I made it. No one will see me back here, but I made it.
A gray-haired man with a striking baby face, stark blue eyes, and thick sideburns clapped his hands as he looked back at all six rows of us. “Welcome, dancers. My name is Dirk Lane, and I am one of the two creators of the Angst and Grace musical production.” His eyes darted around the room, annoyance flitting subtly across his expression, before settling back on us. “You’ll meet my partner as soon as he arrives. Until then, I want to thank you all for being here, as I know that the publicized details omitted certain information.” He flashed another grin. “Since the show has not been announced to the public, we were forced to keep information at a minimum.”
I looked around at the other dancers, wondering if they were as surprised as I was. Most of the eyes in the room stayed on the man, but I definitely wasn’t the only one shifting in their skin. He’d mentioned Angst and Grace, the failed Broadway production. It had lasted only three months before ending its run, which had never made any sense to me. The reviews I’d seen throughout its duration were stellar.
“For those of you unaware of the story of Angst and Grace,” Dirk went on to explain, “it’s a musical told strictly through dance and music. It’s a love triangle that tells the story of a starving artist, Angst, who meets his muse, Grace, while he’s trapped in a relationship with the wrong woman, Desire. Throughout their friendship, Grace helps Angst see true love, but nothing comes easy for these two. Not when Desire will do anything for the sake of the limelight. Angst has an internal struggle. Is he bad? Is he good? Each woman represents a side of him, and only one side can win in the end.”
As a round of applause burst from everyone onstage, Dirk smiled and took it all in. “Thank you. We’re quite proud of this story. There’s a great message there, and with an original score composed by one of Broadway’s favorite leading men himself, we are eager to get Angst and Grace back on the stage.”
Dirk looked around the room again, turned to a short man with dark curly hair beside him, and whispered something close to his ear. The man shook his head and shrugged. Dirk faced us again, his smile so tight that discomfort settled in my gut.
“Moving on,” he said with a clap of his hands. “While the production is no longer on Broadway, we have a unique opportunity, the details of which will be disclosed upon a job offer. All that we ask of those who wish to audition is that you be free from contractual obligations now and in the near future, as the opportunity we are offering is, at minimum, seven months from the time we start rehearsing.”
His words were met with eager nods.
“Now,” Dirk said, “feel free to leave if you don’t like what you just heard.”
He looked around the room and paused a moment as his eyes caught on something behind me. I couldn’t miss the chill that swept the air around me with that look.
Just as quickly, Dirk’s expression transitioned to a tight smile, and he glanced around the room again. “Okay, then. I’d like to introduce you to my co-producer and the Broadway superstar himself. Put your hands together for the legendary piano man, Sebastian Chase.”
That was the moment all the little clues from my morning suddenly clicked. My insides turned to ice as I swiveled around, where a figure dressed all in black emerged from the backstage shadows. My gut sank as the man who’d almost ruined my entire audition—the asshole on the bike—stepped forward, a naturally smug grin on his face.
As much as I’d love to say that look wasn’t pointed at me, I couldn’t make any promises, especially since his twinkling eyes were filled with amusement… and staring right back into mine.
Chapter 2
Sebastian
My lip twitched as I stifled a full-on laugh. I was walking by the familiar woman in the back row—the one from the street, with the uptight bun in her hair and the pink ballet tights beneath the extra prissy skirt wrapping her trim waist. Earlier, she’d looked like she had arrived for a Nutcracker audition rather than a modern jukebox show. But, damn, she could scrub up well.
The look she had now, with her hair falling in waves around her shoulders, knockers pushed into her small top, black fishnets pulled up to her trim waist, and cheeky jean shorts wrapping her naughty hips—much better. I’d done her a favor by forcing her into a wardrobe change, but I was sure she would never see it that way.
This version of her I wouldn’t have missed on that curb. I might have even avoided that puddle.
Okay, I would never have splashed her on purpose. As funny as that was, I wasn’t the type of bloke who would go out of his way to Shamu a woman for attention.
In my defense, I hadn’t seen her standing on the curb when I took that corner far too wide. Like her, I was running late. Not until the damage was done, her outfit was soaked, and I was parking my bike did I see her in all her pissed-off glory.
Shit, was she pissed off. And the fact that she stood there expecting an apology from me told me not to give her one—not a real one, anyway. Why should I? It was an accident. Pink Tights could manage.
I strolled by her, purposely walking a little too close so that I could speak quietly enough for only her to hear—wouldn’t want any of the others getting jealous. “Nice outfit, love.”
My gaze held hers as she squirmed. Her eyes narrowed and her posture became as stiff as I’d gotten a minute before when I thought about how wet and angry she’d gotten earlier. Then she flipped her long dark hair to exaggerate her disgust for me, and a watermelon-bubblegum scent caught in my nose. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rose to attention.
A chuckle erupted in my gut, but I waited until my back was to her to release it. She reminded me of sweet innocence, the kind I wanted to root—fuck—just to teach her a few lessons in what the world was really like. It wasn’t all bubblegum and ballerinas, which she clearly had yet to find out. But she would, and unfortunately, it wouldn’t be with me.
Fucking some wannabe actress-slash-dancer was not something I’d ever do. But fucking with her? That would be my pleasure. It was already proving to be my entertainment while I prepared to suffer through a full day of bullshit auditions.
Auditions were the mind-numbing process where Broadway hopefuls appeared in front of a panel of judges who had already seen it all and tried to outshine everyone in the room. That day was no different. I was just the piano man they brought in to make the possibility of a shitty job on a shitty musical more appealing.
The hook? They would have the opportunity to work with some of Broadway’s greatest. Like me.
The only reason I showed up to take part in this eye-rolling process was because Dirk refused to use the background track I’d created ages ago. He wanted a live band during auditions, and I didn’t trust anyone else to sing my songs. No way—my music, my show. I didn’t need some twerp pianist coming in to replace me.
So there I was, at Gravity, in our rented rehearsal space, strolling to the front of the room without rewarding Dirk with so much as a glance. I was late, which wasn’t something I made a habit of, but the complex was much bigger than I’d imagined. Finding my way through the maze of narrow hallways had turned out to be a feat of its own. I sat on the bench of a grand piano that looked inward toward the stage—the size was a joke compared to the venue we had rented in New York City—and waited.