Beyond the Velvet Rope (28 page)

“Shit!” Turning abruptly, she made for a quick escape. She almost made it out of the room before her legs went stiff on her. She slumped against the wall. Distantly, she heard someone call her name, but she ignored it. Desperate, she labored across the room in shaky but determined motions. She felt as if she was wading through quicksand. It soon became apparent she would not make it to her room. She doubled over, in great pain.

Taking quick unsteady breaths, she pressed herself against the wall. The fireworks exploding before her were so bright, she had to squeeze her eyes shut. The attack was so acute, so abrupt, she could not regain control of herself fast enough.

She gasped at her chest, as if trying to remove some heavy weight that was planted there. She flinched when a pair of hands took hold of her shoulders. Unable to open her eyes fully, she was able to make out the faint outline of a man hovering over her. Knowing it could only be one person, she began to struggle out of his touch, but her movements were a mixture of sluggish tugs and sudden jerks.

“Listen to me, honey,” he said in a strong yet soothing voice. “I need you to calm down and breathe. Are you listening to me? Breathe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to push him out of her thoughts.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down,
she repeated again and again in her head.

“Thandie.” Elliot’s deep and steady voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. “I need you to look at me and focus.”

Unwilling, but desperate, she did as he said.

“You must breathe slower. Take deep breaths.” While he spoke, he pulled her hands toward him, using his thumbs and strong fingers to work them out of the tight fists. When her hands were relaxed, he pressed her palms together. “Take deep breaths,” he said. “Deep slow breaths.” As he spoke, he covered her hands with his own and applied pressure. “Squeeze your palms together,” he instructed. “Squeeze them as hard as you can.” She obeyed. The harder she squeezed, the harder he pressed. “Squeeze harder,” he urged. “Breathe from your abdomen. Yes, that’s better.”

He kept up a barrage of directions, instructing her to continue pressing her palms together. “Breathe deeply...” and “You’re safe....” But it always came back to making her press her hands together.

His voice was low and trancelike. Easy to follow, easy to depend on. After a while Thandie understood what he was doing. Elliot was using her distraction of pressing her palms together to help her capture her breathing. Surprisingly, it worked much faster than her usual tactics. Her breathing became steady once again.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Elliot was staring at her but this time the arrogant smile was gone. Only a blank expression remained. Elliot was kneeling before her, his weight balanced on his knees.

“Feeling better now?” he asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet.

He looked deep into her eyes, and asked, “How long have you suffered from panic attacks?”

“Get away from me,” she rasped.

“I asked you a question.”

“Why do you want to know?” She was ashamed and defensive.

“Because I do,” he said calmly. “Now tell me.”

“I’ve always had them. Ever since I was a child. There! Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Silence fell between them, making her outburst seem all the more loud and unnecessary.

She shifted her weight, only now realizing she was slumped against the wall, her legs crumpled beneath her. How had she gotten like this? Had she done it herself, or had Elliot moved her?

“How—how did you know?” she asked cautiously. “How did you recognize...my condition?”

For a long while he seemed to measure her with his eyes. Finally he said, “Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Before she could ask what he meant by that, the sound of a car pulling up to the house could be heard in the distance. Minutes later, the front door opened, and the sound of laughter and clumsy steps could be heard. Len and Raja had apparently returned home for the evening. Shrill giggles erupted, followed by loud
shhhhing
. The two laughed again, before stomping noisily up the stairs.

Thandie turned her head in the direction of the voices, a frantic look on her face.

“They don’t know, do they?” Elliot said in a low voice.

She shook her head.

“No one knows,” he surmised.

Thandie looked at the ground, embarrassed for having been found out.

“You should have told me.”

“Why?” she snapped, anger bubbling up inside her. “So you could use it against me?”

“Perhaps,” he said truthfully. “Or maybe I would have gone about things a little differently.”

“And tonight?” she hissed. “Would you have gone about that differently as well?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I make no apologies for what happened. I meant every word and every action. This—” he fanned his hand over her collapsed body “—changes nothing.”

Thandie moved to get up, but froze when his hand reached out to cup her chin. Lifting her face so he could peer into it, he said, “Because I’m not completely unscrupulous, I’ll do you a kindness.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Consider this a truce between lovers.”

“We are not lovers, Elliot.”

He smiled. “We will be, pussycat. Very soon.”

“Let go of me.”

And he did. Like an exotic cat, Elliot rose smoothly, turned his back on her, and left the room without another word.

