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She could do this.
Music and dance and moving to a rhythm, she understood.
Men who abandoned her when she needed them most, not so much.
As the tempo increased, she began her routine. Steps and twirls and kicks, a high-energy routine designed to dazzle. She let the music take her, her feet pounding to the beat, her arms slicing through the air in perfect synchronisation.
It had always been like this, from the moment she’d seen her mum dance on stage in a nightly Kings Cross revue, a wide-eyed three-year-old mesmerised by the glittery costumes, the make-up and the applause.
She’d adored her mum, had wanted to be exactly like her. Emulating her grace and elegance and vibrancy on stage. But Makayla also wanted more. More kudos. More recognition. More.
Broadway. The pinnacle. Her dream.
But unless she scored a leading role soon, her dream would be in tatters, like her bank account.
The song drew to a close and Makayla threw herself into the finale, a run across the stage complete with high scissor split, before landing nimbly on her feet, arms flung high in victory.
The music cut off, the silence deafening.
At some auditions, she’d seen directors clap for outstanding performances.
Hudson didn’t move a muscle.
Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she stepped to the edge of the stage, out of the spotlight.
He scribbled something down before glancing up at her, his face unreadable.
Her heart sank but she forced a smile. A smile that wavered the longer he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, and, with a curt nod, dismissed her.
Disappointment made her knees wobble, but she’d be damned if she gave him an insight into her devastation.
Mustering what little courage she had left, she strode offstage.
And flipped him the bird behind the plush gold curtain.
CHAPTER TWO (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
HUDSON BIT BACK a guffaw.
Mak had flipped him the bird when she thought he couldn’t see. But Embue was renowned for its many mirrors and he’d seen her, clear as day, as she’d exited the stage.
Feisty. Bold. Confident. Still the same old Mak. Yet she wasn’t the same, not by a long shot.
It had been five years since he’d seen her in that Kings Cross strip club, naked in front of a room of slobbering Neanderthals. Five years since he’d fucked up. Big time.
She’d matured since then, her curves more womanly, her legs a tad longer, her eyes a deeper blue, her hair a rich glorious auburn. She’d always been a stunner growing up but now Mak could knock a guy to his knees and make him grovel to get back up.
When he’d seen her name on the audition sheet, he could’ve sworn his heart had skipped a beat; she had that kind of impact on him. Always had.
He’d clamped down on his initial reaction to score a line through her name. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t erase that night he’d seen her strip and the resultant fallout.
How many times had he picked up the phone afterwards to apologise? To see if she was okay? To talk her out of heading down a nefarious path that he’d seen first-hand resulted in tragedy?
Countless times, when he’d tried to formulate the right words yet had been lacking. He’d wanted to lecture her against the dangers of scoring easy cash via stripping. He’d wanted to warn her of the potential to spiral out of control. He’d wanted to tell her the truth behind his funk in the hope she’d understand why he’d freaked out.
Instead, he’d hung up the phone each and every time, knowing nothing he could say could erase the damage he’d done that night.
He’d said awful things, hateful things, in his shock-induced rage. Sadly, there’d been no coming back from it.
A week later he’d left Kings Cross, moving into a small Manly apartment and into the manager’s job at Embue. He’d deliberately avoided going to clubs in the Cross for fear of seeing Mak performing. He couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing her innate innocence tainted in that sleazy world.
Not that he hadn’t thought about her over the years. Some women were unforgettable and Mak was one of them.
Seeing her name on his audition sheet had given him a jolt. Could he really face seeing her dance again, when the last time he’d seen her gyrate and shimmy she’d been naked? He feared it would bring back all the old feelings: anger, disgust, with a healthy dose of jealousy. Crazy, out-of-control emotions, when he had no right to feel any of them.
He’d dithered for two days before the agency had called and demanded a list of potential dancers he’d like to trial. Before he could second-guess his decision, he’d added Mak’s name to the list.
After seeing what she could do a few minutes ago, he was glad.
Mak could dance. Really dance. Exhibiting the kind of talent that would establish Embue as the venue for live shows.
He’d been worried that when she moved on stage, he’d be catapulted back to that horrible night five years earlier and his impartiality as a producer would be shot.
