“Thank you, ladies,” Mia says. “We will be contacting those we are offering contracts, and then the cast list will be posted on our website later this month.”
We collect our things. My leg is sore, a phantom pain tracing up my thigh and into my hip. I try not to let it worry me. Just more water therapy, more strength training… and maybe I’ll have to live with it forever.
It’s not too heavy of a price to pay to dance again.
“Violet.”
I’ve made it to the hallway, but I turn back to see the choreographer coming toward me. I’m surprised he remembers my name, and I try to hide it. He stops in front of me, then glances over his shoulder.
We’re alone.
I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and wait.
“I’ll admit, I’m confused to see you here.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Um…” He shifts. “Sorry. Do you not want to talk about this here?”
What the hell is going on? “I just think you might have the wrong person,” I say slowly.
He motions for me to follow him. Against my better judgment, I do. Even knowing I have a stalker, my curiosity is greater than my fear. He leads me into an empty office and closes the door.
His gaze drops to my leg, and he winces. “Do you remember what happened the day of your accident?”
I hate the word accident. For the longest time, it didn’t feel like it was an accident. It was more than that. But then I register his expression, and his question, and a chill creeps up my spine.
“Have we met? In the last few years?” I take an involuntary step backward. There’s no way a man like him would recall a teenager giving him an audition tape. I was in high school, and he was a big hotshot choreographer. This feels like more than that.
Shawn frowns. “That answers that question.”
Oh my god. Is Shawn my stalker? Did he have something to do with that day—and everything that happened after?
Maybe he finally revealed himself. He’s muscular. Tall. He could be the same build as the person who broke into my apartment.
“I’m leaving,” I say quietly. I head toward the door, but he blocks my path.
“Just wait, please.”
I skid to a halt. “Get out of my way.”
He raises his hands. “Two minutes. That’s all I ask.”
He’s not threatening to kill me… yet. That’s a good sign, right? If I can get him talking, then maybe he’ll just let me go. Or I can figure out a way to get him away from the door… I look around the room and circle behind the desk, putting it between us. I drop my bag on it and press my back against the wall.
“You and I met that day in Rose Hill,” he says. “It was out of the blue, yes, but you drove down. You seemed excited about it.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Because I was trying to recruit you.”
I rear back. “For what?”
He gives me a look. One that says: you should know. But even if I have a theory—and one is beginning to form—I don’t trust him. I don’t believe him.
“I wanted you to dance for the American Ballet Theatre,” he says carefully. “And that might sound crazy, but I was given the chance to handpick some dancers for their upcoming touring season. I chose—”
“Giselle.” I cover my mouth. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute. “So I met with you that day?”
He nods. “We went over choreography. You were going to be in touch later in the week to come and dance for the board of directors.”
This doesn’t make any fucking sense.
“I was Odette.” My brow furrows. “I was the principal dancer for Swan Lake.”
He scoffs. “You think Crown Point Ballet can stand up to what ABT can offer you? You and I both know that they’re leagues apart. I was giving you a chance.”
“But then I broke my leg. My memory of that day was just…” I snap my fingers. “It was gone. How can I believe you?” I squint at him. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“What about your phone? We had conversations. I left you a voicemail, you called me back.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Smashed in the accident. I lost data from a week prior, since my last cloud backup.”
He sighs. He’s right to sigh—the signs of the truth are there. In the dance I somehow knew, in the spaces of my memory. But it doesn’t stop him from opening his phone and setting it on the desk.
A video plays. He stands in a studio that looks awfully familiar, and I face the mirror. Someone else holds the phone for him, filming me dance. Poor Violet back then, she had no idea what was about to happen. When I finish, I turn and beam at Shawn.
It goes black, and I step back. I let out a shaky breath.
“What time was that?”
He looks at the time stamp on the video and wordlessly points. Seven-zero-five p.m. Greyson hit my car closer to eleven.
“Did I leave after that?”
Shawn narrows his eyes. “Yeah, Violet. You got a call and left.”
I swing my bag back over my shoulder. “It’s been two minutes,” I say stiffly. “And it doesn’t really seem to matter much, since you’ve probably chosen for ABT. That was months ago. Besides, we’re both here.”
Shawn reads my stiffening posture, and he immediately raises his hands again. Like he’s not a threat to me. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised, is all. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought you knew me.”
He steps aside, and I rush out the door.
My mind is a mess. He wanted me to dance for him at the American Ballet Theatre? One of the best ballet companies in the US? I’d only just debuted as a principal. Hadn’t had a chance to dance a lead in front of an audience before it was ripped away from me.
I wipe at a tear that rolls down my cheek. Then another.
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning the corner.
I almost crash into Mia.
She grabs my shoulders and lets out a laugh. “Violet! I thought you had left already. Oh—what happened? Are you okay?”
I sniffle and step back. Her hands fall back to her sides.
“I’m okay, thanks. And thank you again for the opportunity. It was nice dancing in a company again—even if it was just for today.”
Mia rolls her eyes. “None of that pessimistic bullshit. You were excellent.” She hooks her arm through mine and continues with me toward the door. “Between you and me, I think you have an outstanding chance of being cast as Aurora.”
“Thank you.” I turn toward her. “And thank you for… all of it, I guess. Helping me get back into it, setting up the initial appointment with Dr. Michaels. You’ve done a lot for me.”
She pats my hand. “You know what? I think I need to buy you a drink.”
It’s only two o’clock. Willow will expect a phone call by three, which gives us plenty of time. I nod and let her lead me to her car. This part is familiar. I can’t begin to count how many times she’s given me a ride home or spent extra time with me in and out of the studio.
She stepped in to be a mother figure when mine was being chaotic.
I toss my bag in the trunk and climb in the passenger seat. She joins me, pulling out onto the road moments later. We head away from downtown Crown Point.