Page 94 of Lovers' Dance

“Matt, what about my wet clothes? And my shoes?”

“I’ll have them sent over to mine tomorrow. Stop avoiding my question and tell me what you think about my family,” he demanded as they got to the front door. Matt opened it and she slipped past him, eager it seemed to be gone from here.

“Answer a question first, then I’ll tell you,” she negotiated.

Matt arched an eyebrow at her before nodding. He pulled his keys out his jacket pocket and pressed the fob to unlock the car.

Madi folded her arms as he opened the door for her. Matt was suddenly wary. He definitely didn’t like the look on his poppet’s face, or the dangerous gleam shining from her brown eyes.

“What the fuck was going on underneath the table, Matthew?”

Bollocks…

ELEVEN

I WAS BUSY, extremely busy and stressed out. Dante and I were at the moment carefully deliberating over the dancers going through their steps on our auditorium stage. Bri and Eric were on stage, too, showing the dancers what they wanted. The lights above them flickered and I made a mental note to call the electrician to sort out the stage lights. They were on the blink again.

“What do you think about her?” Dante asked quietly, pointing to a dainty, curly haired brunette.

I flicked through the pile of CVs on my lap until I found the one with her picture, scanned it, then nodded at Dante.

The auditions had brought in more people than expected. A little part of me wondered if it was due to my name and face being plastered over the rag sheets recently.

I sighed softly, then paid attention to the talent on stage. We needed dancers for our upcoming production. We had our principals in the important roles, but being a small dance company meant our corp was practically non-existent. This was a usual occurrence whenever we planned a big show and, normally, I enjoyed interviewing the prospective, temporary dancers. Some of the people on the stage had previously worked with us, so they were on the ‘yes’ list. The rest had to prove themselves.

I was not enjoying today. I hadn’t been enjoying all week. Matthew Bradley was fucking with my chi…and my head. A quick glance at my cell confirmed another two missed calls from him. At least he was cutting down. Yesterday, it had been six.

It was Friday. On this same day last week, my life had been unexpectedly thrust in the public domain. That had been bad.

Today was as bad and the reason was the same. Matthew fucking Bradley. After the farce that masqueraded as a dinner party at his parents’ last Saturday, things were awkward between us. I had asked Matt a question, he’d answered truthfully, shamefacedly admitting as he drove us to his mansion in Surrey that his ex had been touching up his goods during dinner. I listened to his passionate apologies and explanation on why he didn’t smack the bitch, not that I advocated violence against women. But, if my ex was fiddling my bits across the dinner table from my current love, fingers would have been broken. Anyway, he apologized, I listened, and when we arrived at his place, he gave me a tour of his second home, which left me speechless. We went to the master bedroom. I asked for something to eat, he went to notify his staff, and I locked his ass out. My vex money was soaked in the purse at his parents’ house. The bedroom door had taken a pounding, but Matt eventually went away while I snuggled in his massive bed and went to sleep. Where he slept that night I had no idea, but there were so many rooms in that place, I was sure he found somewhere. It just wasn’t with me. The Sunday morning I went downstairs, got lost a few times, and found him in one of the kitchens…there were two kitchens. Why? Hell if I knew. He had apologized profusely again. Then he got stern with me and demanded I forgive him for something that wasn’t truly his fault. At that point, he reiterated how he had removed her hand every time she touched him and how he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the other guests. I had zoned him out after that comment. He drove us back to his Kensington home after I gave him a few death stares, which I had learnt from my Aunt Cleo. She gave the best death stares. I said hello to George, got my stuff, said goodbye to George, jumped in my Beetle and drove off. I hadn’t shouted at Matt once since his disgusting confession.

Matt started his charm offensive on Monday. The idiot. I came home from a day in the studio to see a Porsche Cayenne in front my house. I was pissed because some clown had parked in front of my property and I had to park across the street. When I got inside my house, Matt was waiting for me with the cutest look on his face and the keys to my new ride. I let him take me back outside so he could show me the personalized licence plate and sumptuous interior with little crystal ballet shoes hanging from a chain on the rear view mirror. Matt pointed out the matching key ring with a hopeful smile on his handsome face. I then said he couldn’t buy his way out of trouble. He argued the point and reminded me he had promised to buy me a new carbeforethe jacking off incident. I told him if he didn’t leave with his latest purchase, I would call the cops and he was lucky I hadn’t yet decided to take my house keys back. He’d gotten worried when I’d said that, so worried he apologized for showing up unannounced and agreed to leave at once. He called his driver, waited outside my front door for thirty minutes, and left that expensive vehicle behind. The keys he had slipped through the letter slot.

Tuesday, it had been diamonds. A private courier came by the studio, made me sign for a box and waited for me to open it. He said he was under instructions to ensure the box was opened in his presence. I asked him why, and he said his boss had told him that the sender wanted to know what my reaction was. Gloria had screamed when I opened the box and revealed the contents, Lisa stared in awe, and Dante looked at me and asked, ‘What did he do?’

I thanked the courier and sent him on his way, took an extra-long lunch break to drive to Kensington, where George unwillingly agreed to hold the jewellery until Matt came home from work. George and I had a nice cup of tea before I drove back to my studio. Matt had called an hour after I left George asking why I returned the jewellery and whether I’d forgiven him as yet. I asked if he was okay and not too swamped with work, then told him to stop leaving messages on my cell as I was busy myself.

Wednesday had been flowers. So many flowers I figured he must’ve bought out a florist’s store. I texted him to thank him for the flowers—I was raised with manners—and stated that they were beautiful but, it was such a shame, because once a flower was cut, it dies. ‘Dies’ had been written in capital letters. Matt called seven times after my text. I didn’t answer.

Yesterday, a catering company had shown up at the studio, bringing in trays and trays of delicious food for us. There was so much food, even the students and the dancers auditioning had some. Liam and Gerrard stuffed their faces and asked if Matt would consider going out with a guy. They were willing to bat for the other team if this was the way he treated his partners. I told them to shut up and pass the hot sauce. Yes, Matt had sent a basket specifically for me filled with all manner of fiery condiments. It made me smile, but I didn’t pick up his calls. Instead, I texted again to thank him for the food and ask how Natty was doing. He left a message saying she was fine, and that he was going crazy without me and I had to forgive him. I resisted the urge to call him back and say the only thing I had to do was stay black and die. Oh, and pay my taxes. That had galvanized me into sending a bank transfer to Aunt Cleo so she could resolve her own tax problem.

Today I was on edge, wondering what was coming next instead of assessing the round ofadagescurrently being executed by the dancers on stage.

“Sweet cheeks.” Dante nudged my arm, jolting me from thoughts of Matt. I forced a smile to my face and twisted in the chair to face him.

“Hmm?”

“If we take on twenty temporary dancers, we can just about manage the cost. But, to be honest, I think we’ll need twenty-five.”

“Five more dancers to fill up the court scene, right? That’s where you think we need them?”

Dante nodded with a frown on his sexy lips. I chewed my lips and rubbed my temples. We had to find the cash from somewhere to pay the salaries. But where?

“Did you call Kincaid back?” Dante asked, and I already where he was going with this.

“I’ve been busy this week. We’ve all been busy this week.”

Dante stretched his arms above his head, giving me a nice view of his pecs under the t-shirt he wore. My best friend was hot stuff, hot chocolate stuff. And still with Christine.

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