Thankfully, it hadn’t happened. He’d been mesmerised by her lithe movement, her ability to command a small space, her stage presence.
Quite simply, as a dancer, Mak was a knockout.
It made him regret all the more that he’d missed out on seeing her come of age the last five years. In a world where he didn’t trust easily, Mak had been a good friend. One of the best, next to Tanner.
‘Auditions done?’ Tanner slumped into the seat next to him and braced his hands behind his head. ‘Because Abby is getting angsty with the endless trail of long-legged babes strutting their stuff through here.’
Hudson snorted and placed a thumb in the middle of Tanner’s forehead. ‘Your girlfriend is well aware you idolise her and that you’re right under this.’
‘She’s the best.’ Tanner swatted away his hand, his friend’s goofy grin making Hudson want to puke.
Not that he begrudged his best mate and boss a little happiness. If anyone deserved it, he did, after the shit Tanner had tolerated growing up. But ever since Abby had come on the scene a month ago Tanner had been a shadow of his former self. Staring into space at the oddest of times. Leaving the nightclub early to watch chick-flicks with Abby. Refusing to go out on the town like they used to.
Relationships were for suckers.
Tanner steepled his fingers and rested them in his lap. ‘So? Am I wasting my time, giving you a shot at making this live gig fly?’
Hudson sure as hell hoped not. He needed his idea to work. He owed Tanner and he always paid his dues.
‘Once I finalise the lead, rehearsals can start.’
Tanner nodded, thoughtful. ‘How did Makayla go?’
Hudson startled, immediately followed by a sinking feeling deep in his gut. The kind of feeling that made him want to punch something, preferably Tanner, if he’d slept with Mak.
Women fell at Tanner’s feet, always had. Not that Hudson was jealous. He did okay. But the thought of his Mak with anyone...not that she was his. Not any more. Not that she ever had been, really. His outburst that night five years ago had seen to that.
‘Mak did well.’ Keeping his voice steady with effort, Hudson pretended to study the call-back sheet. ‘How do you two know each other?’
Tanner laughed so loud it echoed around the club. ‘Man, you should see your face. You look like you’ve sucked a lemon.’
‘Fuck off,’ Hudson growled, that urge to thump Tanner growing by the minute.
‘I think a more pertinent question is how you know Mak?’ Tanner’s laughter petered to chuckles. ‘By your thunderous expression, I’m assuming you know her a hell of a lot better than me.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question, dickhead.’
Infuriatingly calm and determined to make him sweat, Tanner linked his fingers and stretched forward. ‘Makayla works at Le Miel with Abby. So when I filled in there while Remy was in hospital, I got to know her a bit then.’
‘Oh.’ Hudson deflated in relief, feeling like an idiot for allowing jealousy to cloud his judgement.
He had no right to be jealous of Mak. She could’ve slept with the entire north shore of Sydney and it still shouldn’t bother him. But it did. Deep down in that place where a part of him still missed her dreadfully, he cared. A whole damn lot.
‘If you call her Mak, you’ve known her longer than me?’ Tanner’s smirk didn’t hide his blatant curiosity.
Hudson could lie. But he didn’t bullshit Tanner. They’d been through too much together, from the time they were at Kings Cross High, two misfits without mothers, trying to do the best they could with asshole fathers.
‘Mak and I go way back,’ he said, rubbing the tension cramping his neck muscles. ‘When I was working the clubs at the Cross, our paths crossed constantly because her mum danced and waitressed there. We became friends.’
Tanner must’ve sensed the seriousness behind his declaration, because he stared straight ahead rather than grinning like an idiot. ‘How come you never mentioned her back then?’
Because Mak had been all his. The one bright spot in his lousy world. Someone he could confide in, someone who understood the daily battles of growing up in the Cross, because she faced them too.
But he didn’t say any of this to Tanner. Instead, Hudson shrugged. ‘I didn’t want you giving me shit. She’s younger than me and I wanted to protect her.’
‘A regular Sir Galahad,’ Tanner scoffed, the lame-ass grin returning. ‘What happened?’
