Lovers' Dance (67 page)

“Thanks, poppet.”

I stole a kiss and left him to it, closing the door on his irate French words. George was waiting in the studio, unhappily it seemed. It was midday, and I didn’t know what he was complaining about. What else was he going to do with his time?

I went over to the sleek and narrow fixture in the corner that held numerous pairs of ballet shoes and changed the ones I already had on to pointe shoes. Matt had thought of everything. I glided to the centre of the space and positioned myself in preparation to start my moves.

“Your music, Ms DuMont?” George queried.

I waved the question away. “I’ve heard it so many times, George, it’s on constant replay in my head. Remember, I want your honest opinion.”

I danced. I danced like I was alone. Just me and the air I moved through.

When I finished, George unfolded his arms and said, “Your proficiency is of a high calibre.”

“You like it,” I said, satisfied, maybe a little smug. I pulled the edge of the large t-shirt back on my shoulders. It was Matt’s. He was busy with work, and it was my way of having him close to me. Never mind he currently stood by the glass wall separating his office from the studio indulging me in a supportive round of applause. He looked great in that light sweater and casual dress pants. A bit much for staying at home, but hey.

“I am sure many would find it enjoyable to watch, Ms DuMont.”

“You like it,” I repeated, grinning from ear to ear. George huffed before turning on his heels and exiting the space, my space. I ambled over to the end of the large room where I could see into Matt’s office. He was about to take a seat behind his desk, attention on the paperwork in front of him with a tiny scowl on his mouth.

I tapped on the glass and he looked up at me. I turned around and lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to flash my leotard-covered ass. When I turned back around, he pointed in the direction of his door, then to me. I grinned and hurried out of the studio to meet him; knew that would make him leave his office.

“Hi,” I said as he closed his office door behind him.

“Hello,” he replied, fighting a smile.

“Do you have a lot to do?” I asked. “We could watch TV. You’ve been in there for hours, and I think you need a break. There’s a show on Sky that I want to watch.”

“What sort of show?” Matt asked suspiciously. During the early stages of our relationship, it had become apparent that Matt was a documentary/news sort of guy. And a remote control freak. I’d been subjected to his viewing pleasure for months, never being agile enough to wrest the control from his strong hands whenever we did watch TV. Every time I manually changed the channel, he would use the remote to flick it back and tell me to sit down so he could rub my feet. I only put up with it because he gave the best foot massages.

“It’s a movie.”

That suspicious look turned into a ‘definitely not going to happen’ look as he said, “I’ve got a lot of work to complete, poppet.”

“We can eat popcorn,” I offered in way of convincing him. “I noticed a microwave pack in the back of one of the cupboards.”

“I don’t eat popcorn. It must have been left over when the twins last stopped by and that was months before you and I got together,” he stated and my eyes widened in disbelief. Everyone loves popcorn. The sweet kind, the salty kind, the buttery kind; it didn’t matter your preference, it was popcorn and you loved it.

“That’s wrong, Matt. How can you not eat popcorn? And you say I’m crazy.” I scoffed.

A shadow flickered through his eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t joke about that particular word. Did he really think I was nuts?

“Please?” I wheedled, applying an exaggerated beseeching expression to my face.

“How long is it?” The negotiations began.

“About two hours, maybe less,” I said.

“What’s the storyline?” he asked.

I waved that question away. “Does it matter? We can get cosy on your back aching sofa for two hours.”

The suspicion was back on his features. “It’s dross, isn’t it? Some brain-stunting dross that you feel no guilt in subjecting me to.”

“I watched that documentary on macroeconomics with you, Matt. A three hour long documentary, and I didn’t complain once.”

“No,” he shot back with a reminiscent gleam shining from his grey eyes. “You complained several times, not just once. And chatted through half of it, which was distracting, to say the least.”

“You need a break,” I admonished. “I’m going to make popcorn. Come help, hon.” With that, I turned on my heels and started down the hallway in the direction of his kitchen. I had gotten around one corner before I realized he wasn’t following me. “Matt?”

“Go make your popcorn, poppet. I have to make one more call,” he yelled back.

I continued my journey to the kitchen, silently vowing that Matt would be watching the movie with me.

Fifteen minutes later, popcorn rapidly cooling on the side table and soft drinks getting warmer by the second, there was no sight of Matt in his entertainment room. I put my cell down. I’d been texting Dante on and off, and strode out of the room to search for my missing boyfriend. He was exactly where I knew he would be—behind his desk in the office, hurriedly writing something out on a pad of paper.

“The movie’s about to start,” I said from the open doorway. He glanced up at me, then back down to the pad of paper.

