Bad Reputation Page 5

  “Hot?” he asked.

  “You tell me.”

  The taunt slipped out without her permission. Dammit, she wasn’t supposed to be baiting this guy. He was already getting under her skin, and that was a strictly guy-free zone. Falling was not an option.

  Wes cocked his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. This time she couldn’t complain, since she’d invited the devil to look. “I don’t think any word could do you justice, Remi.”

  “Cheat.”

  “Women like you transcend words.”

  Okay, wow. So he hadn’t said anything new, but the intensity of his voice—the slight growling edge, almost argumentative, passionate—sent a tingle through her. It’d been a long time since anyone had surprised her.

  Dating had taught her a few things. Namely, that men were consistent creatures. They used the same lines, the same moves. The same tried and tested methods of seduction, if they bothered at all. And they grossly overestimated their impact.

  But then there was the rare man like Wes. He didn’t need to use lines or techniques to make her pause. He didn’t need to shove his way into her attention. He didn’t need to try.

  This man is dangerous, and you know it.

  * * *

  Wes watched with curiosity as a kaleidoscope of emotions flashed in Remi’s eyes. A few minutes earlier, he’d witnessed something amazing—a dancer who let herself go beyond perfection. Ballet attracted a certain type of person. Competitive, ambitious, type-A people who enjoyed a little self-punishment and a whole lot of discipline. The ones who successfully harnessed that while engaging their creative side often rose to the top, riding the balance of two things that, on the surface, seemed in direct opposition.

  Remi danced like her soul was on fire.

  That’s when he knew she was the one. His centerpiece. The perfect person to tell the Out of Bounds story.

  “You’re slick, Wes Evans. I’ll give you that,” she said, hoisting her bag over one shoulder. “I’m sure it gives you a good hit rate with the ladies.”

  “But not with you?”

  He’d give her the chance to explain away her attraction, but he could see it plain as day. Pink dotted her cheeks and she had this little tic, repeatedly fiddling with her clothing. Itchy hands. She was trying to keep them busy. Not to mention that her eyes were wide as saucers.

  She swallowed. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You knocked me down before.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  He laughed. “Here I am.”

  “Come to ask me out again?”

  He had been about to do that. Ever since their chance meeting he’d had a head full of Aussie blond. Long legs, fair skin. Big, soulful brown eyes.

  But then he’d seen her dancing and everything he thought he wanted had been blown to hell.

  “I want you to audition for me,” he said.

  Her mouth popped open into a small O shape. “What?”

  “An audition. It’s where an artist demonstrates their ability and skill in the hope of attaining a job,” he teased.

  “I know what an audition is,” she ground out. “Just not why you’re inviting me to one.”

  “You’re talented. I’m looking for talent.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “Seems like a mutually beneficial arrangement to me.”

  She sucked on her lower lip, denting it with her teeth. Most dancers would have been thrilled by a personal invitation to audition for a show, especially from someone as established at him. But Remi was at war with herself—her could see it in the way her eyes flicked back and forth, as though she was weighing the pros and cons.

  “I’m not looking to go back to the stage,” she said eventually.

  He’d have believed it more if she hadn’t used a voice that sounded as though it belonged to a cyborg. Rehearsed, that was the tone. As though she practiced saying it over and over in the hopes she might one day believe herself.

  “Why not?”

  She crossed her arms and looked him square in the eye, jerking her chin as if to gesture to the room around them. “I already have a job.”

  “Dance isn’t a job. It’s a calling.”

  “That your way of telling me you’re not paying?” She snorted. “Not interested. Not even a little bit.”

  “Oh, you’re interested,” he said with a laugh. “That much I can tell.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So you’re a mind reader as well as a director?”

  Defensive, but no denial. Interesting. “I don’t need to read your mind when your body language is loud and clear.”

  Her arms fell to her sides at the same time a little noise of exasperation escaped her. “Yeah right.”

  “Huff and puff all you like, I know what I can see.”

  “Maybe I’ll blow your house down, Wes. You’d better watch out.” The bravado was all a front.

  Growing up in his parents’ elite social circles had taught him a few things about reading between the lines. That was the thing about rich people—they often didn’t say what they were thinking. The dance world had its share of politics, social climbing, and the like. He’d learned at a young age that taking things at face value was a mistake. That trusting people who claimed to care about you was a mistake. That not protecting yourself from people who wanted to use you was a mistake.

  Now, with a gorgeous woman trying her hardest to reject him, he was glad he’d honed that skill. Otherwise, he might’ve walked away, and doing that would have been an epic mistake.

  “A big bad wolf masquerading in pointe shoes, huh?” He grinned. “It’s a contradiction, and I happen to like those.”

  “I’m not auditioning,” she said, hoisting her bag over one shoulder. “I’ve put that part of my life behind me.”

  Old wounds. A voice telling her to be afraid. No dancer of that caliber ever really let go of their love for the stage. He simply had to figure out why she was avoiding it and do what he could to help her break through that barrier.

