Before I Do Amazon (14 page)

"So prove them wrong. Walk into the theater, meet with the producers, and then make a decision."

"I've already made a decision."

"Then you have nothing to be afraid of. If it's the right decision, no one will be able to change your mind." He held her gaze for a long minute. "What's it going to be, Isabella?"

"You're not going to give me the money if I don't go inside, are you?"

"I don't know. What happens in the next minute is going to tell me a lot about you."

"Fine. I'll go inside, but in case you were wondering…I hate you a little bit right now."

"Good to know."

Chapter Eleven

Isabella drew in a deep breath as she turned toward the theater. It was not a big deal, she told herself. She wasn't going to audition or take the stage. She was just going to meet with the Tylers, thank them for their interest, and say goodbye.

But as she stepped through the theater doors, she felt like she was stepping back in time. She could remember the first time she'd gone to a musical. She'd been nine years old, and she'd fallen in love with the show, the actors, the music—everything. She'd wanted to be one of those dancers on the stage. She'd wanted to play a character and take the audience with her on a dramatic journey through dance and song.

From that day forward, she'd spent all of her time preparing herself to be that performer. She'd played in her high school and college musicals, performed at dance competitions and gotten bit parts in shows in her early twenties. And then she'd made it to the big time, to Broadway, to a show that would actually open on the famed street.

It had all gone to hell.

The pain of those memories made her feel sick. She might have turned and run if she hadn't felt Nick's strong presence behind her. She couldn't let him be right. She couldn't be afraid to be in a place that had once meant so much to her.

She forced herself to move through the lobby and into the darkened theater. She'd barely made it to the third to last row when she heard her name ring out.

"Isabella?"

It was Donna walking down the aisle to greet her. Tall, blonde and thin, Donna was a beautiful forty-six-year-old woman with some of the best choreographic instincts in the business. Her husband Hal was in his early fifties and still had the good looks of the leading man he had once been. Now he was all about business and money. In some ways, Hal reminded her of Nick.

Donna threw her arms around Isabella, pulling her into a tight hug. "I'm so glad you came. When Ricardo called, he said he wasn't sure you would show up, but he was hopeful. I was hopeful, too."

Seeing the genuine warmth in Donna's eyes, Isabella felt a little guilty for not having called her back.

"We've been running through dance auditions all day," Donna continued. "We want to show you a number we've been working on and get your opinion. Come and say hello to Hal and the others." Donna paused, looking past Isabella to Nick. "I'm sorry. I was so caught up in seeing Isabella I didn't realize she'd come with someone."

"This is Nick Hunter," Isabella said. "And this is Donna Tyler, one of the producers of this new show."

"Don't mind me," Nick said after greeting Donna. "I'm just here as Isabella's driver."

Isabella rolled her eyes at that. "Don't believe him for a second. Nick is a very successful businessman."

"Well, we always like to meet successful businessmen," Donna said. "We can never have too many investors. Anyway, come on down you two."

They followed Donna down the aisle. Soon Isabella found herself being hugged by Hal, the Tylers' assistant, Mary Donohue, and a choreographer she'd worked with before, Malcolm Hodges. The director, a man by the name of James Bennett, was the only one she hadn't met previously."

"I've heard many good things about you, Isabella," James said, giving her a speculative look. "Donna tells me you're the best dancer she's ever worked with."

"She was exaggerating."

"I wasn't," Donna denied. "I was telling the truth. I'm just sorry that you got hurt on our show. That should have never happened."

"We don’t need to talk about that."

"Good, because we want to talk about this show," Donna said. "Malcolm, what do you think about showing Isabella our opening number?"

"Excellent idea. But I'm going to need some help." He extended his hand. "Come on stage with me, Isabella."

"I'm not prepared to dance."

"You're dressed for it," Malcolm said.

"Well, I was teaching, but I haven't warmed up or anything."

"I just want to show you some steps. No backflips or anything," he joked.

She drew in a much-needed breath, feeling like this meeting was getting away from her. There were a lot of curious gazes on her, and while she couldn't see Nick, she knew he was waiting for her answer, too. Would she be afraid to go back on the stage? Or would she be brave?

"All right," she said, before she could change her mind. "Let's see this dance."

* * *

As she climbed the steps to the stage, she felt a wave of fear run through her. Her stomach tightened and churned. Her head felt tight and full as if any movement would make her dizzy, make her fall. But she wasn't going to fall. She wasn't climbing up a ladder. She wasn't going to be attached to a harness and dropped onto the stage; she was just walking.

She barely heard what Malcolm had to say for the first five minutes. Her brain was completely scattered, moments from the past flashing through her head. When she looked to the wings, she was assailed with memories, most of them happy. How excited she'd been to wait for her cue, to come onto the stage and perform the way she'd always dreamed of performing.

When she looked out to the theater, to the empty seats, she remembered those seats being filled with people during their early workshop performances. She could hear the hush when the emotions on the stage got heavy and then the surge of applause at the high points, the endless clapping for an encore. She'd thought then that the show would run for years. It would be one of those Broadway classics that never died.

But they hadn't made it out of the pre-opening shows before disaster had struck. When she'd fallen, everything else had come crashing to the ground as well. It hadn't been her fault. Logically she knew that—despite the fact that Carter had tried to pin it on her. He'd pushed too hard, taken shortcuts, and that's why the dream had been destroyed.

She realized now that the dream was still there. It was just a different dream, maybe one she could live out again—if she wanted to…

"I want to show you the first combination of steps," Malcolm told her, putting his hand on her arm. He gazed into her eyes. "Will you do them with me, Isabella?"

It was such a simple question to shoot so many complicated emotions through her body. In the end, she made the answer simple, too. "Yes."

