Page 30 of Falling for the Bosshole

Anger surfaced as the usher led her to the area. Although she had no intention of making a scene, the idea that she could throw the information that Ricardo shared into Lash’s face felt gratifying. The woman in her wanted to tell him he was an asshole for thinking he could betray her that way.

She entered the room with a scowl on her face until she realized he wasn’t alone.

Standing beside him was a tall thin man, almost gaunt-looking wearing an all-white 3-piece suit. The man’s hair was done in intricate cornrows that fell down his shoulders. It was a jarring contrast to the pointy beard on his chin. On his nose rested glasses with elaborate bling. Ana doubted it was for any visual impairments, but rather worn purely for effect. His back and shoulders were ramrod straight. Ana noted the white wingtip shoes on his feet that were in a ballet position with the heels together and the toes facing out to either side.

She immediately recognized the icon of the dance world, the diva who elevated the art of reviewing performances into a make or break for every dance studio. The man from whom Lash badly needed an endorsement to legitimize the Aurora Mancini Dance Studio. Horne Calloway.

Calloway watched her enter the room, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. He held his head in the imperious stance of a predator who was aware of his advantage. Then he broke into a smile.

“The intriguing Miss Garcia, I presume,” he asked.

“Mr. Calloway, meet Ana,” Lash made the introduction. “She is my secret weapon, and she will blow you away, I promise,” Lash said.

Calloway extended a slim and dainty hand. Ana had difficulty deciding whether to do a curtsy or shake his hand.

“Big shoes to fill,” Calloway said, raising a brow. “I was surprised to hear about Romina leaving. That girl held so much promise.”

Lash waved off the remark and placed an arm around Ana’s shoulder. “Romina doesn’t hold a candle to Ana. It was the best decision I have ever made hiring her as my principal dancer.”

Ana realized Lash was patronizing her. She forced a smile on her face.

“We’ll see about that,” Calloway remarked, then added, “but tell me about this finale number. I heard it through the grapevine that it will be quite controversial. I couldn’t believe it. Choosing a Gypsy ritual depicting love’s awakening and translating it into dance, I have to admit that it has never been done before.” Calloway wrinkled his nose and signed dramatically. “I suppose it will be interesting to see. Gypsy dancing is the only redeeming quality that emerged from that loathsome race.”

Ana stiffened. “Why-why do you say that?”

“Ugh,” Calloway said deprecatingly, “Nothing good ever came out from that lot,” Calloway declared.

Ana felt faint. Lash’s fingers were digging deep into the flesh of her arm. He was sending her a message to keep her mouth shut.

“I’m just glad Ana here is not one. Nowadays, it’s hard to tell,” Calloway continued.

“No. No, she isn’t. Ana hails from Barcelona. Her mom and dad are both Spanish,” Lash countered.

Ana was speechless. Her world turned upside down, hearing Lash’s comment. She wanted to contradict him. She wanted to inflict violence on both him and Calloway, but her shock had rendered her immobile.

Calloway turned to her and said, “I suppose we have to let you go now. As a dancer, I know you have to get into the zone before curtain time.”

Lash propelled Ana towards the door. Out of earshot, he mumbled under his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Ana…”

“Shut up. Shut up. Just…fuck off,” she muttered through tight lips.

He wished her luck loud enough for Calloway to hear. Ana gave them both a constricted smile and shut the door behind her.

She dragged her feet away from the room. She turned a corner then sagged against the wall. Her whole body felt numb. Her brain wanted to explode. It was like being caught in the fringes of a nightmare. She wanted to wake up but knew she was already awake. The pain in her chest felt real, as real as the knowledge that Lash’s betrayal was now absolutely complete.

Sheer willpower made Ana go back to the dressing room. The instinct to flee was so strong she struggled with every step. A voice was goading her just to leave, while another voice insisted that she stayed.

Backstage, members of the crew were putting the finishing touches behind the closed curtain.

Voices hailed her as she passed.

“Hey, Ana, knock ‘em dead…”

“Yes, please,” another voice joined in. “If you do, our jobs are secured for the next couple of months…” followed by banter and some laughs.

“Break a leg, Ana.” Another crew called out.