  “Then have a drink with me,” he said. He wasn’t going to convince her today, that much was clear. But he’d be damned if he let her go now that he knew she was it.

  Her lips twitched. “Was that your plan all along? Flatter me with talk of auditions and then pretend like you were downgrading to drinks?”

  “All I know is that I’m going hate myself if I walk out that door without a yes in some capacity,” he said. “And I’m not the kind of guy who knowingly does things he’ll regret.”

  “You’re charming.” She bit down on her lip, stifling a laugh. “Too charming.”

  “No such thing.” He held his phone out. After what felt like the world’s longest pause, she took it from him and put her number in. “Saturday night. I’ll message you the details.”

  When she handed his phone back, her fingertips grazed his hand and the brush of contact was like an open flame. “I have to go. I’ve got class now. Unless you’re planning to stay for this one too?”

  “I’ll save it for the weekend.”

  “Are you going to show me your moves?” She cocked her head, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I can’t wait.”

  As she walked out of the studio, her long, golden ponytail swishing against her back, Wes’s eyes feasted on her. She had the perfect ballerina’s body—long and lean, strong. Legs that went for days and a silky, fluid movement that turned ordinary body mechanics into art.

  He swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone and dialed Sadie’s number. “I’ve found our ballerina,” he said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Chapter 5

  Don’t go into the dating jungle unarmed…

  By Eva Love (Spill the Tea love and relationship reporter)

  On the Spill the Tea Love and Relationships team, we’re all about giving you the tools to level up your love life, which
is why we’ve been so fascinated by the app that’s taking Manhattan by storm!

  The Bad Bachelors website and app are designed for the women of New York to have more transparency about the men they’re dating. Going on a date? Simply look up your bachelor’s name to see what his previous dates have said about him.

  From the Bad Bachelors site: “How do reviews work? Well, it’s no different than leaving a review for your favorite restaurant on Yelp. Bad Bachelors uses a five-star rating system and allows users to share more detail in the review section. We’re in the business of helping you make informed choices, and we rely on our users to get quality data. So, next time you date, don’t forget to rate.”

  With more apps than ever to aid you in finding the man of your dreams—or the man of your evening—dating has become a whole new battlefield. Some app developers have realized that women are looking for safer, less invasive ways to date, resulting in the rise of female-centric apps like Bumble. In a sea of dick pics and crappy “hey, baby” pick-up lines, technology is starting to give women more control.

  Bad Bachelors has already been lauded by many women as the key to improving their dating experience, helping them avoid dating disasters with “nice guys” who turn out to be anything but.

  But is there a dark side to Bad Bachelors? One user recently wrote to us that she was no longer using the app after her brother was targeted by an ex-girlfriend who convinced her friends to review him poorly, dragging his rating down and causing the woman he was currently seeing to break things off.

  Is it possible that this idea is good in theory but not in practice? We’re curious to hear YOUR experiences.

  For a brief moment, Wes wondered if it would be possible to commit murder with anything on the table in front of him. The forks and knives had already been cleared away, but the dessert spoons remained. They would be slow, sure. But persistence was Wes’s middle name.

  Or maybe he could use one of the fancy champagne flutes his mother insisted on wheeling out for a “simple” dinner. Not that she drank alcohol, mind you. But still, appearances must be upheld, even if it was only a family gathering.

  Sometimes he wondered if his mother was convinced that the media had spy cameras in her Park Avenue apartment. That would explain why she swanned around the house in a Chanel suit despite everyone else wearing jeans.

  “I still think you should hold a press conference,” his mother said. A strand of pearls as fat as Christmas ornaments hung around her slender neck. “It’s unacceptable.”

  “A press conference?” Wes looked up at the ceiling and prayed for strength. This night was sucking every last bit of patience out of him. “What the hell am I supposed to say?”

  “That it’s abhorrent for media outlets to discuss your…” She wrinkled her nose as though smelling something particularly unsavory. “Personal parts.”

  “Everyone knows he’s got a big dick, so what?” All heads snapped in the direction of his brother-in-law, Mike. “Who cares?”

  At the head of the table, Wes and Chantel’s father reached for a large decanter of whiskey and poured himself a glass that was on the generous side of three fingers. Wes signaled him to pour another. No words were exchanged as a heavy crystal glass filled with amber liquid was passed over.

  That was his family in a nutshell. Adele bitching at everyone while the drinks were poured and looks exchanged. Tonight he would take advantage of his apartment being stumbling distance from his parents’ and try to Band-Aid the family awkwardness with some Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

  “It’s is a big deal,” Adele spluttered. “This is bringing unwanted attention to the school and—”

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re worried,” Wes said. “Not because you think it might affect me or my show.”

  All his parents gave a shit about was their ballet school, and especially that people might shy away from it if Wes’s show failed. Without their high standing as a feeder school for the New York City Ballet, they’d lose the prestige that his mother clutched tighter than the pearls around her neck.

