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Hearing Len’s voice from inside the studio come Monday made eating lunch later easier. It made getting to the mess of emails waiting for his responses more palatable. And it erased the looks he’d been getting from his staff.
However, it did not make Annalisa not being there any better. There was no relief in hoping she was bluffing, that a weekend would douse her flames. He’d known her a long time and she did not grandstand before her heels were dug in.
The late-night talk with Len had been cleansing but not healing. When the clock ticked to two in the morning, he left his cousin with a hug and returned home, but he did not go to sleep.
From the couch, he watched Saturday morning dawn and wondered how she slept. Kristy was a kind gal; he envisioned them staying up late in the kitchen talking circles around one another, finding comfort within the act of conversation.
By the time the sun had gotten high enough to push away lingering clouds with its weak autumn strength, he hoped she ate something for breakfast. He hoped she had washed her face with warm water, to take away the garish lines of tears he had caused. To soothe the harsh line he’d created on that supple mouth.
By the time he rolled off the couch and shaved, he hoped everything had gone fine with the car and she was back at the hotel.
As much as he knew her, and felt like he could predict her, it was asinine of him to think he knew what she’d do now. Email and tell him she quit? Arrive Tuesday and act like he was just...anyone? Just the director of the company she danced for, not the man who knew her favorite flavor of ice cream was Cherries Jubilee.
If she quit, he deserved it. If the situation were anyone else, that would be his suggestion. No woman, or man, should subject themselves to seeing the person who tricked them into intimacy. It was demeaning. Joel did not want her to put herself through that.
Yet, within that same thought, the idea of her leaving made it feel like a rope had been wound throughout his ribcage. The farther she got from him, the more it pulled his bones together. If she got far enough, his ribcage would snap, and he’d bleed inwardly. If she stayed, the rope remained taunt, but it did not threaten to cripple him.
Selfish? No doubt. Merited? No. He deserved to be publicly called out and slapped. He deserved to see her shine in another company, in the arms of another man who treated her the way she deserved.
Sleep only came to him Monday night because he ingested a horse size dose of melatonin on top a heavy dinner of toasted bread and cheese. Len had gone to his favorite fromagerie and given him three different smoked cheeses. He was bloated when the sleep aid kicked in, but the slumber was unbroken.
There were no text messages or emails Tuesday. He checked his phone nearly ten times before he left for La Faire. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, half expecting to see her waiting for him in the parking lot, ready to deal the blow he had coming.
As it was, the drive and the morning were maddeningly normal. Part of him thought she was doing this on purpose, to torture him. She must know he was dangling by a thread, waiting to hear anything. It would like her to let him grind his teeth. She was a vixen.
A strong-willed, gorgeous woman he’d watch from a distance on his knees if she let him.
Things with the season were moving, though. Another theater had reached out, saying they wanted to book a few performances of Angels, in addition to the season’s projected run. Additionally, the fanfare from the Moves deal had turned other heads towards La Faire dancers. Those emails were the first ones he answered, saying he’d be only too happy to showcase the men of the company for a line of compression socks and moisture-wicking athletic briefs.
Not everything important was crumbling.
“Joel.” Melinda leaned in through the doorway with a knock. “I’ve got that meeting scheduled with the lights crew at Beverly Theater for three o’clock.”
“Thanks.”
“I think they’re going to try and push a skeleton crew on you.”
“The IATSE strike ended, didn’t it?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Then they’re being dicks.”
“Hasn’t this theater been that in the past?”
“They have. Anything else?”
Melinda smiled. “She’s in class.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer, and Joel did not think his face betrayed any reaction, but his hands hit the keyboard like a weight had been dropped, instantly typing several sentences of gibberish.
Don’t get up. Don’t be dumb. Leave her alone. If she wants to see you, she will. You’ve already done enough. Give her space, man. Her being here is a good thing but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She could be knocking on the door at the end of the workday to give you her two weeks. If nothing happens today, she might see you in the hall tomorrow and pretend like she wasn’t supple in your arms. All the options are hers. You’ve got nothing.
Pressing down the backspace button, he continued typing, matched by the sudden rhythm of his heart’s beat. And although he called himself a coward, aside from the late afternoon meeting, Joel found every reason to stay in his office.
It was at seven o’clock, sure only the cleaning crew were around, that he decided it was safe to leave. Len had texted saying the cooking itch had bit him again and he was in the frame of mind to make a spinach lasagna, so Joel needed to come over for dinner because there never was a lasagna sized for one.
He stood when a knock rapped on the door, and it opened revealing her.
It had been, what, three days since he’d seen her? The last time she’d been soaked and shivering. Not now. Out of dance wear, she stood at the threshold clad in maroon leggings and a black cowl neck sweater that was cropped to barely cover her midsection. Joel wasn’t noble enough not to notice the hint of bare skin, nor think, for an instant, how soft her stomach would be to touch. In two long braids over her shoulders, she wore her hair.
Her expression was unreadable.
Indecision rushed him. He’d throw over the desk. He’d jump the desk. He’d gather her in his arms and kiss her until she was quiet. Until she believed he wasn’t the ass he’d proved himself to be. Right here, he’d pull her onto his lap and make her understand how he felt, how much she meant to him.
Except he’d had that chance, alone with her, soft music surrounding them. It was then and not now that he should have told her how he felt.
Joel gripped the edge of the desk and willed himself to stay seated.
“Can I help you?” he managed.
“Can I come in?”
He motioned and she shut the door behind herself. The sound, minimal though it was, echoed in his chest. Annalisa did not sit down in one of the chairs across from him. She stood; fingers laced together.
She was the only thing he saw. There was nothing else in the room. There was nothing else in his heart.
But she was the only one who had the right to speak.
“Joel, I’ve had a few days to think.”
He clenched his jaw.
“What happened the other night was pretty bad. You really...”
He shut his eyes.
“You really hurt me.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I heard about an opportunity with the Bellus.”
Fuck me.
“Joel?”
Don’t hide. Look at her, you coward.
He opened his eyes. “Anna...I...”
“Let me finish.”