Page 37 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)

Jamie

J amie didn’t care about anything anymore.

His career was a shambles, and he figured he’d thrown away his shot at fixing it when he’d run out on the awards night. Networking opportunities like that didn’t just come around every day.

And then the articles had started.

He’d never seen his name and photo in the papers as much as he had in the past few days.

Previously, he’d appeared in theatre reviews and the occasional West End feature.

The handful of positive articles about Darius had been the closest he’d come to featuring in tabloids, and that had been kind of nice…

but this was unbearable. It was finally completely apparent that fame wasn’t something he wanted—not at all.

Everyone had an opinion on his life, on what he’d done in the past, on his relationship, or lack thereof .

Jamie groaned as his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Jonathan, again.

Realising he wasn’t going to fuck off if he kept ignoring him, he angrily tapped the green button and waited for the bollocking he was sure to be on the receiving end of.

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Carter. You have an hour to get to Upminster for a dance call—this is it, Jamie, and it cost me a lot to get them to keep you in consideration with all the shit circling right now.”

“Ok, okay, Jonathan. I’m on my way—anything I need to know?”

“Just don’t fuck it up. I’m serious, you don’t make me near enough money to deal with this kind of shit.”

Jamie barely had time to pull on clean clothes if he was going to make it to Upminster in time. He raced out the door, nearly blinded by the sunlight after days spent wallowing in his bed.

On the tube over, it felt like everyone was watching him, like everyone recognised him as the slut that broke Darius Hewitt’s heart—because that’s who he was.

Wasn’t it? At least as far as the papers were concerned.

He doubted Darius himself was even thinking about him now.

To him, Jamie was just some idiot who had forced him out of the closet and embarrassed him in the press.

Jamie should never have suggested the stupid plan in the first place. Sure, he’d got press out of it, but this was hardly the kind he’d hoped for.

Jamie arrived at the audition, and right from the second he stepped through the door, something felt off.

The girl at check-in had quirked an eyebrow when he signed in, which got his hackles up a bit.

On entering the waiting room, he understood why—he looked nothing like anyone else here.

He was at least half a head shorter than all of them and the only blonde in a sea of sleek black ponytails.

It was fine. Sometimes it happened, if casting weren’t completely sure what direction they wanted to take a particular role.

Jamie stretched in the corner of the audition room, watching as the other dancers milled about.

Most of them had a polished look: long, lean limbs, sharp, clean-shaven jawlines, and the kind of androgynous beauty that was often seen in ballet dancers.

Jamie’s rumpled curls and piercings had felt like a good fit for this show on paper, but now he could see that wasn’t the vibe casting was going for at all.

He tried to shake off the growing feeling of trepidation and studied the choreography posted on the wall—sharp, angular movements. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

The room buzzed as the choreographer, a wiry man with a clipboard and an intense stare, clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“All right, folks, we’re starting with the routine. Give me energy, attitude, and precision. Then we’ll move into one-on-ones with the director.”

Jamie swallowed. One-on-ones made him a little uneasy these days. They weren’t the done thing anymore, not since the film industry had had its reckoning with the #metoo movement. Though of course, theatre lagged behind as always. Still, he shook it off. He just needed to get through the damn day.

He threw himself into the choreography, nailing the timing and adding a few of his own flourishes. When the choreographer dismissed the group, Jamie felt confident he’d done enough to stand out, in a good way.

“Jamie Carter.” The casting director’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. She was tall, with an air of authority that made him straighten up immediately. “Come with me.”

Jamie followed her into a small office off the main audition space, where she left him.

The room felt cramped, dominated by a large desk covered in files and a half-empty cup of coffee.

The large chair spun dramatically, and Jamie’s blood ran cold as Stephen appeared before him, like a villain in a Bond film.

Stephen stood and moved towards Jamie, leaning casually against the desk, his sharp eyes scanning Jamie from head to toe.

“Jamie Carter,” he said, flipping through a clipboard without looking up. “Nice to see you again, I’m glad we’ll have this chance to…catch up.”

