“Natayla,” Katerina croons behind us, her heels clomping on the cement courtyard.
We both instinctively pick up the pace to get away from her. If I can get Taye into the elevator alone, I’ll feel like I’ve already won this inane battle with a has-been ghost shell.
“I didn’t because I haven’t decided what to do yet,” I reply to her earlier comment.
We sprint through the revolving door and chasse across the marble floor of the atrium. Tayla pushes the elevator button, and I wrap my suit jacket around her bare shoulders. We wait in silence as everyone approaches a few yards away. My heart ticks like a speedbag.
The elevator finally dings. I grab her hand and interweave my fingers through hers.
“I haven’t decided yet whether to kill you, fuck you, or marry you,” I say. I’m flying high on adrenaline and a lust so strong it tugs low in my gut. It feels so good to have her back in my arms.
“Kill Pizza,” she pleads. “Eat me.”
Our banter is as natural and fun as when we were kids. My familiarity with Natayla is so real, it’s as if we never even left the Haverton cafeteria. The connection is still there. Maybe Sam didn’t lose herself after all.
Tayla clasps my hand, pulls me to her, and wraps her arms around my neck as the elevator doors squeeze closed, blocking out Lance and Katerina.
Sam and Dash against the world, just like old times.
Chapter Thirteen
Dashiell
“Fuck Pizza,” I say into her hair that smells like lemon soap.
I’d love nothing more than to throw her up against the wall and kiss her mouth off her face, but I know I’ve got to move mindfully. I can’t lead the train off the tracks and derail everyone on board. I’ve been gone a long time and something tells me to move slowly.
“I’m glad you came,” she says into my chest.
“You drunk?” I ask her.
“Not drunk enough,” she says. “Now you can take all of Katerina’s focus off me. You can wow her with your fame and she’ll try to pick your brain about Meta algorithms or some shit. You can keep Lance off me, too.”
Little Sammy Samwich, always looking to be saved.
“That’s not why I came. You’ve got to fight your own battles, Sam. I didn’t show up to save you from your own fucking life. I won the Dance Props fair and square. I got here by dancing my ass off and making a name for myself.”
Her smile drops.
I don’t want her to get the wrong impression about me. Katerina has bred her to be bloodthirsty, just like the streets have raised me. My endgame is success. It’s superstardom, and if Sam stands in my way, I’ll take her down like Katerina did to me—no qualms about it.
But one potential problem is our chemistry. Natayla lights me on fire like no one else ever has, with a simple look, a brush of her hand, or the goddamned bite of a peanut butter sandwich.
The elevator dings at the penthouse of the Walfortshire building and the doors open into the stark glass and metal palace I remember from my Haverton days. Not much has changed, including Shareen’s warm smile, which greets me first—the second most beautiful thing in this cold mausoleum.
Unlike Katerina, Shareen recognizes me right away. “Well, if it isn’t Dashiell Cunningham. We watched. Voted straight through the finals and all got drunk and celebrated the night you came out on top,” she says when I pull her into a hug. “My son Marshall even bought me a t-shirt.”
“How come you didn’t tell me,” Taye asks her.
“You were in Switzerland doing your Grand Prix thingy. Katerina would have vetoed you watching trash television anyway. Except it’s not trash because Dash was a star.” She ruffles up my hair like I’m the old family dog.
Sam has accosted a waiter and had him bring us two coupes of Champagne. She’s clearly had enough, but it’s not my job to keep her in line.
“Cheers, Dashiell. Welcome back into the game,” she says, her lips shining.
“Never left,” I say through gritted teeth as I raise my glass to hers.
We toast a little too recklessly and are lucky our fine stemware doesn’t break.
I want to drink Champagne out of her mouth, spill it down her clavicle, and suck it off her insanely erect nipples.
The elevator doors open, and the rest of our party pours out into the entryway. Katerina Koslova looks like she wants to kill me, so I give her a winning smile and raise my glass to her.
“Thanks for having me, Katerina, and putting on this party. Here’s to a whole new generation of dancers,” I shout.
The phones and professional cameras immediately come out, and it’s clear they’re expecting a speech. Taye tries to dodge the bullet and sneak away, but I grab her wrist ruthlessly and yank her right back to my side. We haven’t even left the foyer and she’s already polished off the Champagne.