Thandie watched him disappear around the corner. When he was out of sight, she listened to his footfalls, which had become softer the farther he went. Eventually the sound of his bedroom door slammed shut. And then there was nothing.

Thandie allowed herself to weaken. Hot tears streamed down her face. She had to force herself to keep taking deep breaths. She was not fully recovered from her episode.

Damn him!

Why did he have to be the one to see her fall apart? She’d kept her panic attacks a secret for so long. Why did he, of all people, have to be the one to expose her? And how had he known how to calm her down? Why had his face expressed genuine concern, and his voice have to sound so soft and comforting? Why did his kindness make her soften toward him? And why did she allow him to get under her skin?

Damn him!

Angrily, she wiped her wet face. She still had two months left on her contract. It didn’t take a genius to point out what the successful completion of the Babylon project would do for her reputation. But, her faith had been shaken. For the first time ever, she questioned if she could get through this.

Damn him!

Chapter Eighteen

V
ictoria Day had been right.

Upon meeting Fernando Fonseca for the first time, she added a few more attributes to his résumé: young, Cuban and handsome. As she followed him to the dressing rooms, she was convinced this was just the distraction she needed to keep her mind off Elliot.

Surprisingly, Elliot had held true to their truce. He’d kept a modest distance from her over the last two days. In truth, she’d seen very little of him at all. Evening glimpses of him and Romero coming and going from the house was the extent of her interactions with him. And due to her scrambling to secure arrangements for The Pussy Cats performance, she hadn’t had the energy to visit Babylon recently.

Turning off her phone, Thandie began to undress. She took her time clipping her hair up and removing all her jewelry. When she was swathed in only the fluffy white spa robe, Thandie was escorted from the stylish ladies’ dressing area to Fernando’s room. The lights were turned low, and a soft Spanish guitar ballad was playing in the background.

“I’m going to step outside while you disrobe.” His voice was a soft whisper which easily relaxed her, as well as stimulated her erogenous zones. “Lie facedown on the table. I’ll knock before I come back in.”

Thandie tossed her robe aside and climbed on the table naked. She was pleased to find it was heated. She closed her eyes, released a deep sigh and tried to clear her mind. Fernando returned, giving her a quick explanation of his method before beginning their session. She welcomed his strong, skillful hands on her attention-starved body. She knew why Fernando was highly recommended. His attention to detail was beyond reproach. He zeroed in on the places where she had tension, and kneaded the muscles until they were smooth and supple.

Afterward, Thandie felt refreshed and completely relaxed. She did not want to leave. She changed into her clothes with sluggish ease, and marveled at the effects a proper massage could do not only for a person’s physical state, but their mental being.

Thandie strolled out of Blu Moon ready to take on the world. Basking in her sunny disposition, she waited until she was in the car before turning her cell phone on. Immediately, the phone rang. It was Len.

“Oh, thank God you answered! Where have you been?” Her assistant sounded hysterical.

“I had my massage today,” Thandie reminded her. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“We have a big problem,” Len announced. “The Pussy Cats refuse to perform and want to cancel.”

“What?”

“Three of their girls are sick at the hotel. They think it’s food poisoning from some hole-in-the-wall restaurant they ate at last night. Apparently, they’ve been in taking turns puking their brains out all morning.”

“They can’t do the show without them?”

“Raja has been trying to talk them into it, but Celeste won’t budge. I think you need to come down here.”

Dammit. Thandie had a luncheon with Mira Dietrich in half an hour. There was no way she could make it down to the club, resolve The Pussy Cats crisis and be downtown to meet with Mira in time. Shit, she hated being rushed. “Okay, Len,” she heard herself saying. “I’m on my way, but you need to cover me by meeting with Mira.”

“Okay, just hurry.”

* * *

When Thandie arrived at Babylon, Len was waiting outside for her. She tossed the car keys to Len and dashed into the club while Len started the engine and headed toward downtown. It was early, and there were few staff members roaming about the building. Thandie did not bother to glance up toward Elliot’s office. She knew without looking he was up there. Instead, she made a direct path for the backstage entrance. Climbing the steps, she rounded the corner just in time to hear Raja attempting to reason with the Pussy Cats’ leader, Celeste.

“There are roughly two hours before opening,” Raja was saying. “Surely you can adjust the routine to fit four dancers instead of seven.”

“No, I can’t,” Celeste said emphatically. “How many times do I have to tell you, Raja?”

Thandie walked up behind Raja and placed her hand on her shoulder. “Celeste, what is going on? Len tells me you’re having trouble performing.”

