“Other things,” I echoed, and those things mattered deeply to the four of us siblings – matters of privacy.
“Then let’s go to this meeting tonight and seal the deal to bring the hottest dance show around to the hottest clubs worldwide,” he said, holding up his fist.
I bumped my fist to his. “See you in three hours.”
As I left the offices and headed to my nearby home, I drove past a billboard of the Wynn, the place that had put Shay Productions on the map three years ago when I’d choreographed a sultry extravaganza of the senses for the theater housed inside that upscale hotel. That production had enabled me to quickly build my business, to take my choreography well beyond one stage to worldwide venues.
I turned onto my block, a trendy street not far from the Strip. I drove past the organic breakfast café and the hipster coffee shop, then pulled into the parking lot of my condo. As I locked the car door, I reminded myself that if I hadn’t chased Brent to Los Angeles, I’d never have learned the truth. The truth gave me the chance to become who I was today. And my career had given me freedom and distance from the past. It had let me leave Shannon Paige-Prince and all the pain, scandal, and tragedy that came with that name far behind.
That was a dream come true.
On the way upstairs, I snagged my mail, spotting a familiar postmark that made my stomach twist—that always made my stomach twist. A letter from my mother.
History told me waiting to open it wouldn’t make it any easier to read her words. But I didn’t think I could handle it right then.
Especially when I turned it over and saw a note also scrawled on the back of the envelope. A plea.
Love you, baby, love you so much. Miss you like crazy. Miss you to the moon and the stars. Come see me soon.
The desperation in it tugged at me.
My stomach roiled, but now was not the time for this letter.
I slapped it on the kitchen table to look at later.
I showered, blow-dried my hair, and applied fresh makeup, twisting my long chestnut locks into a neat updo. I slipped into a sleek black dress that zipped up the side, then into a pair of four-inch red suede shoes with ties that went all the way up my ankles to my calves. Vegas nights could be chilly, so I grabbed a shimmery silver wrap for my shoulders.
I looked the part. I needed to look the part. I might not have been the one onstage, but I still looked like a dancer.
Hell, I still was a dancer, even if I’d never dance again the way I wanted to.
I’d gotten over the ACL tear in college that had made me change my dream.
I’d gotten over the loss of the pregnancy, the breaking of my heart.
I’d gotten over Brent.
I knew how to get over stuff. I’d done it since I was thirteen, when my father was murdered in the driveway outside my childhood home while I slept.
2
Brent
At one thousand feet, the plane started getting service again, so I tapped the screen on my phone, ready for the barrage of messages to load. Wireless had been down on the return flight from St. Barts, and I was antsy to know what I’d missed. Edge had been expanding rapidly in the last year. My company was like a busy airport with jets lined up, taking off and landing every fifteen minutes.
As the plane dipped closer to the runway in Vegas, the emails loaded onto my phone. I scanned quickly for James’s name, since my right-hand man was tasked with keeping me apprised of the latest deals, problems, and opportunities—that was what he’d done since he’d convinced me to jump ship from late-night comedy on TV to the nightclub business a few years back.
Fortunately, the email that awaited was of the opportunity variety.
Meeting tonight with Shay Productions. Should be able to sign them up.
Excellent news.
James had assembled that deal for background dancers in record time—less than one week—while I’d traveled to St. Barts.
The Caribbean club opening had gone so smoothly that I’d returned one day earlier than planned. Hearing that the next deal was falling into place was music to my ears, especially since Edge’s expansion into New York had been hitting roadblock after roadblock. I yawned as I began to reply Good luck. I hadn’t slept in my own bed in ten days, and I was ready to crash.
But I covered my mouth, stifled the yawn, and reminded myself that businesses didn’t grow if the CEO made sure he got a good night’s sleep. Edge had thrived because I’d burned the midnight oil and kept a laser focus on the company. That included meeting all my business partners when I was in town, and making sure everyone was on the same page.
The second the wheels touched down in the city I called home, I dialed James.
“Hey, where’s the meeting?” I asked as we taxied.
“SkyBar at the Waldorf Astoria,” James said in his always calm, always on-top-of-everything voice. “You keeping tabs on me?”
“Yes. Of course. I have spies everywhere.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“I’ll warn everyone, then,” I joked.
“Yeah, you do that,” he said, since we both knew he was as straitlaced as they came.
“Seriously though. I’m going to join you. I know you can handle it on your own, but when I can, I like to meet the people we’re doing business with before we sign off.”
“That’s why you’re the boss. I’m sure Shay will appreciate you taking such an interest in those finer details.”
“I’m stoked to close this deal soon.” That was what I needed—a surefire win.
Soon, I made my way off the plane after grabbing my bag from the overhead and headed down the escalator toward the terminal exit, where my regular driver waited. The black town car zipped along the highway as the sun fell below the horizon, and twenty minutes later, I’d reached home.
After a quick shower that both perked me up and washed off the remnants of cross-country travel, I pulled on jeans and a button-down, adding a tie.
I grabbed my helmet, locked the door, and hopped on my bike. As the engine purred to life, I mentally prepped for the meeting tonight with the dance company.
There’d once been a time when my life was all about dancing. Or rather, one particular woman and the way she moved.
What was Shannon up to these days? Was she still in choreography? Had she moved beyond London? Had she found a boyfriend? A husband?
The thought curdled my stomach and made me gun the engine and ride faster, the cool evening air whipping past as I drove to the hotel.
I didn’t know the answers to those questions.
Once I came up for air after our email breakup, I’d tried to track her down. I’d called her. Sent her another email. Even tried calling her brother Michael.
Her number had been disconnected.
Her email bounced back.
Her brother hadn’t taken my call.
All I could figure was I’d hurt her too much by accepting her choice so easily. I should have fought for her, and I didn’t.
Regret, thy name was Brent.
Had she moved on too? And if she had, who kissed her tears away when she received letters that tore her up? Letters she’d once asked me to open? To read?
The notion that someone else was there to do that now was like a fist in the gut.