“I’ll join you in a bit.”

“No,” I said, walking over to pull the pen out his hand and put it down across the pad. “You’ll join me now, Mr Bradley.”

Matt sighed in resignation and got up from his chair. “And you say I’m the bossy one.”

I held my hand out and he took it, squeezing gently as I grinned triumphantly at him and led him out the office.

It was a horror movie, my favourite kind. Twenty minutes into it, I was pondering the disadvantages of making Matt join me.

“I’ve already spotted five inconsistencies, poppet,” he mused, kneading the balls of my feet as we sat in the darkened room on the sofa that was not to the level of comfiness I liked. “Why would a demon want to possess an unemployed girl, who obviously has no common sense? You would think an evil being dredged from the depths of hell would have set its sights higher. A corporate businesswoman is a more suitable match. That way, it would have a level of power through her management of the staff beneath her, not to mention all her contacts—”

I tossed a handful of popcorn at him. “Shh.”   

Five minutes later, a sceptical, “Why on earth would she go there, poppet? It’s illogical and downright stupid. Does she not realize it’s dangerous for her?” came from his pursed lips. I launched another handful of popcorn at him, and he ran a finger along the arch of my foot, eliciting a giggle from me.

“I am trying to watch the movie, Matt. Shush,” I warned.

He did shush and resumed the rubbing of my feet. I was into the movie. Gasping in shock at the required times, scooting closer to Matt during the blood-crawling scary times, freezing into stillness as the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up during the times I began to question whether there could possibly be a grain of truth in the movie.

Then my cell rang loudly, right at the moment the demon-possessed girl was making a call to her next intended victim. I yelped in terror. Matt was halfway off the sofa, too.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered in shock, staring at my cell with, dare I say it, nervousness?

“Don’t say hell,” I grizzled, trying to slow my heart rate down as I paused the movie and reached for my phone. “Not when we’re watching this.”

Matt returned to his previous position, wiping a hand across his face and over his neck. Seemed he was getting into the movie, too.

“If you hear a strange voice on the other side of that call, poppet,” he said quietly, “you had better hang up immediately. In fact, let it go to voicemail. I need to see if she can suck this poor fool’s soul through his mobile.”

I checked the number on my screen and wished it was a demon-possessed girl ready to devour my soul over the phone lines. That would be a preferred demise to speaking to my aunt.

“Hey, Aunt Cleo, what’s up?”

Matt stiffened on the sofa, eyeing me for a moment before picking up his drink and taking a few sips.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry I haven’t called sooner.” I could see Matt’s eyebrows lowering. From now on I would need to find another word to use concerning my wellbeing in his presence. He obviously had a thing about me saying I was ‘fine’.

I listened to my aunt catch me up to speed with the going-ons of my uncle and my cousins. Then, came her demands.

“Yes, I promise to be home for Thanksgiving…No, I haven’t booked my ticket yet but I will…I can only stay a week, Aunt Cleo. I told you we have the production coming up. It opens the fifteenth of December…I miss you guys too, but I can’t keep flying to and fro like that…No, I can’t make Christmas this year. I told you the production opens on the fifteenth of December and it’ll be on for two weeks.”

Matt picked up my legs and placed them over his thighs, running his hands lightly across my calves. I sent him a distracted smile and listened to my aunt scold me for not visiting as often as she would like.

“I am taking care of myself, Aunt Cleo. Really, I am.”

Matt cleared his throat loudly, giving me gimlet eyes and mouthing “liar” at me. I showed him my middle finger.

“Thanksgiving is seven weeks away and I have loads to do before then, but I promise to book my ticket this weekend. Anyway, did you get the things I sent back with Sol? I hope you liked the bracelet, Aunt Cleo…Jenny isn’t my aunt, so, of course, hers isn’t as nice as yours…I’m glad Uncle David liked it. Is he still with that construction company? You told me last time we talked he was getting grief from the foreman.”

Matt was running his hands on the insides of my thighs. Most distracting. I tried to wriggle away to no avail.

“No, I’m not home at the moment.” Matt’s hands stilled. I dared not look at him as my aunt asked my whereabouts. “Umm, well, I’m at Matt’s.”

He resumed rubbing my legs with a pleased demeanour. Huh. He was pleased and I got the usual earful from my aunt about our relationship.

“This call must be costing you a fortune, Aunt Cleo. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give my love to everyone.” I hurried her off the call and picked up the remote.

“How is your family?” Matt asked pleasantly.

