Page 3 of Lawless in Leather

But necessary for her sanity.

She grabbed her things, stuffed them into her bag, and headed out of the locker room—which she suspected, based on the aroma of fresh paint, hadn’t been a female locker room until shortly before Alex had hired her and held his auditions.

The next week in particular was going to be hell. By taking this job at the last minute, she’d managed to give herself the mother of all scheduling headaches. Her next big themed review at the club was starting the same weekend as baseball season. Which meant days here on Staten Island making the Fallen Angels—she hadn’t been able to change Alex Winter’s mind about the ridiculousness of that name—baseball’s next big thing in dance troupes, and then nights and any other spare seconds rehearsing at Madame R before they opened for the night.

Which left her, as far as she could figure it, maybe six hours a day for sleeping, eating, and basic hygiene.

She was going to need a lot of caffeine. And possibly a clone army.

She reached the reception desk after riding the creaky lift up to the office tower where the Saints’ management and administration operated and smiled to discover the blonde she’d met earlier in the week wasn’t there. Instead a woman with shoulder-length light-brown hair and blue eyes was sitting behind the desk. “Hi. Where might I find Malachi Coulter’s office?”

The woman looked up from her computer screen. “Does Mal know what this is about?”

“He asked me to come by,” Raina said. “The name’s Raina Easton.”

Blue eyes lit. “You’re the dance coach? Is that the right word?”

“It’s as good as any,” Raina said. “And yes, guilty as charged.”

“I’ve been hearing all about you,” the woman said. “I’m Sara. Sara Charles. I fly the team’s helicopter.”

“And man reception?”

Sara shrugged. “Just helping out while Tora has her break. Anyway, I’ll let Mal know you’re here.” She picked up the headset on the desk—which gave Raina a lovely view of the sizable diamond gracing the ring finger of her left hand, a diamond that was an amazing shimmering blue that matched Sara’s eyes—put it on, and touched something on the computer screen in front of her.

“Mal,” Sara said after a moment. “Raina Easton is here to see you. Okay, I’ll send her around.”

She touched the screen again and pulled the headset off with ease. Once again the ring sparked in the light.

“He said to come ’round. You take this corridor then the second turn right, and his office is the end of the row.”

“Thanks,” Raina said. “Nice ring, by the way.”

Sara went pink. “It’s kind of big. Lucas insisted.”

“You’re engaged to Lucas Angelo?” Raina gave herself a mental smack. She should have known that. It paid to know the people hiring you.

“Yeah. It’s still sinking in.”

“Well, congratulations. He obviously has excellent taste in jewelry and women, if not baseball teams.”

“You’re not a Saints fan?” Sara grinned at her.

“Born and bred by die-hard Yankees supporters. I think I’d have been disowned if I didn’t follow the family tradition.”

Sara laughed. “Well, at least you understand baseball,” she said. “I didn’t know a catcher from a curveball a few months ago.”

“You don’t like baseball?”

“Spent my formative years at airfields, not ballparks.”

“That much, I understand,” Raina said. “I spent most of mine in dance studios and auditoriums. But with three baseball-mad brothers, it’s hard to avoid it completely. Listen, I should get going, but you’ll have to tell me about helicopters sometime.”

“You like to fly?”

“Never been in a chopper. Did a bit of ultragliding back in my misspent youth.”

Sara’s smile widened. “I prefer something with a nice solid motor keeping me up in the air.”

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