Who broke my trust.
There.
That was the reminder.
I let go of his hand like it was on fire.
James tilted his head to the side and gestured from Brent to me, curiosity etched in his eyes. “Brent, you’ve been holding out on me. Do you two know each other?”
Worry gripped me instantly, breaking the moment. Would Brent feel tricked or hoodwinked that I was the face behind Shay Productions? I gulped and parted my lips to answer.
But Brent jumped first. “We both went to school in Boston, I believe. Isn’t that right, Shay?”
“Yes,” I squeaked, breathing easier. He seemed to be guiding the awkwardness out of the way so neither one of us had to admit how we’d known each other—or how well.
“Yes. I went to the Boston Conservatory,” I said, shrugging off my silvery wrap.
“And I was at Boston College. We had friends in common, didn’t we, Shay?” he asked with a slight smile, keeping it casual, making it easy for me.
Maybe because he wanted this business deal.
That had to be it.
He was skirting over the past to win a negotiation.
Fine by me. Our past didn’t need to play into this partnership, no matter how genuine he’d seemed when he asked how I was.
“We did. It’s good to see you again,” I said. I hardly knew if that was the truth or a lie.
His eyes never strayed from me, and he lowered his voice, speaking in the barest whisper. “Is it?”
My chest rose and fell, and I didn’t know how to answer. How was it possible to be attracted to someone who broke you? Seeing him again stirred up so many memories, not only of the way we fell apart, but of the way I’d leaned on him so much in college, and how he’d been there for me every time. He’d been my rock.
He’d held my hand through all those devastating letters.
Every damn one of them.
I glanced down, adjusted my skirt, and reached for a glass of ice water, the cubes hitting my teeth as I knocked back half the liquid.
“Yes, what a small world.”
“Let’s get down to business, then,” James said, and for a while, Colin and James did most of the talking while Brent leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and raked his eyes over me.
What was that about?
What right did he have to stare at me the way he used to, given what he’d done in Los Angeles with the Dimpled One? And where was she now? Was she back at his place, longing for him as I’d done?
If so, he was the same guy. Because while she waited, he was undressing me again, drinking me in, cataloging my hair, considering my bare shoulders, roaming his eyes over my breasts, landing on my legs.
Once a cheater, always a cheater.
Hurt crashed into me, tearing through my body.
I had to collect myself. Standing, I grabbed my purse. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to powder my nose.”
I walked past the hostess stand and around the corner, trying to calm my quickening pulse with steady, measured breaths. I grabbed the handle of the ladies’ room door, when a hand came down on my shoulder.
I whirled around, coming face-to-face in the darkened hallway with the man I’d once planned to marry.
“Shannon.” My name sounded rough on his lips.
“Brent.” I did my best to keep my tone cool.
“How are you?” he asked again, his eyes locked on mine.
After all those years, after all the pain, that was what he asked? How the hell I was? That was what he wanted us to be? Two adults practicing benign civility outside the ladies’ room?
I’d always imagined if I saw him again that I’d give him a piece of my mind. That I’d unload all the awful truths. That I’d tell him I caught him. Never had I thought we’d talk like this. Like we meant nothing to each other.
“I’m fine.” It was better this way. Better to be able to stand near him and manage the basics. Even though the basics were stretching me thin.
“You mean it? You’re fine? You’re doing okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned. How did he manage this double act?
“I’m great.” I was, for all intents and purposes. And what else was I going to say?
He stepped closer. I retreated against the wall, pulse pounding viciously.
“I can’t believe it’s you. James told me he was talking to Shay. I’ve heard of your shows. But I never knew you were Shay Sloan. I guess that makes me a world-class idiot. But then, I think we both know I’m a world-class idiot.”
I sighed, my heart heavy at his words. Was that his way of apologizing for straying? We were long past apologies. There was no sorry for what he’d done. Maybe civility was best. But, given all our history, was this deal even worth it? “Is this a problem? Is it better if we step aside so you can find another company to work with?”
“Better?” he asked, as if my question didn’t compute.
“Yes, would you prefer to work with another dance company?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were still locked on me. I wanted desperately to look away. Instead, I noticed every detail. The way he swallowed. The line of his jaw. The intensity in his gaze.
The tension that radiated from him.
My nerves were frayed thin from the battle inside, from the tug-of-war waged between heart and body. I was comprised of two opposing desires. Something soft and needy and desperate in me wanted to throw my arms around him and ask how he’d been and where the years had gone. Something hard and angry and bitter wanted to lift a knee and kick him right in the balls, then slam my fists into his chest and tell him how everything had hurt so goddamn much when he’d stopped fighting for me.
And for our baby.
The baby he didn’t know about.
The baby I lost the morning after I went home to Vegas.
Finally, he answered my question. “No, it’s not a problem. I want the best for my business. James tells me you’re the best.”
My business.
Everything was about work back then, or so he’d said. Try again in a year. What? After he got Dimples out of his system?
But was it ever work for him? Or was it Dimples? Were all those late nights at his show a lie? Were they all spent with that woman?
Everything inside me snapped. That tight line of tension was severed. Like when a tightrope is chopped in half and the acrobat tumbles wildly to the ring. I let loose. “Doesn’t matter whether you’re in comedy or clubs. Glad to see it’s still business first,” I said harshly, wanting to slice him with words.
I pushed hard on the ladies’ room door. But his hand wrapped around my wrist, and he yanked me back, spinning me in one quick move, so I was chest to chest with him. His breath ghosted across the skin of my neck.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
I fumed.
What gave him the right to say what was fair? Not in love, and not in life. There was no such thing as fair. “You want to talk about fair? Go ahead. Try me. I’ll tell you what’s not fair. I’ve got a long list of what’s not fair, and it starts with a body in a driveway and keeps on going all the way to a prison in Hawthorne,” I said, but before I could say more, he reached for me, wrapping his arms around me, and this time, his touch wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t lustful. It was an embrace from someone who knew nearly everything about me, and my throat clogged with emotions.