  “All I’m saying is that you should do something about it instead of letting the rest of the world think they can say what they like.” She adjusted the cuff on her jacket, her voice as icy as the shade of blue Italian wool it was made out of. “Take control of the narrative.”

  “Isn’t all publicity good publicity?” Mike asked. “If people are talking about him, then they’ll talk about the show.”

  Adele sipped her water and waited while their personal chef delivered the dessert course. God forbid they discuss something personal in front of the “staff.” Usually Wes was able to brush aside his mother’s rigid and old-fashioned stance on things, but tonight he was one snide remark away from cracking.

  The clink of china plates being placed on the table filled the awkward pause. As the door to the kitchen swung shut behind the chef, Adele reached for her dessert fork and took her standard “one bite only” from the chocolate mousse cake in front of her.

  She sniffed. “If they’re saying such disgusting things about him on this Bad Bachelors app, then imagine what they’ll be saying about the show.”

  “How are those two things even related?” Wes knocked back a long gulp of the whiskey. Smooth heat warmed the back of his throat and he sucked in a breath. “The reviews are a joke and everyone knows it. I’m not worried about how it will affect the show because it won’t. People take that shit for what it is—mindless gossip.”

  “You never know,” Mike said, forking a chunk of cake into his mouth. “People might come along for a chance to glimpse the Anaconda in his natural habitat.”

  “Ew!” Chantel whacked her husband’s arm with the back of her hand.

  “What?” He grinned. “It’s true.”

  “I don’t care what brings people to the show so long as we fill every seat on opening night,” Wes said. “They won’t be thinking about some tabloid rag the second the lights go down.”

  “Most shows aren’t successful, Wes,” Adele said. For a second, she looked genuinely concerned rather than judgmental. “Even the most talented people fail on Broadway.”

  “I won’t fail.”

  “You’re unprepared.” She shook her head as though dealing with a difficult child. “You can’t waltz into this business and think that everything will turn out fine.”

  “I’ve got one of the best choreographers in the country, I’ve got a unique concept, and I’ve got backing from a big investor.” Wes ticked the items off on his fingers. “And I’m ready to finalize the cast, no thanks to you.”

  Adele’s lips pursed and the air was thick with silence. Even Mike raised a brow. It was a rare occurrence for anyone to challenge the Evans matriarch with witnesses. No doubt Wes would experience the brunt of his mother’s retaliatory anger at a later point.

  “I’m confident,” he added.

  “You’re cocky,” Adele said. “And you don’t give any thought to how this affects those around you.”

  “You mean how this affects you.”

  After dinner was over, Wes walked with Chantel, Mike, and the girls, since they all lived in the next block. A year or two ago, he’d seen that as a point of pride—his family was close. But this adventure had started to reveal the deep cracks and dark truths about the Evans family. To the outside world, they looked perfect. On the inside, however, the bonds were rotting away.

  Chantel had seen it a long time ago, facing their mother’s wrath when she’d walked away from a position with the New York City Ballet to focus on her health—both mental and physical. Wes had always been the peacekeeper in the family, the one who smoothed over the arguments and tension. But now he was experiencing firsthand what his sister had gone through all those years ago, and it had shattered any illusions he had about his family. Especially about his mother, whom he’d once admired more than anyone else.

  �
�Can you believe her?” Chantel fumed as they walked out into the street. Mike walked ahead, Frankie on his shoulders and Daisy asleep in her stroller. “She was a dragon tonight.”

  “I knew leaving the family company would cause problems.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “She’s pissed at you for once.”

  “Don’t look so smug about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve been the golden child since the day we popped out of her womb, and I’ve always been the rebellious twin who never played by her rules. I have to take what I can get.”

  “Brat.” Wes slung his arm around her shoulders. “She’s wrong about my show though. It’s not going to fail. I’ve done my research. I’ve got a good team. I’m going into this with my eyes open.”

  “I know. She wants it to fail so you’ll come back under her wing.”

  “You mean under her thumb.”

  Shit had well and truly hit the fan when he’d announced that he was resigning from his role as chief operating officer at Evans Ballet School. Ever since he’d graduated from college, he’d been working with his parents, pouring everything he had into their dream, thinking it was his dream as well. One day, it’d hit him like a bolt of lightning—nothing about his life was his own.

  Not his status, nor his reputation, nor his work. It was all a product of the family he’d been born into. What had he really achieved for himself? Nothing.

  It was precisely why Out of Bounds was so important. Delivering a successful show would prove that he had what it took to succeed on his own. It would be a true test, especially since his mother had made it clear that she wouldn’t be supporting him in any way. There were whispers that in addition to not supporting him, she was actively telling people to stay away as well.

  Fine by him. He wanted it that way, so when Out of Bounds became a smash hit, he would know it was in spite of his parents and not because of them. Nothing—not even his mother’s controlling approach to her family—was going to slow him down.