Everyone seemed to give a sigh of relief, happy to see Thandie. Even though Celeste was breathing fire, she seemed pleased not to have to deal with Raja anymore.

“I’ve told your girls a hundred times this isn’t going to work. Thandie, we can’t do the show without half the team. You know that. Maybe if we had one more person, we could rebalance the routine, but that’s a long shot.”

Thandie nodded her head, thinking. “Have you asked someone else to step in?”

Celeste was already shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. They have to be taught the steps. No one can learn a routine in a few hours. Save for a professional dancer.”

Thandie looked to Raja. “Call the Babylon dancers. See if any of them are willing to work tonight.”

“I’ve already tried that,” Raja whined. “When we couldn’t get hold of you, we asked Markie for the dancers call list. They’re all booked.”

Thandie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious,” she groaned.

Raja threw up her hands. “What can I do? There’s some open casting call for a music video today. The girls I was able to get on the phone told me they didn’t know how long they would be there.”

“There you go,” Celeste said with a shrug of her shoulders. “There’s no one available to learn the routine. And these aren’t exactly easy steps.”

“Blowing off this performance isn’t an option,” Thandie informed everyone within earshot. “We paid for your travel expenses and the agreed upon retainer.”

“Yes, I know. But—”

Thandie continued as if Celeste hadn’t interrupted her. “Unless you plan to pay back those funds, a backup plan needs to be presented right now.” From the corner of her eyes, Thandie could see Raja edge behind her, lest she be in the way when the fireworks commenced.

“What do you expect me to do?” Celeste fired back. “The only people who have seen our routines enough times to grasp the steps in record time would be you and your girls.” She meant her words to be an absurd notion, but the moment the idea was out it began to resonate. Celeste and Thandie held eye contact, both thinking the same thing.

Raja hadn’t yet caught on and blurted out, “Len can’t dance. She has
no
rhythm.” She felt rather than saw Thandie look at her with a pleading expression. “No way!” Raja shook her head vehemently. “Not on your life. I’m not dressing in one of those costumes. They barely qualify as clothing.”

Thandie felt like pulling her hair out. Why wasn’t anyone willing to help her out? The past week had been a nightmare of one bad event to another.

Celeste disappeared into the dressing room and reemerged carrying a hanger with what looked like a tiny piece of leather dangling from the hook. She pushed the hanger toward Thandie. “You can either do it with us or be prepared to tell your boss that we had to cancel. You’ll only be on the pole. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“A pole!” Thandie felt sick. “I can’t do that, Celeste. I’m sorry.”

“Then I’m sorry to tell you that we’ll have to cancel our performance.”

Thandie knew she was going to be sick for sure. She massaged her temples. “Celeste, surely you can find a way to do your show without your full team.”

“If I could, I would, and I wouldn’t be wasting your time.”

“Can’t you call someone else—anyone else—to stand in?”

“We don’t have enough time for that. You’re the only person here who has seen our performance a dozen times. You know the routines.”

“But I—”

“Yes or no, Thandie. You need to make a decision.” Again, Celeste pushed the outfit toward her.

Thandie groaned before snatching the hanger out of her hands. “But I’m wearing a mask, or something, right? I can’t have people seeing my face.”

Celeste nodded. “Then we’ll all wear one. Now let me give you a few quick tips.”

* * *

Elliot had been locked away in his office most of the day. His only break had been a brief trip home to shower and change clothes. His return to the office had been slowed by Lucinda forcing a meal in front of him, and demanding he eat everything on his plate. He’d been in a rush to get back and complained he did not have time.

But, as usual, Lucinda won the argument.

While he ate, he listened to her ramble about trivial matters around his house, relatives she planned to visit and places where she’d like to vacation. Elliot listened patiently while he ate and found himself inadvertently getting sucked into the conversation. He hardly noticed when she gave him a second helping.

By the time Lucinda cleared away the dishes, Elliot was vastly informed on every detail of her life, and well fed. He was pleased with both outcomes. He’d always enjoyed her company and he adored her cooking. But he was running behind schedule. Getting up from his seat, he brushed a hasty kiss against her cheek and headed out of the house.

The meal had done wonders to his attitude. He’d been tense lately. He refused to believe this had anything to do with the fact that he had not seen Thandie in two days. He intended to keep his word about their truce. It was the least he could do. He’d been harboring a lot of guilt over causing her panic attack.

