Page 29 of No Rhyme or Roughing
Jameson continued, “One of my dancers—ex-dancers, I fired her for unrelated reasons—went to the press about our relationship.”
“How could she?—”
“Money,” he cut off my anger. “It’s always money.”
“Shit.” I blew out a breath. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He sounded tired, not mad. “It was bound to come out eventually that I was sleeping with someone who worked for me, and honestly, I’m not the one who’ll face consequences.”
I froze. As a self-proclaimed feminist, Jameson always said things like this, but they’d never directly affected me before. He was right. A man sleeping with his choreographer might raise eyebrows, but a female choreographer sleeping with her client? That would damage her career.
I pulled the phone away from my face for a moment.
“Have a good show tonight, Jameson.” I hung up,trying to breathe. Was this career suicide? Probably not. Would future clients look at me differently? Absolutely.
I never wanted people looking at me at all. Or talking to me.
My hands clenched around the steering wheel, and I cursed my stupidity. I hadn’t even gotten any orgasms out of the deal. Jameson wasn’t exactly generous in that department. Fucking rock stars.
Traffic eased, and I left the bridge behind. By the time I got to the arena, my brain was fried from thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. But the moment I walked inside and felt the chill of the ice, there was no more time to dwell on the upcoming report about my semi-romance with a rock star. I’d always been good at compartmentalizing—that was how I changed every part of me Mom criticized.
Then, I thought of Ryder, waiting for the game to start, waiting to take a giant leap. I practically threw my phone at the ticket taker to let me in. I skidded to a halt on the main concourse as the unmistakable sounds of hockey drifted over me.
Crap. No good luck talk for Ryder, no pep talk. He was on his own. Well, not completely. I had to get in place before the first long stoppage in play.
Turning, I sprinted toward the sound booth, where I found Bailey, the in-game entertainment lead, hunched over her soundboard. She wore giant headphones and had her blond curls shoved into a low ponytail.
I’d never met her, but Ryder said she’d help if I convinced her. Waving my arms, I tried to get her attention.
Nothing.
“Bailey!” I shouted.
Still nothing.
Someone walked up behind me—golden fur brushed my arm. Shai, still in her dog costume, dipped low into Bailey’s field of vision.
Finally, Bailey lifted her head and removed her headphones. She looked at me like she’d had no one try to speak to her before, her bright green eyes wide. She clasped and unclasped her hands, patting one against her leg as if she couldn’t be still.
“Hey,” I said lamely, holding out a USB stick. “Can you play this at the first stoppage?”
“Um.” She looked from me to the giant dog and back. “No.”
“Please? It’s for the team, to help them.” I’d never been good at the right words, but this had to work. The only other option was tying her up and doing it myself.
Shai removed the golden retriever head, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead. “You’re not doing that,” she said dryly.
I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud.
Shai turned a gentle gaze on Bailey. “Please, Bails? This is Teddy’s sister. It’s just one song.”
“What is it?” Bailey asked.
“A mix I did,” I said. I’d spent a lot of time making mixes and mashups. This was one of my best.
Bailey sighed and took the USB. “Okay.” She slid her headphones back on and ignored us again.
Shai grabbed my arm and led me out.
