Page 19 of Stolen Voices
A stagehand stops beside me and grabs a bottle of water off the refreshment table.
“Hey.”
“Sup?”
I point towards Silla and the short lady across the stage. “Who’s that talking to the viper with nails?”
He looks over. “That’s Maggie, the seamstress.”
Interesting.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m Tommy. I’ve seen you around, but not the other suit with blond hair.” He grabs a muffin and takes a bite.
I don’t really feel like making small talk, but it’s always better to make friends than enemies. “That was Hudson, my partner. He’s out of town. I’m Eli. Callie’s … other agent.”
“Cool. Watch out for the chick with nails. She’s evil.” Tommy nods in Silla’s direction before rushing off, leaving me to watch the encounter between the two women.
Evil. Interesting and yet not a surprising description.
But the way Tommy describes Silla sticks with me. Hudson was right. There is more to the story here. From afar, I’ve watched Silla Treymonde all week. She comes in here acting like she’s the star of the show, and her dressing room reflects it. I’ve also noticed the way Silla watches Callie as she performs. It gives me chills. Silla’s blue eyes gleam with this weird mix of emotions I can’t quite figure out, but it’s definitely not love.
I continue to observe Silla and Maggie, who appears to be in her fifties. She winces and nods, a look of fear on her face. Silla stands tall and then waves the woman away with her talons. Maggie rushes off, and I step back out of view, hiding behind the curtain, anticipating Silla’s next move. Silla watches Callie for a minute, her lip curling, before she struts off out of sight.
Something about that whole scene has my hackles up.
What the fuck was all that about? Why was she …
My thoughts fall off as Callie walks up and stops in front of me, leaving only a mere few inches between us. Her chest is heaving, and strands of her hair stick to the side of her damp face. I shove the urge to brush the soft curling locks behind her ear deep down, forcing the dangerous feelings into a box and locking it.
With four-inch heels on, the top of her head reaches my chin, allowing her sweet, vanilla-floral fragrance to flood my senses. My mouth waters at the delicious scent. How the fuck does she smell so good after dancing for the past three hours?
She reaches to the left of me and grabs a bottle of water off the table. I watch her twist the cap and take a slow sip.
I’m caught in her web as she stares up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeat, swallowing the lump in my throat. This is the first time I’ve spoken to her all week. Like an ass, I have avoided her. “You look good out there.”
What the fuck is wrong with you? Shut up.
Callie smirks at me while she takes another sip of her water. “Hmm. I’m surprised you’re talking to me,” she says, calling me out.
Is it hot in here?
I unbutton my jacket, shrugging it off and placing it over the folding chair before tucking my hands into my pockets. “I talk to you.”
“No, you usually growl at me or find a way to insult me. Well, except for…” She looks away, embarrassed at bringing up what I told her the other day.
Shit. Hudson was right. I am a dick to her.
“I stand by what I said.” I really do. Callie’s amazing.
Her dark-brown eyes find mine again, punching down a piece of the wall I’ve erected around myself where she’s concerned. A wall I put in place to protect me. Her. Us. But I can’t help myself. Spending this past week around her, watching her and learning about her, I find myself drawn to her. I want to immerse myself in her life.
And there’s the problem. I need to take a step back before I get in any deeper with her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Well, I need to go through this routine some more and then get cleaned up before heading to the studio to lay tracks.”