Elliot was fifteen minutes late to the investor meeting he’d scheduled today. Romero looked him over curiously when Elliot finally sailed through his office door. The room was crowded with eight men, all looking eager to begin. Even Warren, who often arrived late, was in present company. Elliot was rarely late for an appointment, especially a business meeting. Ignoring his assistants’ imploring gazes, Elliot immediately got the meeting underway.

Two hours later, after the meeting had concluded, Elliot stood and said, “Warren, a word please.”

Warren jerked at the sound of his name but stepped back to allow the other men to step past him. When the room was empty, save for the two of them, Elliot retrieved an envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to the older man.

Frowning, Warren looked down at the paper. “What’s this?”

“I understand you may be in the market for an investigator.” Elliot tapped the envelope. “This is a short list of professionals. Their references are included.”

Warren opened his mouth to say something, but seemed unable to vocalize his thoughts.

Elliot waved away the attempt. There was no kindness in his voice when he said, “In the future, if you need assistance, come to me. Not Nico.”

“I didn’t think you would be willing to help,” he said.

“I’m not,” Elliot retorted. “But I’d prefer you not to involve my friends into your legal matters.”

When Warren nodded sheepishly, Elliot considered the matter closed. However, Warren did not immediately leave. To Elliot’s frustration, the older man took a seat and said, “We need to talk.”

* * *

Thandie could feel herself shaking, even though she was wearing a hoodie one of the dancers had kindly loaned her. Abandoning one of her own rules, she had Raja get her a shot of vodka from the bar. If she was going to do a Pussy Cat pole routine in front of a South Beach crowd, she damned well wasn’t going to be completely sober for the disaster. Lord knew she didn’t have the body to be dancing nearly nude on stage beside professional dancers. The more she thought about it, the sicker she felt.

Celeste did all of their makeup. With a delicate hand, she artfully drew what could easily be mistaken as dark lacy veils across their eyes, effectively masking their faces. They all wore identical black wigs that stopped just below their earlobes.

When everyone was fully dressed, even Thandie had to admit she wasn’t easily distinguishable from the other dancers. But this did not calm the butterflies in her stomach. She could feel the dull numbness of the alcohol begin to hit her. She felt a little safer, unfeeling and inhuman. Celeste tried to keep her calm by talking to her, stepping her through the routine, offering her tips on how to work the pole.

It was almost twelve o’clock, and Thandie was counting down the minutes to their midnight act. She slowly discarded the safety of the hoodie and slipped on the pointy leather boots that zipped up to her thighs. When she stepped in front of the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The wig and the makeup had done wonders to hide her identity, but the outfit...there were no words. It was simply appalling. Thandie knew she wore revealing clothing when she worked, but what she was currently wearing made her speechless. It was a two piece outfit, with bikini bottoms that sat low on her hips. The back of the shorts were cut so high they exposed the entire underside of her ass. The top was nothing more than a strapless bra. This was where she had the most hesitation. Thandie wouldn’t necessarily consider herself top-heavy, but the outfit was at least a size too small. She was literally spilling out of it. Yes, there was a thin string that tied around her neck, but it offered little support, and looked ready to snap if put under serious stress. Thandie felt as though she might as well be naked.

Celeste walked into the dressing room and slapped her bare ass cheek. “Wow, you look great! You have an amazing body, Thandie.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Thandie said, meaning every word.

Celeste shook her head. “That’s just nervousness. You’ll be fine. I’ll be close to you. We’ll do a little girl-girl action to get the guys crazy.” She laughed when she saw Thandie’s ill expression. “It’s meant to take your attention off the men in the crowd. They’re going to go crazy when they see you.”

“I doubt it.”

Celeste winked at her. “You’ll see soon enough. They’re cueing up our music.”

She took Thandie by the hand and led her to join the rest of the girls standing stage left, waiting to go on. Thandie watched with dread as the house lights went down and the house DJ began making a rousing introduction. The vibrating beat of Britney Spears’s “Breathe on Me” rumbled to life, and The Pussy Cats took the stage.

* * *

Elliot was not in the best of moods. He bristled when he recalled his earlier conversation with Warren. It had single-handedly destroyed his good mood. Elliot had no desire to be privy to the details surrounding Warren’s divorce, particularly because of his own history with Sophia. Any involvement on his part would only complicate matters. And yet, against his better judgment, he’d allowed Warren to divulge every bloody blow his and Sophia’s lawyers were pummeling each other with. When it was all said and done, it was doubtful either would be satisfied.