“Nice of you to finally join us,” Dirk muttered dryly upon approaching. “I was about to bring in your backup.”
My lip twitched at the corner, my chest prickling with contempt for a man I hated more than I was ever allowed to admit. “No need. We can begin now.” I circled a hand through the air as I bowed in a gesture for him to continue with the auditions, a move intended to rile him up the way he’d tried to rile me.
His eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s changed, has it, Bash?” He kept his voice low enough so that only I could pick up his words. “Four years, and you’re still living in the past.”
As he leaned in, I swore if so much as his breath touched my skin, I would swing.
“There’s still time for you to run home to New York,” Dirk said, testing me again. “I’m sure you’ve got better things—er, people—to do.”
“And you’re still trying to call the shots without me.” I adjusted my eyes down to my fingers as I tested some chords. “When are you going to learn? This show happens with me, or it doesn’t happen at all.”
His hand curled around the top of the piano. “There he is. The punk who didn’t deserve Broadway, showing his true colors.”
Heat crept up my back as I rested my fingers on the keys. “You know what they say, Dick. You can take the bad boy off Broadway, but he’ll only adapt to his surroundings. The show must go on, and like it or not, it’s not going anywhere without me.”
I met his eyes with a challenge, cocking my lip up to let him know this was only the beginning. He might have started the war, but I was determined to finish it—and I’d do it my way.
Chapter 3
Kai
One thing I loved about studying dance at Gravity was the diversity that traversed the halls and studios. The talent was immense, and with dancers from all over the world finding their second home there, just like I had, it made for a small familial community that challenged me at every step. While the lot of us were highly competitive, with tunnel vision leading directly toward our dreams, we also had great respect for our fellow dancers and wanted them to succeed too.
That was the thing with dance. It wasn’t always about attaining the same skills to fight for one top position. We were fighting every single day to better ourselves, push ourselves, carving our own paths in the industry.
We’d finished choreography over an hour before, and they had just started calling girls in to perform solos for the directors and producers. Since they were going in the order we’d all walked in, I knew I would get called last, so I took advantage of the extra time.
With earbuds drowning out the backstage activity, I tried to focus on the steps in front of a long mirror. It was one of the more technically taxing routines I’d ever learned for an audition, with a jazz flair that put on a twist I’d never seen in traditional Broadway. Like always, the challenge fueled me, only making me work harder.
The backstage assistant, whose name I learned was Rhonda, smiled in my direction, catching me midroutine. I took out my earbuds when I saw her mouthing something.
“Kai Ashley. You’re up, sweetheart.”
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before following her to the stage, where another dancer was jogging past me, looking blotchy and flustered.
Worry could have easily crept into my mind just then. Worry that I would leave the stage looking just like her. Worry that I would fail to meet the judges’ expectations. Or worry that the man behind the piano would somehow creep into my mind at the wrong moment, making me freeze like I had on the street.
But worry could go screw itself. This isn’t the time for any of that. It definitely wasn’t the time to let some asshole in black ruin a good job opportunity. That was the conclusion I’d come to as I fell in love with the choreography over the course of the past few hours. I might not have had the right experience for the role, but it felt right. And it would pay the bills.
I stepped out to center stage and found the tape marker on the floor. Looking up, I scanned the panel of judges, noting their expressions, which showed wear from hours of watching the same routine. Boredom was written all over their faces. It gave me hope. Maybe they hadn’t yet found what they were looking for.
Dirk nodded to the band, which prompted them to shift into position and wait for the vocal track to start up over the speakers. Apparently, Sebastian would be singing in the live shows but not today since he was “saving his voice,” as I’d overheard him tell the director. And I could only imagine that if this was the energy produced from a small band with a low-quality vocal track, then the full theatrical version would be incredible.
The first four eight-counts consisted of a sloppy walk forward, each step in time with a strum of an electric guitar. I hit each move as if the music was coming from inside of me—thrumming, vibrant, just a tease of what was to come.
Each move lingered with each fading note until the next move came, and then I’d hit that one harder than the first. Everything was building. The fire in me was growing. Then the drums came in, quadrupling the rhythm until the song transitioned into a fast rock beat.
I felt like I was in the front row of a concert, getting thrashed around in a mosh pit. My knee crossed my body as I picked myself up into relevé, then I was stomping my feet and whipping my head, every move perfectly in sync with the music.
WATCH: Kiwi
For the last move, I sank to my knees and fell to the side, sliding my palms along the floor as the final note faded out. I couldn’t help the laugh that shook through me at the pure energy of it all. Nothing was more intoxicating than the confidence I got from performing. Executing choreography as if it was my own wasn’t something that came naturally to me early in my career. I trained my ass off before ever learning how to let go and let the music drive me.
Dance wasn’t just the execution of perfectly timed steps. Dance was about expressing the steps, which I knew I’d just nailed. I hadn’t felt like that in an audition in a long time.
My eyes were wide, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Suddenly, I’d never wanted a role more in my life. It didn’t matter that I was unfamiliar with the story and all the contractual obligations I’d be bound to once I had all the details. All I knew was that I wanted more of whatever had just happened up there on that stage. I needed more of it.
I waited for the panel to address me, but they weren’t coming up for air any time soon. They were bent over, whispering to each other, while I tried desperately to avoid the pair of eyes lasering me from behind the piano at the front corner of the stage. I didn’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of a single glance. I wanted to forget that he was there or at least make him think I had forgotten.
But despite my best efforts, I was running out of places to glance while I awaited word from the powers that be. My focus fell lazily toward the piano, where I could feel the strength of his gaze intensifying by the moment. His pull was too strong, and the longer I forced my gaze away from the inevitable, the tighter the imaginary rubber band he’d wrapped me in stretched and stretched.
Until it snapped.
My gaze collided with his.
His signature smugness was gone. I was caught in his electric web, arresting and far too complicated to mean anything good. Amusement lit his eyes, but it wasn't the type of amusement that was laughing at me.