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Swallowing, I give myself a mental pep talk.
What the hell are you waiting for? Accept the offer. Just say, yes.
Unfortunately, that’s not what comes out. “It was a pleasure, Greg, but I—”
He spins me around once more then comes to a dead stop. “I’m going to be frank with you, Alexandra. I want you to sign with Silverline.”
“I’m flattered, but I have other offers to consider.”
His grip tightens. “But we fit so well together. You know I cast you in your first role. You were only five,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of hair behind my ear before resuming our dance. “So young and innocent, but such raw talent. You were always special.”
I stumble, missing steps in the waltz as the static from my dream blinds me, clouding my vision. The zigzag lines flash as the scratching in the back of my mind gets louder and louder. In between the zigzags, I can see slivers of faces but not enough to recognize anyone. I see lips moving, then they disappear as static turns them into dust.
But then there’s a voice. Broken words, sifting through the scratches.
“Here… sweet… good… now.”
I listen but there’s nothing until...
“Special.”
A gurgle rattles in my throat, and then they’re gone. The flashes, static, scratching, and voices all vanish as quickly as they came. Almost as if they were never there at all. I know something important just happened, but it’s like someone marked over my memory with black chalk.
“I have to go.” I can taste the bile rising up in my throat as I try to wrench out of his hold, but he only tightens his grasp.
“Alexandra, you don’t look well. Maybe I should take you somewhere to lie down.”
No. No. No.
He’s caging me. I’m flapping my wings as hard as I can, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll never matter.
“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice rumbles behind me. “Traffic was a bitch.”
Rosten and I both turn and relief rushes over me like warm water. I was told wishes and hope don’t exist. But if they do, they’re standing in front of me wrapped in all black and accented with a pair of piercing pale blue eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ANGEL
“Dominic,” I breathe, and I don’t know if it’s his name or a prayer. Maybe it’s both because he looks like an angel sent down to rescue me. Although, looking as ominous as he does with that solid black tux, heavy stubble, and slicked back dark hair, maybe he climbed up more than floated down.
“Hi, rook.” A deadly smile creeps along his sinful lips, and I don’t know if it’s for me or Rosten. However, I don’t have time to decide. In a flurry of motion, he clamps a firm hand around my wrist, and I fall into him, my knees unlocking as I burrow my face into his chest.
“McCallum, aren’t you here on a limited media pass?” Rosten growls. “I believe you’ve crossed out of your designated area. You can’t just barge into the VIP sector and interrupt—”
“No? I think I just did.” The room suddenly becomes an endless swirl of lights as Dominic spins me around, dropping his hold on my waist and grabbing my hand. I don’t have time to ask what the hell he’s doing before he’s dragging me across the ballroom and down a long hallway leading away from the party.
“Dominic,” I pant, my breath coming in labored gasps. “Slow down, I can’t…keep…up.”
Two twists and turns later, we’re in a darkened hallway I hardly recognize. By the time he stops, I’m bent over, out of breath, half-pissed, and confused as hell.
When I can finally form words, I glance up, barely making his face out in the darkness. “You mind telling me what this is all about?”
Instead of answering, he paces in front of me like a caged tiger, his hand shoved in his hair, tugging at the roots. Gone is the calm and flippant Dominic from the ballroom. This Dominic is on edge and unstable. “What the hell did I walk into?”
“Nothing. He just wants me to sign with Silverline.” The more he paces the more my anxiety magnifies. I was so relieved to see him, I momentarily forgot I’m pissed at him. “Where have you been?” I hiss, rising to my feet, my heart racing. “Fashionably late doesn’t mean two and a half hours, asshole.”
“I was busy.”
