༆ 04 - Audacity On Sale.

Two seconds.

I gave myself exactly two seconds of pure, silent, internal collapse.

Two seconds of everything instantly going white, and the only coherent thought available in my mind was: you have got to be kidding me.

Two seconds before I picked up every scattered piece of my composure, arranged them back, walked to the chair across from him, and sat down.

I set my bag beside my feet. Folded my hands on the table. Looked at him directly, and kept my face as neutral as possible.

“Mia Caldwell,” I said. “I’m here for the lead dancer position.”

“Mia. What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you, sir. Can we get started?”

He held my gaze for one beat longer than necessary—just long enough for me to feel it—and then he opened the folder in front of him and the interview began.

He was good at it.

That was the irritating thing.

There was nothing I could point to, no moment where professionalism slipped enough to give me something to be openly offended by.

He asked about my background with genuine attention.

He asked how long I’d trained, what styles, what level I’d reached before I stopped.

He asked why I stopped.

I answered everything. Cleanly, completely, without letting my voice waver.

You have been in worse situations than this, I told myself. You have waitressed on a sprained ankle on Valentine’s Day. You have sat across from Frank’s industry contacts and smiled for three hours straight. You can do this.

When the practical portion came, I stood up and I danced, and I did not think about the fact that he was watching me from across the room with that same expression he’d had in the bar—that look like he was trying to devour me with his eyes alone.

I felt it on the back of my neck the entire time.

I kept my eyes forward and my lines clean and gave him absolutely nothing to read on my face.

By the time it was over, I was running on pure performance and adrenaline.

The assistant gathered her things. The other panel member closed his notebook.

They filed out with the usual pleasantries about being in touch, and then the door clicked shut behind them and it was just him and me and a thick silence.

He didn’t move from his chair.

Just sat back slightly and looked at me, and the professional atmosphere thinned by exactly one degree.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

I said nothing. I kept my face neutral and waited.

“Last night.” His voice was even, unhurried, the same register he’d used through the entire interview. “What I did—trying to pay you like that. That wasn’t who I am, and it wasn’t how I saw you. I made an assumption I had no business making, and I’m sorry for it. Genuinely.”

I looked at him. He looked genuine enough, and the apology sounded sincere enough…I guess.

“Thank you,” I said evenly. “Is that all?”

“No.” He held my gaze.

“See, Mia…I have a problem. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since you walked out that door. Not for a single hour.” He paused for a few seconds before he continued. “I have been thinking about you…your body…everything, and I know how one-night stands work, but the issue is that…one night isn’t enough. I want more. I want to fuck you…over and over. I want many more nights with you.”

The room went very quiet.

I sat there for a moment and let the words settle and felt something go still in me.

I had no idea if I should feel offended by his blunt approach or offended.

Then I looked at him and I spoke.

“Last night,” I said, keeping my voice low and level, “was a mistake. It was the worst night of my life, and I was not in my right mind, and it was a one-time thing that should never have happened.” I paused. “It does not mean what you seem to think it means. And it does not say anything about who I am.”

“I know who—”

“I’m not finished.” I held up one finger. “I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to dealing with. I don’t know if it’s the title or the money or just the fact that you’ve never once been told no, and so it genuinely doesn’t occur to you that the answer could be anything else. But let me be very clear with you.” I leaned forward slightly. “Does it look like I’m that kind of person to you? Because you’re sitting across a professional table right now asking me to sleep with you like you’re placing a bloody order, and I need to understand—do I look like a slut to you? Is that what last night told you about me?”

Something shifted in his expression.

“Or is this just what you do?” I continued, because I had started and I was going to finish. “Because you’re Cole Ashford and your name is on a banner somewhere and you’re used to getting whatever woman you want whenever you want her, you think you can just proposition any lady you meet like she should be grateful for the offer? Like she doesn’t have a choice in the matter worth consulting?”

“I do not mean to disrespect you, Mia. I just…I’m a very blunt man, and I do not see the need to beat around the bush when I can simply state what we both want.”

