His Mistress By Blackmail

Her heart dipped and she clenched her belly in preparation for bad news. ‘Yes?’

‘Well, I hear there are six spots now!’

Sage gasped. ‘Really? How come?’

‘Because we have a new patron.’

She refused to let hope soar. Not when this might be second or even third-hand gossip. ‘Are you sure?’

Michael shrugged. ‘It’s all hush-hush, but the director’s been locked in meetings off-site for the last two days. I hear she’s contorting herself into the godmother of pretzel positions to accommodate this new patron.’

Sage frowned, the hope she didn’t want to entertain, dimming a little. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

Michael looked a little hurt. ‘Because I trust my source. If they say Hunter has a new patron waiting in the wings, then I believe them.’

She sighed under her breath. ‘I’m not doubting you, Michael. It’s just that we’ve been down this road before and—’

‘Yes, I know. Sure, last time my intel that we had a new patron turned out to be false. But this came straight from the top.’

Sage nodded but kept her scepticism to herself. Even with six spots instead of three the odds were tough, considering there were twenty dancers vying for the positions.

If Michael was right, they’d find out soon enough.

At the Washington Performance School after her shift, she practised and tweaked her seven-minute routine for three hours before she took her first break.

When the faint tingling in her wrist started again, she suppressed the familiar unease that came with it.

‘If you can’t stand a little schoolyard competition, how will you make it on the big stage you so selfishly crave?’

She pushed her father’s heavy, condemning voice away and reminded herself how far she’d come. She was good enough. Her wrist was strong enough. Ultimately, she had Ben to thank for her healing too, because he was the only one who’d believed her.

A little desperate to hear his voice, she sent him another frantic message. Then, with an hour to burn until she was allotted another training slot, she found herself returning to the Internet search for Xandro Christofides.

The man was richer than Croesus, with a touch more potent than Midas if the financial media was to be believed. Coupled with dark, brooding, drop-dead gorgeous looks, it was no wonder there were reams of articles written about him. Except most of them only went back to his early twenties, when he’d graduated from Harvard with a business degree in finance and hotel management and a business plan that had seen him become a multimillionaire within two years.

Now thirty-three, Xandro Christofides had taken that same plan and turned himself into a casino and hotel magnate, providing first-class luxury and decadence to the richest of the rich.

Before twenty-one, nothing could be found on the man, save for the rumour that he’d grown up in the roughest suburbs of New York. That explained the layer of hard ruthlessness that clung to him despite his designer clothes and feline grace.

A layer that attracted beautiful women to the enigmatic man. Picture after picture showed him with dazzling females smiling up at him, clinging to his arm, their possessiveness blatant. All while he stared stony-faced into the camera.

Xandro Christofides was a stranger to the art of smiling. Sure, their encounter so far hadn’t lent itself towards affable banter, but she doubted he smiled at any other time. He didn’t seem the type. In fact, he seemed impervious to anything besides making money and dating beautiful women.

A quick look through his company history also showed he was one hundred per cent owner of every venture, with no collaborations or business partners. He’d even stated as much during an interview.

‘I prefer complete control. I don’t like to share. What is mine belongs only to me.’

Apprehension danced down her spine. The man was addicted to control. It spoke volumes that he had travelled from the West Coast in search of Ben when he could’ve let the authorities or the many minions in his employ deal with it.

So why had he just given up?

Sage noticed she’d been staring at his image for five minutes and grimaced. Resolutely, she cancelled the search then returned to her training.

Four hours later, exhausted, she let herself into the townhouse where she lived. At almost ten o’clock on a Friday night the house was thankfully empty, the other dancers having hit the town. In the kitchen, she fixed herself a quick sandwich, then dug through her rucksack for the five-pound dumbbell she always carried with her. She was halfway through her wrist-strengthening routine when her phone blared to life.

She stared at the number on her screen for a startled second before she slid her thumb across the screen. ‘Hello?’

‘Miss Woods?’ a no-nonsense female voice enquired.

‘Yes?’

‘This is Melissa Hunter, director of the Hunter Dance Company.’

‘Uh...hi.’

‘My apologies for calling you so late,’ the director said.

‘That’s okay.’ Sage stopped and cleared her throat, setting her dumbbell down to grip the edge of the kitchen counter. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked cautiously.

‘I have news on the next set of auditions.’

Sage’s grip tightened, her heart diving into her stomach. ‘Okay...’

‘The company’s circumstances have changed a little and we’ve decided to bring the auditions forward. Next Tuesday, to be precise. Successful applicants will be given a place in the next Hunter Dance Company production slated for September. I know this is short notice, but if you still wish to be a part of it I need a yes tonight.’

Sage stared blindly into space for a shocked three seconds before her brain kicked into gear. ‘I...of course. My answer is yes. To all of it!’

‘Great. My assistant will be in touch in the morning with further details.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hunter.’

‘You’re welcome. Oh, before I go, you should know that these auditions are going to be held off-site.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Sage hurriedly reassured.

‘Good. My assistant will require your travel documents when she calls. Be sure to have them ready. We’re very pressed for time.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured again. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘I have other dancers to contact, Miss Woods. Expect my assistant’s call.’ She hung up abruptly, leaving Sage staring at the dead phone in her hand.

A full minute later, the enormity of the call sank in but the smile that broke over her face dimmed all too soon when she realised she had no one to celebrate her news with.

Calling her parents was out of the question. They would have no interest in her news. Not when they’d dismissed her passion and chosen career as callously as they’d dismissed what the bullies at her high school had put her through.

‘Havenwoods is your legacy. That’s all that matters.’

Unwilling to succumb to the quiet despair threatening to mar her happiness, she picked up the dumbbell and finished her routine. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t afford for her body to let her down. Or for any self-doubt to seep through the brick wall she’d erected around the one thing that mattered most to her.