His gaze slid up and down Jamie’s frame. Jamie suppressed a shudder. It’s just part of the job, he told himself. Everyone is judged on their appearance. Stephen’s lips lifted, and his gaze turned predatory.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to see? The choreo again?” Jamie asked, trying to maintain the veneer of professionalism even as blood pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure he could actually do the choreo if asked. His body was freezing up.

Stephen’s eyes never stopped roaming over Jamie’s body. He chuckled, finally meeting his gaze. “Nothing in particular,” he said airily. “I’ve missed you, Jamie. I hope you’re feeling more prepared for tour life these days.”

Jamie’s stomach twisted.

“I was sorry to hear about your relationship breaking down,” Stephen said. “It must be difficult with all the press coverage of it. I understand you aren’t used to it at this stage of your career.”

If it wouldn’t have been wildly unprofessional, Jamie would have rolled his eyes; negging was so last decade.

“I’ve heard your very committed to you’re craft now, and available,” Stephen continued, smirking, when Jamie didn’t speak.

Fucking hell. Jamie knew exactly what he meant. Stephen had joked enough times about how committed Jamie had been— usually meaning it was nice to have someone always up for a post-show quickie around.

It hadn’t been like this before, though.

Stephen had been subtle the first time around, flirting with him, complimenting him.

This wasn’t that at all. He didn’t think he’d ever had it laid out quite so blatantly before, that sex, or the potential for it, was the only reason he was there.

Being up for it had opened doors for Jamie.

He wouldn’t deny it; it wasn’t like Stephen was the only director he’d ever hooked up with.

But he’d proven himself by now, hadn’t he?

Jonathan had said this could be his last shot.

The least he could have done was warn him about who he’d be seeing.

Stephen had come around the desk now, just two feet from Jamie. He reached out a hand to caress Jamie’s face. Jamie stiffened, his pulse pounding in his ears as he was struck with a moment of absolute clarity.

“I don’t know what you think I’m up for, or why you’d ever think I’d consider touring with you again,” he said, his voice tight, “but if I were to get this role, it would be because I’m a damn good dancer with a C5 belt.”

Stephen smirked. “I’m aware of all of your talents,” he said, setting the clipboard down.

“Relax, I’m just saying I appreciate your kind of.

.. dedication. A lot of dancers, especially ones like you, understand that making it in this business takes more than just a good pirouette, and I know you’ve got what it really takes, Jamie. We could have a great time.”

Jamie’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Your fiancée know you’ve called me in?”

Stephen straightened up, his smile fading into something more calculating. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson about discretion. I’m saying I can help you. You might not be the traditional casting for this role, but we had fun together, Jamie. So if you go the extra mile...”

Jamie’s chest tightened. Anger bubbled up, sharp and hot, cutting through the initial wave of shock.

Jamie was done; he wasn’t doing this shit anymore.

This is what had just cost him his chance with Darius.

But more than that, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a commodity.

“No,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m not interested in that kind of help.

And with you at the helm, I’m not interested in this production either. ”

Stephen’s expression darkened. “Careful, Jamie. This industry is small, and people talk. I’d hate for you to burn bridges.”

Jamie stepped back. “I’d rather burn every bridge in London than have anything to do with your show.

You are everything that’s wrong with this fucking industry.

” He turned and walked out of the office, his heart racing and his breath shallow.

By the time he made it outside, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving anger and humiliation in its wake.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to call someone, to do anything but dwell on what his life had become.

He was done.

Leaving the audition and getting out of the building was a complete blur.

Jamie’s body took him on autopilot to Sloane Square, and he’d made the familiar walk halfway to Darius’s before he snapped out of the strange sort of stupor he was in.

He turned on his heel, realising there was no longer any comfort waiting for him at the end of this road, but he didn’t manage to make it back to the station before the tears came.

To add insult to injury, when he finally looked down at his mobile, he had multiple messages and missed calls from Jonathan asking him to call into the office immediately.