“Fine,” I murmured, testing it. Sure enough a grimace flitted across his handsome face. “Let’s see if his soul gets stolen. Hey, do you notice how the majority of times the black person gets killed off first? I mean it was what, two minutes into the movie when that dude got his butt eaten?”

Matt rolled his eyes and nabbed the remote from my hand. Seriously, he was a remote Nazi.

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, poppet. It had nothing to do with race. By the way, I know you’re going to be cleaning up this popcorn mess after the movie. I hope you know it as well.”

I grinned and got comfortable, well as much as was physically possible on the awful sofa, and I bet it cost him a fortune. Matt resumed the movie, but I didn’t pay attention to it. All I could think about were his words earlier this morning, about me not proving my love to him.

“Do you want to go home with me, Matt?” I asked softly.

Matt was close to the edge of the seat, peering at the ridiculously large TV. “Poppet, I don’t want to drive to Greenwich today. I thought you wanted to stay here.”

I nudged him with my foot. “Not there. I meant
home
home. For Thanksgiving. Do you want to come with me? You don’t have to. It’s not like you have to come. I mean, it’s just that I’ve met your family and maybe you should meet mine. You’ll probably be away on business, anyway. Forget I said anything,” I rambled and scratched my ear in embarrassment.

Matt paused the movie, put down the remote and twisted on the sofa so we faced each other. “I’d love to go with you.”

I scrambled over to wrap my arms around his neck and press a kiss to his soft lips.

Matt suddenly gave me a devious look. “In fact, I think you should call your aunt back right now and give her the good news. Tell her I’m quivering with excitement at the prospect of meeting her. And tell her I’m really, really pale.”

I shook my head and sat back down properly. “Start the movie, Matt, before I suck your soul out of you.”

Matt slung an arm around me and pulled me into the warmth of his body. “You can have my soul anytime you want it, poppet.”

“That’s blasphemous. Your soul should belong to Jesus, but I’ll take dibs on your ass.” 

Watching a scary movie with my boyfriend was my new bliss. Things were fine. I was fine, and I had seven weeks of intense supplication to the Lord Almighty that my family would be welcoming to Matt. I hoped God didn’t hold my previous lack of communication against me, because only divine intervention could make it an incident-free visit. My eyes went upwards. Best to start praying.

NINETE
EN

LIFE WAS GREAT. Fantabulous, actually. The artistic director in my employment was a dream to work with. His professional expertise helped us tweak the troublesome parts of
The Ice Queen and Princess
, and we changed a few things. That was unexpected, to say the least. I was surprised Dante hadn’t lost his rag. He had listened to what Francois had to say, run through the steps, then agreed with him. I thought my friend had been replaced by a pod person.

My relationship with Matt had settled into a nice routine. A tiring, but definitely nice routine, where I was spending more and more time over at his place in Kensington while he spent less and less time at mine. Sometimes we barely saw each other, which always made me laugh seeing as we were in the same place. I would drive over to his place late at night to find him in bed, then he would leave early in the morning while I drooled over his pillows. Or he would come home from a long day at the office, and I would be fast asleep in the studio, wrapped up in duvets and pillows on the floor. He didn’t like that, had scolded me about it, too.

The media was still a problem. I doubted I could ever get used to their intrusion in our lives. A few days ago, I had been in Tesco picking up bottled water for the canteen and toilet paper for the loos at work when I spotted a magazine with a picture of me and Matt on the cover. The caption read: ‘The elusive Matthew Bradley tamed at last?’

The fuckers. I bought it though and the checkout girl had glanced at it as she passed it over the machine, then glanced at me, before her mouth fell open. I had smiled politely at her and pointed to the toilet paper. She ran those over the machine, goggling at me. This picture was an okay one. I swear those darned photographers went out of their way to catch me on every single bad hair day I had.

But I was happy. Matt was happy I was happy. Although there had been two incidents that had put a damper on my current bliss. The first was ‘the ambush’. It was a little over a week after my birthday and Matt had requested my presence at his place—well, ordered more like it. Being the great girlfriend that I was, I had left work early to acquiesce to his request. Big mistake.

George had met me at the door, taken my bag, then informed me to go to Matt’s office at once. His behaviour had seemed a bit cloak and dagger, and I foolishly wondered if Matt had gotten me a new expensive surprise. He had, but not the nice kind. On my entry to Matt’s office, I was met with the sight of a well-dressed, middle-aged white woman seated in front his desk drinking tea. Matt had walked over to kiss me hello and closed the door behind me. Then, he made the introductions: Dr Yvonne Brown, Psy.D. My new psychotherapist.