“I’m not interested,” I said. “What happened last night stays last night, it meant nothing, and I would appreciate it if you could manage to be a professional for whatever remains of this interaction.”

The silence held for a moment.

“You’re right,” he said.

I blinked.

“About how I spoke to you just now.” His voice was the same—level, unhurried, completely unrattled. “I’m not going to apologize for being honest about what I want. But you’ve heard me, and what you do with it is entirely yours.” He closed the folder in front of him and looked at me plainly. “Thank you for coming in today, Mia. You were exceptional.”

I picked up my bag. Stood up. Walked to the door with my spine straight and my hands steady and did not look back once.

༺༺༒༻༻

I had the phone to my ear before I hit the lobby.

“Hello! How are you? How did it go…,” Nat asked, and even over the line I could hear the excitement in her voice.

“He was the interviewer.”

“Who?”

“Cole Ashford. He was the interviewer, Nat!”

I pushed through the front door and the cold air hit my face, and I kept walking because standing still was not currently an option. “He ran the entire interview, Nat. The whole thing. And then everyone left and he—” I stopped on the pavement, pressing my fingers to my forehead. “He apologized for last night. And then, in the exact same breath, he told me he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about me and he wants to—” I lowered my voice even though there was no one near me. “He basically propositioned me. Right there. Across a professional table.”

The silence on Nat’s end lasted approximately one second.

“What did you say?”

“I told him exactly what I thought of him and walked out.”

“Okay, but what did he—”

“He said I was exceptional and thanked me for coming in.”

Another silence. “Mia. That man is—”

I groaned. “There’s no way he will give me the job, Nat. There’s absolutely no way. I’ve disrespected him so much in the past twenty-four hours and…”

My phone buzzed against my ear.

I pulled it back and looked at the screen. A number I didn’t recognize—Chicago area code, the same prefix as the company’s main line.

“Hold on.” I switched over. “Hello?”

“Ms. Caldwell.” A woman’s voice, professional and warm. “I’m calling from the Vortex organization. I’m delighted to let you know that we’d like to offer you the position.” A brief, pleasant pause. “As lead dancer.”

I stopped walking.

The street kept moving around me—cabs, foot traffic, the indifferent machinery of the city—and I stood in the middle of it and said nothing for a moment.

Lead dancer.

Not just a spot in the line. Lead. The thing I had been before I handed my entire life to a man who’d just told the world I wasn’t enough.

Offered back to me, today of all days.

“Ms. Caldwell?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

I hung up and stood there another moment. Then I called Nat back.

She picked up on the first ring. “Well?”

“They offered me the job.”

Nat screamed, and I held the phone away from my ears until it passed.

The sound she made was immediate and enormous. I held the phone away from my ear and waited for it to pass.

“Lead dancer,” I added when she came back down.

“Mia.” Her voice had gone to that rare serious place. “This is like a dream come true!!!”

“Nat—”

“No, listen to me. Lead dancer. Do you understand what you just said? After everything—after Frank, after all of it—I sure hope you are not having second thoughts about this?”

I started walking again slowly. “The situation with him is—”

“Complicated, yes, and also frankly the most exciting thing that has ever happened to anyone I know.” I could hear her settling into the couch, preparing her full argument. “And can I just say something about this man?”

“Please don’t.”

“He apologized, Mia. Without being cornered into it. And yes, the proposition was a lot, but at least the man is honest—he’s not pretending, he’s not playing games, he looked at you and said exactly what he felt, and that is more than Frank gave you in five years—”

“Nat.”

“I’m just saying! There is something to be said for a man who—”

“I have to go,” I said. “I’ll see you at home.”

I hung up before she could finish the sentence and walked the rest of the way with my hands in my pockets and the word lead sitting quietly in my chest like something I wasn’t ready to put down yet.

༺༺༒༻༻

I had been home for just over an hour—changed, fed, aggressively pretending to watch television—when the doorbell rang, and before I could get up from the chair, it rang again.

“Just a minute! I’m coming.”

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Nat had a key.

I set down my cup and crossed to the door and pulled it open.

Cole Ashford was standing on the other side of it with a bouquet of rose flowers.