* * *

Nick sat up straighter in his seat as Isabella and the choreographer began to walk through some steps. He'd been thrilled to see her up on the stage, but watching the expressions that had moved through her eyes and across her face for the last five minutes, he'd started to wonder if he'd done the right thing in bringing her here. He'd ambushed her. He'd gone against her wishes and sided with her aunt and her friend.

And he didn't even know why he'd done it, why he'd gotten involved at all.

Actually, that wasn't true. It was because of her. And it wasn't because he wanted to protect his money and that he needed to know if she was done with performing so that he could be certain she would manage the dance studio efficiently. It wasn't that at all. It was hearing Rhea and Ricardo talk about how Isabella was meant to perform but was afraid to go back that had made him want to give her a nudge or a shove or whatever you wanted to call it.

She'd already told him she hated him a little for it, but now that she was working with the choreographer, he had new hope. She moved as stiffly as he'd ever seen her. In fact, watching her now made him think that's probably what he looked like when she tried to teach him the tango.

The stiffness came from fear.

Isabella was afraid to embrace the life she'd had and lost. And he was afraid to look foolish, to look less than he was. He'd always tried to present himself in a certain way, cool, controlled, smart and sophisticated. It was a persona that worked well in business but not as well on the dance floor.

Did he really need that persona anymore? He'd achieved a lot, more than even he had imagined when he'd first started out. Had he lost his true self somewhere along the way?

Had Isabella done the same thing? She was dead set on being a dance teacher, a studio owner, protecting and keeping the place she'd always called home. But wasn't her life really somewhere else? Wasn't it in a theater like this one?

The questions rolled around in his head. At least one of the answers became clearer when Malcolm put on some music, and he and Isabella performed a short combination of steps.

With every spin, every twirl, every look, Isabella set the stage on fire. She was a natural performer. She drew the audience in, and held them there until the story was told and the dance was done. The other conversations going on in the theater faded away as she danced. And when she looked out towards the audience, he thought she was dancing just for him.

His heart flipped over at the thought. He couldn't help wondering if he hadn't made a big mistake bringing her here. He'd forced her to see what she was giving up. If she did go back to the theater, they would probably never see her again. If they were partners in her studio, they'd have to have contact.

But even if she stayed at the studio and he invested, what would come next?

They didn't go together. She was a dancer, an artist, emotional and passionate and a magnet for trouble. He was a businessman—determined, ruthless, pragmatic about life—and he hated trouble. But he didn't hate Isabella. He wished he could.

Applause rang through the theater as Malcolm and Isabella finished their impromptu dance.

Isabella came down from the stage to be greeted with more enthusiasm from the Tylers. They wanted her to come back. They wanted her to be their star. They wanted her to have everything she'd never thought she could have again.

It was going to be very difficult for her to say no. But she did manage to put them off, saying she needed to think it over.

He got to his feet as she came back up the aisle.

"I should kill you," she said.

He was happy that her expression of joy didn't match her words. "You liked it up there."

"Which is why I'm not killing you. Let's get out of here."

Isabella didn't say another word until they left the theater. Then she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and said, "I still can't believe you tricked me into coming here."

"I can't believe you didn't come on your own. When you danced on the stage, I saw the real you—or the
you
that you should be. You don't want to teach right now, Isabella. Maybe that's later, when you're older, when you have a few more stories to tell, but not now."

"I thought I was done, Nick."

"How could you be when you didn't make the choice—it was made for you? But your injury has healed. And you have another chance. Why wouldn't you take it?"

"I don't think I'm as good as I used to be. I was dancing five to seven hours a day when I was working on Broadway. I've slacked off. I'm older. Do you know how many fantastic nineteen-year-olds there are? The Tylers could easily get someone in better shape with fantastic technique."

"But they clearly want you. Why is that?"

"Maybe it's guilt. Maybe they thought they were partially responsible for my accident."

"If that were the case, they would have made one call, and when you said no, that would have been the end of it. But that wasn't the case."

"That's true. They do seem to genuinely want me."

"It looked that way to me. Everyone thinks you're great. Apparently, the only person you have left to convince is yourself. When did you stop believing in your talent?"

"I don't know. Maybe about the time I fell to the stage."

"I know you got hurt, not just physically but emotionally. But you got back up on the stage today and you shined like the star that you are."

She looked up at him with her dark brown eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes, and his gut clenched at her beauty. He'd probably just gotten her started on a life of rehearsals and shows and traveling around the world. He'd basically done everything he could to make sure they never saw each other again. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Thank you," she said. Then she shocked him by flinging her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to hers.

He didn't know if it was a kiss of gratitude or what, but he didn't care. It had been too long since he'd had her mouth under his.

Isabella kissed with her heart and her soul, holding nothing back, which made him want to hold nothing back, which was a slightly terrifying thought. Because he always held back, analyzed every situation and carefully plotted out his moves and his relationships.

But kissing Isabella was a little like jumping off a cliff. He had no idea where he'd land, but it would be a hell of a ride.

Unfortunately, that ride was shortened by the heckling noises of a couple of teenagers walking by.

Isabella stepped back with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I guess I got a little carried away."

"I like when you get carried away."

"I could say the same for you, Nick. It's nice when you let down your guard, which doesn't happen that often." She pulled out her phone as it began to buzz. "Ricardo again. I have five messages all wanting to know how I'm doing, what I'm thinking, and if I'm going to strangle him for telling you about the Tylers' show."

"Are you going to answer him?"

"I'll let him sweat it out for a bit. But I do need to get back to work. I have a class in half an hour. I didn't realize how long we were in the theater."

"Let's get back to the car."