Page 4 of Directing You
Chapter 2
Hazel
What the hellwas I thinking? Inviting him into the Champagne Room with me? Yes, Noah had asked for me to pull him on stage as a favor. He asked for whatever VIP treatment I’d be willing to give his friend. But the Champagne Room? I snorted at my reflection in the mirror, shaking my head and tugging off the necklace from behind my neck.
Despite the fact that I desperately needed the money, I hadn’t done a private dance in the Champagne Room in over a year. That was reserved for the new dancers who didn’t know any better—and for the months that I couldn’t make rent, if I was being honest. This, admittedly, was one of those months. And Noah had already arranged an envelope of cash that was waiting for me at my dressing room mirror.
I liked Noah. He didn’t mean anything by it—the envelope of money. It was simply his round of tips for his table in one neat bundle rather than thrown up on stage during the show. He always arranged his tips this way when he came to the Ruby Slipper. Each dancer had an envelope of cash waiting for them if he was in the audience. And yet I couldn’t help but feel a little like a whore seeing it there at my mirror, waiting for me, with my name scrolled across it in his handwriting.
I didn’thaveto go through with it, of course. Noah hadn’t been expecting a private dance for his friend. But there was something about that man on stage with me… He was different.
I wanted more time with him. His eyes didn’t roam my body as I made my way across the stage. His focus seemed to remain on my face—my eyes. And occasionally, when I was doing one of my harder moves, the high kick or the backbend, his head would tilt, those dark eyebrows tightening above bright green eyes. Like he was evaluating me… not just a dude out with his bros looking for some boobs to be swung in his face.
I’d done my signature Willy Wonka dance every week for a year. I was known for it. Hazel Moon was becoming a draw for the club, solely based on that dance alone. Every week, it was the same thing. I ate some chocolates, found a golden ticket winner, pulled a guy up on stage, and fed him a chocolate from my mouth. Tonight should have been just like any other night. That guy should have been just like any other guy. But it wasn’t.Hewasn’t. The moment our lips touched, the connection zipped over my skin, sending a wave of goose bumps racing down my flesh. My nipples became hard against the pasties I wore over them, the friction causing just enough sensation to send my pulse racing.
And when we pulled back from the kiss…he wasn’t looking out toward the audience. He wasn’t making eye contact with his buddies and air high-fiving them. His eyes were on me, and me alone. I’d been dancing a long time. I was used to people watching me. I wasn’t used to peopleseeingme.
I paced backstage in the dressing room that I shared with eight other dancers and hugged my silky robe tighter around my body. I chewed on the edge of my pinky fingernail…an old, disgusting habit that resurfaced when I was stressed.
Cris, our stage manager and the woman who helped us put together our dance numbers, poked her head into the dressing room. “Hazel, there’s a man who says he’s supposed to meet you in the Champagne Room?” She gave me a questioning glance, knowing full well that I hadn’t done private dances in a long time. “Need me to tell him to get lost?”
I swallowed, grabbing the envelope and peeking in at the cash. Shit, there were a lot of twenties in there. I exhaled a deep breath I’d been holding in my lungs and shook my head. “It’s fine, Cris. I’ll meet him there in a minute.”
I slid out of my robe and grabbed my white lingerie set. As I slipped it on, I could feel Cris watching me closely, trying to figure me out, and I heard rather than saw her take a few steps inside the dressing room. Her hand fell gently to my arm, and she whispered, “If you need an advance on next week’s paycheck—”
I cut her off with a smile. “I don’t. I’m okay, really.” Ifokaymeant eating ramen noodles every meal this week, then yeah, I was okay. But Cris was a single mom and I wasn’t about to make her life any harder than it needed to be. Besides, taking an advance on my paycheck would only mean I got less next month anyway.
Her brows dipped lower. “I just know how much you hate private dances.”
“I do. But this is a favor for a friend.” Noah Tripp was a friend from my hometown of Maple Grove, New Hampshire. We’d managed to keep in touch even after he hit it big on some big tween vampire show. He was sweet and supportive and had offered to get me an audition for his show multiple times. But taking that handout felt wrong. And I didn’t want to act in film and TV. I wanted to be on the stage. Or at least, I thought I did.
So, when he texted me tonight that he wanted to embarrass his buddy who wasn’t typically a person who likes the spotlight, I was happy to help. Noah didn’t bring friends to my performances often. A few times a year, he would come. He was never out of line. Never made me feel uncomfortable. And I had never, ever offered one of his friends a private dance.
Until now.
Even though a flutter of excitement surged in my belly at the thought of seeing Noah’s friend again, I couldn’t help but feel like I made a terrible mistake inviting him to the Champagne Room.
My empty stomach turned over itself as I wondered what it was they were celebrating. God, I hoped it wasn’t a bachelor party. That would mean he was taken. I squeezed my eyes shut. Not that it mattered, because I was far too busy to get involved with anyone. Especially someone Noah was friends with. He was likely in the business too. Another actor, maybe? And I was not going to be known as the girl who dated fellow actors.
I paused, heat flooding my cheeks as a thought struck me hard and fast. He probably wouldn’t even consider me as anything other than a hook-up, anyway, because of my profession.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Burlesque had started as an outlet. A way to dance and express myself creatively while being on stage and getting paid. But the more I did it, the more I lost sight of why I’d moved to New York City in the first place. To be an actress. To do musical theater on Broadway. I needed to find my way back to that passion and not the one that—just barely—paid my rent.
I made my way down the hall to the Champagne Room and took a deep breath. I could get out of this. It would be easy. I’d go in there, introduce myself as one of Noah’s friends, pour him a glass of the complimentary champagne and toast whatever it was they were all celebrating tonight, then escort him back to his table to say hello to Noah. That would be my excuse. My reason for inviting him back here.
Reaching out, I turned the doorknob and entered.
I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t. Even though I had only left him on that stage a few minutes earlier, he looked even more handsome back here in the dim light of the Champagne Room. His dark hair was cut short. Angled, chiseled features were shadowed by the low lighting. And he stood in the back corner with his hands in his pockets, looking at the vinyl records framed on the wall.
In the moment he became aware of my presence, his shoulders tightened, barely perceptibly, lifting toward his ears. He spun to fully face me, and his striking good looks and confident pose robbed my lungs of breath. I balanced the tray of champagne and two flutes on my hip and kicked the door shut behind me.
“Here.” He rushed forward to take the tray from my hands. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you.” His fingers brushed mine, and that same heat I had felt earlier zinged from his fingertips up my arm until I felt my skin flush pink.
“I’m Reid,” he said, holding out a hand to me. I eyed it for a moment before taking it and shaking it.
“Hazel. But you knew that.”
