I don’t want to sound—”
Marshall patted my leg. “Of course we aren’t leaving without you. If you’d like, I can introduce you to some people.”
6
OLLIE
Juliette and I were on the train back to London, so I took out my laptop to check some makeup websites. I loved watching the tutorials. I also must have gotten distracted and ordered some neon-pink hair colour. Then my phone rang on the table where I’d placed it earlier.
Juliette giggled as I answered it.
“Mr. Abbott,” a posh voice came across the line.
“Yes, hello.” I wasn’t sure who was calling.
“It’s the Orion Hotel. A phone charger was found in your hotel room. We can mail it out, unless you’d like to come pick it up?”
“I could come by. I’ll try to within the week. Thank you.” Then I tapped End on the call and entered it in my Notes app as a reminder.
Overhead the train let us know we’d be coming into our stop soon. I packed up all my stuff and followed Juliette off the train, then we took a cab to the flat we shared in Brixton. It
wasn’t anything lavish, but it worked for us. We could conveniently get to the theatre in the West End, where I spent most of my time anyway.
Juliette and I practiced, performed, and taught at the great warehouse that was full of history. We almost spent more time there than at home.
The Castell Institute had originated in London in 1912. Dancers from around the world were honoured to perform there. Mr. Castell had once owned the building and used it to run a textile factory. His wife would teach dance lessons in the living room of their modest house. When Mr. Castell’s business was slow, he would move the machines and equipment to the side of the large warehouse and let the ever-growing enrolment of dancers practice there.
Sadly he passed away and his wife couldn’t keep the textile business going any longer. Still, Mrs. Castell continued offering dance lessons and while she was strict, she was fair. Soon after her husband’s death, she took his life insurance money and turned the warehouse into a dance institute.
Over the years, the highly regarded Castell Institute was given a reputation for producing the most elite dancers. And the rest was history, as they’d say.
“Glad to be home.” I dropped my duffle bag and dramatically collapsed on the couch, but I immediately got up and walked over to the kitchen, then put water in the kettle to make us some tea.
“Oh, poor baby. Don’t you have tomorrow off?” She tapped her nose. “Right, it’s you. Do you ever take time off?”
“Practicing doesn’t count. I might go down to the school and do that. Plus, I have my men.”
“Fucking your way through London or, should I say, the whole United Kingdom doesn’t count.”
Rutledge (Mayfair Model Series Book 3) Page 3
