Page 32 of Falling for the Bosshole

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The cast hada total of three curtain calls before Ana and Ricardo reemerged on stage to take their final bow. Cheers and thunderous applause met them as they came out from behind the curtain. From the corner of her eye, Ana saw Horne Calloway join the crowd in a standing ovation.

Calloway left his seat, clutching a bouquet of roses. He ascended the stage, approached Ana, and handed her the bouquet. He stood beside her and raised her hand in the air in approval. Ana stemmed the urge to shake his hands away from her. The thought of his prejudice was too much to bear.

She wondered how a supposedly “well-educated” individual could be so ignorant about her culture.

It was even harder to see Lash join the rest of the cast and crew on stage. For a man whose box office receipt was assured for the next couple of months, he looked distraught.

Lash stood between his two principal dancers and placed an arm around both. Ana shrugged it off. She doubted anyone would notice with all the frenetic activity of the curtain call.

Lash turned to her and spoke in a low voice that only she could hear. “Ana, I was too late. Please, we need to talk.”

“Too late for what?” Ana cried silently. “Too late to realize what an asshole you are?”

She ignored his pleading. As they took their final bow and headed for the wings, she made certain there was a distance between them. She crammed herself in with the other girls so that there was no way he could corner her. It wasn’t difficult to accomplish. Backstage was a riot. The cast was hugging one another, champagne bottles popped, and there was a general feeling of victory in the air.

Ana knew that everyone was headed for the after-party. Lash made reservations in a hotel ballroom a few blocks away. She had lost track of him a while ago. She assumed he was occupied with media interviews or attending to the well-heeled crowd and relishing the night’s success.

Inside the dressing rooms, there was orderly chaos as the girls changed into party clothes, grabbed their bags, and headed for the theater exit.

With the rest of the girls gone, the dressing room was silent. She was probably the only person left in the theatre. As the leading female dancer, Ana knew she was expected to be at the party just like Ricardo was. She gathered her belongings and stuffed them inside her backpack.

She was exhausted. It was the kind of exhaustion that affected the spirit more than her body. She was lethargic and feeling suddenly vulnerable. For the first time today in the silence of the room, she allowed herself to feel some of the emotions she kept at bay before the show. She had opened a small floodgate only to realize too late the pressure had been building all this time, and now, there was no stopping it.

Ricardo’s disclosure for a reason behind the actual kiss. Lash manipulating her into saying yes. Horne Calloway’s scathing remarks about her people and how oblivious he was that she had Gypsy blood. It hurt that she couldn’t even defend her race. But what wounded her was Lash’s silence in the face of Calloway’s prejudice. By saying nothing, he condoned Calloway like it was the truth. Worse, he lied about her true identity, even lied about his, afraid he would be deprived of the endorsement he so badly needed.

Suddenly, Ana was riddled with a suspicion that he even went further than that, and … she was a willing victim. He used sex to hold her captive. And she allowed it to happen. How could she be so stupid?

All men just really wanted sex from her. Why would he be any different?

But why did it hurt so bad that she wanted to curl up and die?

Ana felt the tears well up in her eyes. She tried to stop them, but her body had given her too many free passes for today. The tears rolled down her cheeks freely until they flowed in torrents. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed for everything that had gone wrong.

Poignantly, the night that was to be her most significant victory was the night she felt most defeated.

She composed herself and slowly gathered her belongings. What was the point in treating herself like some discarded tissue? Lash had done a magnificent job doing that. She needed to think clearly because there was no doubt in her mind what her next move would be.

She was leaving New York, leaving her dreams behind. The city was a cruel taskmaster. It had no place for girls like her. She belonged in Spain, back in Torrevieja, where she could start anew.

Leaving without notice would probably cause an uproar. Ana didn’t care. She had done her part of the bargain. She was certain Calloway would give a glowing review of tonight’s performance. Lash would get the endorsement he wanted just as she promised him. Then the bastard could clean up the mess she left behind with her sudden disappearance.

“There is no shortage of dancers who could take my place,” Ana assumed.

The notion eased her conscience as she stepped onto the curb and hailed a passing taxi. She asked if he could wait while she packed her belongings.

“Sure, where you headed?” the cabbie asked.

“JFK Airport,” Ana replied.

The driver scratched his head. “If you are catching a flight, you might not make it. The whole city is on a gridlock.”

“No. I have no reservations yet. I ‘ll take my chances when I get there,” Ana replied.

Ana arrived at the apartment and began packing her things. She only needed the green backpack, the same one that she used when she first came to the city. Ana pondered her luck, arriving in New York full of optimism and leaving tonight so disappointed and unhappy. But there was no time to dwell on her misery. The cab was waiting for her outside.

On the ride to the airport, Ana considered her decision. Was she doing the right thing, or was she irresponsible? Surely, there had to be consequences. She didn’t want people to assume something bad happened to her. The last thing she wanted was to see her face splashed in a major daily and tagged as missing. She needed to tell someone, but who? Then she thought of Jonathan, her choreographer. He was probably still at the after-party together with everyone else. She debated whether to call him or send a text message.