There had been five awkward minutes of silence with Matt standing conveniently in front of the door and blocking my immediate escape. I had a moment of pure panic before I politely laid into Matt. I reminded him this was supposed to be done my way, when I was ready. He countered by saying she was the best in the field and came highly recommended. I had sweetly retorted he said I could do my own research into it, and how was he sure she was the best. At that point, I had stalked over to his desk giving her a wide berth, of course, and Googled her ass. She was the best, it seemed. But I wasn’t going to take this ambush lying down.

She had remained completely calm sipping her tea and observing Matt’s and mine interaction. I worried that she was making mental notes about me.

I told Matt to stop pushing me. He calmly said I was using delaying tactics as I had made no attempt to do anything about the issue and a resolution to my problems were long overdue. He and Dr Brown had had a long discussion about the next steps forward.

Dr Yvonne Brown had finished her cup of tea and poured herself another, still silently observing us.

Matt politely asked me to come outside the office for a moment. It was the most polite argument we had ever had.

He had reminded me in his deep, sincere voice that I had agreed to prove my love by doing this for us, and he wanted me to have the very best. Her fees were upwards of £350 per hour, not factoring she was here outside her normal work hours. I had asked how long she’d been there and Matt said an hour and a half. Matt was right. I didn’t appreciate the ambush, mind you, but he knew I was secretly trying to weasel my way out of getting help. Damn. I thought I had more time. I relented, promising some form of payback, and that I would be cured in the cheapest amount of time possible. Three hundred and fifty pounds and upwards? Per hour? Hell, I would be cured by the time she left here.

Matt had called Dr Brown out and led us to the studio where there were two fancy chairs and a table laden with goodies and tea. He had said to her I felt the most at ease in my studio, and it was probably the best place for us to get to know one another. He left us to it.

Bloody man.

She was nice though. Very professional. When I had walked her to the front door an hour later, I told her I felt better and probably wouldn’t need to see her again. Dr Brown had laughed and said our discussion about the
Nutcracker
, although pleasant, would not be the last one we would have.

Once I had closed the door behind me and searched out Matt—it had taken me twenty minutes to find where he was ensconced—I had promptly kneed him in the nuts and called him a tyrant. Then I kneed him again.

The second incident had been at my place. Matt had surprised me one night by stopping by. I had been sorting through my paperwork and seeing him was a welcome break. After I had fed him, he offered to help me organize the mountain of papers stacked around my living room floor. Everything was going fine until he happened across my most recent documents from Geoffrey. He had asked me what it was, and I had shrugged, giving a brief explanation of the way we sometimes worked with Geoffrey. Matt had looked ill. He demanded to see every single document from Kincaid I had signed, which I found irritating. When I asked him what the big issue was, he had ignored me and diligently searched through every piece of paper on my floor until he had a neat pile of documents from Kincaid in his hand. I was not happy with that, told him to stop minding my business then attempted to reclaim the documents. Humph. Matt, being much stronger, easily evaded my attack then he strode off to the kitchen and locked the door, leaving me to continue sorting through my paperwork. I didn’t know why he was acting strangely, and it was obvious he didn’t want to explain his actions to me. When he rejoined me a little while after, he had coldly asked if I was fully aware of what I had signed my name to. I had explained my relationship with Geoffrey, and Matt had ordered me to never sign another legal document like the ones he’d been going through unless his solicitors okayed it. He completed ignored the fact I told him I already had a legal third party who went over the documents before I signed them. His attitude towards my relationship with Geoffrey was not only perplexing but uncalled for. He didn’t even know the man. Then he called his secretary, I think her name was Rachel, and instructed her to ensure a charitable donation of two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds was made to my dance company the following morning.

Outraged couldn’t begin to describe how I felt. Matt had brushed my feelings aside, saying he had planned to donate funds to my company months ago, before we had gone to Venice, and donations were a tax write-off for his company, anyway. I had calmly explained he had, by that single action, turned me into his whore. He had told me to stop being foolish and wouldn’t listen to why I felt so strongly about what he had done. Needless to say, he hadn’t stayed the night. I felt awful, dirty, a kept woman. I had called him the next morning, imploring him to cancel the donation and, when he said he wouldn’t, I reminded him how the media would portray it if they found out. Matt had an answer for that. Simply put, I would be doing him a favour by accepting the donation as it would be good press for his company to be involved in another programme of the arts. He went on to say he had arranged a press release, and there was a function I would be required to attend with three members of my staff. Bradley Industries held yearly functions for the charities of their choosing, attendance was non-negotiable. When I told Dante what Matt had done, he had shrugged and said we needed all the donations we could get. Plus, Matt was sexing me so he should pay for the privilege. He was teasing, but I punched him for his cheek.
I knew the donation would look suspect.
It felt wrong. I don’t know why, it just did. My ballet company was my baby; created with blood, sweat and tears. It was mine. I didn’t want to feel as if I owed Matt.

