Page 122 of Igniting Sparks
Am I being dramatic?
I don’t know.
Leo has been a huge help, but he doesn’t have time to babysit me and my broken heart. The man is always on the go, bouncing from meetings to rehearsals to networking mixers with people who speak exclusively in buzzwords.
I’ve tagged along to a few events, but I’m not very good at socializing—particularly when it involves name-dropping.
Who the hell doIknow? The doorman of my building?
Not that there’s much downtime. I’ve worked on a variety of projects—from a sneaker ad campaign to a video shoot to modeling for dancewear.
I function as a choreography assistant on set, so while I’m involved in the production, I have zero input creatively.
The money is good, but the hours are extreme, and to be honest, I’ve done less dancing here than I did at Braden’s house.
Seriously, will you stop complaining? You’re living the dream you claimed to want, remember?
This is the argument I have daily with my reflection.
Sadly, she’s the one I talk to the most these days.
And I know I should be grateful. I know.
But all I feel is alone.
And if this is what success feels like… then I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want it.
Patricia, the choreography coordinator, waves me over the moment I step into the studio. “Mina, there’s been a change.”
So much for good morning.
I sip my water and pull my keys from my bag. This has happened before, where I arrive on set only to be sent home.
Not the worst thing. I can catch up on some sleep. Lord knows I need it.
“What’s up?”
“Frankel suffered an unfortunate incident and won’t be returning. You’re taking his place.”
My mouth goes dry at her words as a flash of fear shoots through me. “What do you mean?”
Patricia eyes me over her glasses, and I see the impatience furrowing her brow. “Meaning you’re now the choreographer.”
“But I can’t do that. Leo would kill me.”
Patricia rolls her eyes. “It was Leo’s idea. Do or do you not know the routine?”
“I do, but?—”
“Then it’s settled. You’re the choreographer. Better get a move on. We’re already behind.”
“Right, okay.” I turn, walking toward the group of dancers stretching in the far corner.
Holy fuck, what am I doing?
“Good morning, everyone. I’ll be taking over for Frankel.”
A dancer, long and lithe, shoots me a side-eye. “We’ve been waiting. What took you so long?”