‘We had a falling out.’ Massive understatement considering the blowout they’d had the night he’d stumbled upon her stripping. ‘Haven’t seen her in years.’
A speculative gleam made Tanner lean closer. ‘So you two haven’t...you know?’
‘No.’
Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But Mak had been off-limits due to her age—and her naivety, if he were completely honest. She’d radiated an innocence that shone bright in an otherwise grimy world. A world of pimps, prostitutes, drugs and strippers. A world he’d worked in out of necessity but had done his damnedest not to let taint him.
It was one of the many reasons he’d flipped out that night he’d seen her gyrating naked on stage.
That, and because of his mum.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, man. Makayla’s a bombshell and if I were single I’d take a shot at—’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Whoa, easy, big fella.’ Tanner held up his hands. ‘Just giving my opinion. And if you overreact like that to a simple suggestion, I advise you to get laid, pronto.’
Hudson wouldn’t give his doofus friend the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t far off the mark. What with getting this show off the ground, he hadn’t had time to date lately. In fact, it had to be at least three months since he’d had sex. Maybe that was the reason he’d wanted to bound onto the stage and drag Mak into the nearest dressing room when he’d first seen her up there ten minutes ago?
Yeah, like that was the only reason.
‘I need to organise call-backs so if you’ll excuse me I’ve got work to do.’ He brandished the clipboard at Tanner, who grinned as if he could see right through his feeble excuse.
‘Get laid, buddy. It takes the edge off.’ Tanner stood and clapped him on the back. ‘According to Abby, Mak hasn’t dated anyone in ages, so you two should get reacquainted.’
His glare was lost on Tanner as his friend sauntered away, lifting his hand in farewell. Damned if Tanner’s advice didn’t resonate.
He’d love to put the past behind and move forward with Mak. But how could he approach her as a friend, when she’d just nailed the lead dancer role in his show?
He might have found his leading lady but once he told her, it ensured they could never be anything but professional.
Mak’s talent had floored him. She deserved this role.
So where the hell did that leave him?
CHAPTER THREE (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
BY THE TIME Makayla made it back to Le Miel to start her shift she’d managed to come up with forty-three different ways she could make Hudson hurt.
Decapitation, evisceration, circumcision...not that she knew if he needed the latter or not, considering they’d never got that far, but she’d be willing to do it without anaesthetic.
His laconic, trite ‘we’ll be in touch’ mocked her, echoing through her head until she’d thumped the steering wheel of her car several times. It hadn’t helped. Hopefully, venting to Abby would.
Because if Makayla knew one thing, Hudson wouldn’t call her. After the way they’d parted five years earlier, he had no freaking intention of calling her. Ever.
Even if he did, would she accept the job? Could she work with the guy who’d judged her and found her lacking, effectively ending their friendship?
She’d heard the rumours on the entertainment grapevine. That landing the lead gig at Embue could be a good segue into the latest dance extravaganza staging at the Opera House in a few months. And from there...well, dancing at the Sydney icon would look mighty fine on her CV if she ever made it to Broadway.
Broadway...her dream since she’d donned her first tutu and slipped on her first tap shoes.
Growing up, she’d spent countless hours poring over the Internet, watching video clips of shows at the many theatres in midtown Manhattan, wishing she could be a part of it.
Her mum had never scoffed at her dreams. Instead, Julia Tarrant had fostered her love of all things dance, spending every cent she earned on Makayla’s dance lessons. It wasn’t until her mum had died that Makayla realised the extent of her mum’s sacrifice: Julia had no savings, but a detailed record of where her money had gone over the years. A budget that indicated Julia’s love for her daughter.
Makayla had adored her mum and discovering she couldn’t afford a decent send-off...it had driven her to take drastic action and accept that stripping job for one evening only.
The night Hudson had lost the plot and their friendship had imploded.
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stomach her usual beignet and cappuccino before she started her shift.
Of all people to audition for, it had to be Hudson.
What the hell was he doing anyway, producing a dance show at Embue? Back then he’d been a gofer for the clubs at the Cross. Doing whatever jobs that came his way. He’d always talked about getting out when he was older, doing something in the club scene, so how did that equate to producing a stage show?
