She wouldn’t need beeswax grip with that pole. “Please.”
She got another polite head incline but it was followed by an obvious eye-fuck that made her skin goose-bump. “Your audition tape did not do you enough credit, Lux. Your skills, yes; your body, no. You are delectable.”
“Are you hitting on me?” He might as well have swung a bat.
He smiled, showing a dimple. “I hit on all beautiful women who affect me.”
“Since you’re surrounded by them, that must be very tiring.”
He laughed in a spider who catches the fly manner and left the room. Gymnastics judges were figures of fear and officials could be dragons, but the Stage Master was another species entirely. He was seductive. And she didn’t feel sick anymore. His appraisal had given her back her confidence.
And as she stood in the wings five minutes before her music cue, she felt it bubble in her veins. This wasn’t the Olympics, and while twenty-five thousand dollars would make her life easier, it wouldn’t change its course. It wouldn’t bring her fame or sponsor dollars or a permanent record of her achievement. She was still a student with debts who needed a job and somewhere to live. She was still estranged from her family. She was still a woman who danced for men for money.
But she was holy rolling good at it.
In the flare of the spotlight and the opening playful la, la, la of the song she strutted onto the stage and proved it.
If this had been a gymnastic competition she’d have ninety seconds and a twelve-meter sprung surface at her disposal. She’d have had up to five judges scoring her every move, deducting percentage points for an imperfect angle or the slightest wobble.
Here she had a titanium rose gold-plated chrome pole, two minutes forty-five and an audience of rich men whose appreciation would go a long way to defining her ranking.
She made that pole and the small stage it was on her kingdom and every man in the audience her subject.
And when the applause met her ears she wasn’t looking for anyone’s judgment because she’d already won. She had a man who loved her, who’d complicate things in the most wonderful way, and if her parents didn’t want to see she was making a new life the best way she knew how, if they couldn’t see the Madame Amour in her, then she didn’t need to miss them.
When she stepped off stage, Master was waiting. “Exquisite. Allow me to buy you a drink to celebrate your experience.”
She gestured at the bar where she’d left Reid. “My—”
“Will wait. This is business.”
There was no sign or Heidetta or Biyu. What kind of business was this? She looked down at herself. “Like this?”
“But of course. Madame Amour wishes to meet you.”
Well, all right.
The bar Master took her to, easing their way through the crowded main floor of the club with an arm at her back, was roped off. The drink he put in front of her was champagne. She looked for Reid and found him across the room, before a crowd of people passed between them and she lost sight of him. He’d understand.
Master stayed close, touching her, never inappropriately except with his eyes, but it made her uncomfortable. “How long are you staying in Paris, my lovely one?”
“I’m not sure.” They’d not set an end date on the trip, but she had to be home for the start of semester. She looked for Reid again. The bar he sat at was busy. A stunning woman in a dress split to her waist stood next to him. Zarley got a flash of plump fake boob.
“How long did you train as a gymnast?”
The woman had her hand on Reid’s arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” The woman whispered in Reid’s ear.
“Your training. Rigorous, no?”
Zarley switched her vision to the Stage Master. “Yes.” And back to Reid. He was laughing at something the woman said. She was so close to him she was alm
ost in his lap. Bitch. He didn’t push her away. Bastard. “No.”
Master tapped her shoulder. “Contrary. Perhaps when Madame asks these questions you will more forthcoming.”
Her stomach rolled. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. A little distracted.”
“Easy to do here. So many glorious sights to see.”