Page 111 of His Turn

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Nadia

I just stare at my phone for a few seconds, barely able to breathe. But then I snap out of it and tab accept. “Hello?”

“Stay out of my life, Nadia.”

Not really what I was expecting from him. But it’s a call, so there’s that. “I’m sorry,” I say. Short and sweet. Just like Jordan coached me the other day. He knows Bric far better than I do, so I took notes and I’m sticking to them.

“Accepted. Now, can I count on you to leave me alone? No more showing up at the Tea Room asking about my friends. No more—”

“Bric,” I say, cutting him off. “Please. Can I meet you for dinner or something? I just want to talk to you. That’s all. I need a few moments of your time and then I promise, I’ll go away.”

“Dinner and a short talk are two completely different things.”

“A snack?” I say, trying to laugh. I don’t feel like laughing, but this whole thing is nerve-racking. Jordan’s plan is so… out there. “I’m in the studio right now. There are three dozen other dancers in here with me. Not my first choice of place to have a conversation. I’ll be happy with coffee. Or a burrito from the food truck outside the ballet. Something. Anything.”

He sighs. “When?”

“Tonight?” I ask. “After I get off work? I have to stay late tonight for an extra rehearsal. So I don’t get off until six. The dinner truck is fine, OK? Just… I need a few minutes of face-to-face with you. I’m sorry, I really am. I want you to know that.”

“If that’s all you have to say then—”

“It’s not,” I say, before he can finish. “I have more than just that. But it’s the kind of thing…” I turn away from the other dancers in the studio so they can’t hear me. “It’s got to do with the game.”

“The game is over, Nadia. I made that pretty clear last weekend.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s over. But I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

“Five minutes,” he says. “Outside the ballet at six.”

“Good—” But I get hang-up beeps because he just ended the call.

Dick.

“Everything OK?” Michael asks. Like me, he’s just here to watch the principals dance their parts so we know what’s going on.

“Fine,” I say, plastering on my forced smile and then turning away to watch the stars of the show. “It will be, anyway.”

“Go get ’em, girl,” Michael says, pushing me on the shoulder. “Those two men you have are hot as fuck.”

Yes, I think in my head. They are definitely good-looking men. But their minds… ugly, ugly places, those minds.

I get out late. Which figures. This is the ballet, after all. You’re not supposed to have a life outside dance. I sit all day watching everyone else go through their parts and then finally, at quarter after five, they want me to go through my steps with Romeo.

When we’re dismissed, I take off my shoes, stuff my feet into some flats, and grab my pack and coat. It’s dark outside and I’m sure that Bric has gotten impatient and left.

But then I see him standing over by the dinner truck, watching me as I hurry across the street in a rush.

“Sorry,” I say. “I got—”

“Save the excuses, Nadia,” he says, his tone sharp and dismissive. “Just get to the point.”

There’s other dancers hanging around, so I give them a nervous look, indicating that we need privacy. “My car is over there,” he sighs. “If you’d prefer to talk there.”

“Perfect,” I say. And it is. For my plan to work I need to be in that car, right? With him, alone, on my way to… wherever he chooses.

We walk over and I let him open the passenger door for me. At least he hasn’t forgotten his manners. When he dropped me off last weekend he didn’t bother with manners. So progress? Maybe?

When we’re settled inside he says, “Should I take you home? Or do you have plans tonight?”