But I was fucking happy right now, even with Matt’s donation that hadn’t been touched.

“Gloria, did all the parents sign those permission waivers? We need to update the website with the kids’ Halloween recital. It’s the 11th of November already, and I want it done by the end of today.”

My receptionist said she would check her paperwork and chase it up. I nodded and headed for the auditorium. We held all our sessions for the production there now, so when opening night came around, all our dancers would feel completely at home on the stage. By the time we called a lunch break, it was needed. I was seated in my office, eating a sandwich and wondering if I should text Matt. He was away on business with Nathan. He had left Friday night and wouldn’t be returning until next Monday. Today was Tuesday. I still had a whole week left to be without him. Someone knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I called, and Gloria popped her head around it.

“Madi, there’s a man out in reception for you, and he won’t give me his name,” she advised with a speculative look.

I frowned. “Not a reporter, right? Because they have been getting pretty persistent of late.”

Gloria shook her head. “I don’t think so, Madi. He came in a limo and he sounds Scottish.”

I wiped my hands quickly on a napkin. Did Matt have something to do with this? Was it another one of his many surprises? I uncurled myself from the chair and locked the computer screen before exiting my office and walking out to reception.

“Mr McGregor,” I exclaimed in shock at the man grinning in my reception area.

“Come now, lass, that’s too formal. I told ye to call me Dougie,” he said in a deep, Scottish drawl.

I walked over, extending a hand, which he took before leaning in to press a kiss to both sides of my face.

Gloria’s face was a picture as she reclaimed her seat behind the front desk. She acted like she was busy, but I knew her eyes and ears were wide open.

“What are you doing here, Dougie?” I queried with a tiny smile. “How did you find out where I work?”

Dougal McGregor ran a hand through his close-cropped brown hair. “Ye never called, Madi. Why is that?”

I was conscious of Gloria’s slow tap-tap-tap of her keyboard. She could type a lot faster than that.

“I lost your card, and you haven’t answered my question,” I said smoothly, wondering why the Scotsman was standing in the reception area of my place of business.

“If ye must know, I had business in London and I thought of our last encounter. Ye promised to dance for me, Madi.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “No, I did not. Now answer my other question.”

He gave me an ‘aw shucks’ grin. “How did I find ye? Och, lass, I am a man of means. Finding a lass is an easy feat.”

I shook my head and eyed him. He was like I remembered: cocky and amusing. And wearing an expensive Brioni suit. I knew the maker, because Matt had quite a few of those suits in his closet.

“So you decided to stop by and say hello?” I injected as much cynicism as possible into my question. Gloria’s tapping had stopped completely. I glanced over to see her staring unashamedly at us while chewing a piece of apple. I would’ve invited him into the office for privacy but, honestly, my knowledge of the man didn’t warrant such an action. I didn’t know Dougie McGregor well, and Matt hadn’t liked me talking to him the night we met.

“Not just say to say hello, I want ye to take me to lunch,” he said, and my eyebrows shot up, way up. Dougie continued. “I feel cheated, Madi. Ye outbid me and I’m not a man who likes losing. I’m giving ye a chance to make it up to me since ye refuse to show me your dancing skills.”

I had to laugh. He was an amusing man. “Firstly, you stopped bidding of your own accord. It wasn’t my fault you allowed yourself to be intimidated by my unfortunate outburst. Secondly, as you can see, I’m at work. I don’t have the time to take unexpected strangers to lunch.”

Dougie gasped, clutching at his chest. “Stranger? That hurts, lass. I offered ye haggis, true Scottish haggis. I dinnae offer that to just anyone, ken?”

I laughed. His accent was adorable. “As much as I would love to listen to that accent of yours, I can’t, Dougie.”

“The others aren’t back for two hours, Madi. You’re free until then,” Gloria said loudly. When she saw my expression after her volunteering of unnecessary information, she ducked her head and the tap-tapping started up again.     

“Ye have free time, and I’m starving,” Dougie said. “Where are ye taking me for lunch?”

“Nowhere. I told you I don’t have the time.”

“Then take me to dinner,” he persisted. The tap-tap-tap started slowing down.

“No.” I said firmly. “I can’t.”

Dougie rubbed his chin, scrutinizing my face. “I’m going to wait outside in the car until ye agree to either lunch or dinner, Madi.” He sent a polite smile at Gloria before waltzing out of my building.