Page 70 of InfraRed

Another guard nods at me as he opens the heavy, tinted glass doors for me. The clap of my shoes is muffled by the sounds of chatter and the moving of equipment. I appreciate seeing every busy and hustling.

Once I’m inside, my attention wanders over the elaborate sets that take up the fifteen thousand square foot space. To the left is a staged dance studio complete with a mirror and barre, a couple to look like someone’s apartment, one to look like a coffee shop, and even one set up with a green screen behind it. Directly ahead, an elaborate as fucking hell mock theater has been built, complete with seating and filled with bodies ready to watch the show.

The premise of the video is a dancer meets a guy and falls in love, but she has a stalker constantly lurking in the shadows. She never sees the stalker, only senses their presence. The end of the video is when the twist is revealed. The dancer died in an accident, and the stalker is death.

My steps are light as I try to be discreet as possible. I take a seat in the last row of the makeshift theater just as the lights around the building go down, and the stage lights come on.

Music spills through the sound system. The heavy sounds of a guitar moan fill the place with an ominous, dark vibe, and Maverick’s deep voice comes through the sound equipment as dancers fill the stage with quick graceful movements.

My brows dip low as I lean forward in the seat, placing my elbows on my knees and pressing my steepled fingers to my lips. Irritation slithers over my skin, threating to turn to anger thatshe’s not up there. They better not have fired her for missing a few rehearsals. Not without discussing it with me first. Except for school, she’s done nothing but this for weeks to the point of injury and exhaustion.

Then my anger turns to worry. I bought her new dance shoes. Every single kind because I figured if her toe shoes were worn out, the others must be too. She argued with me for a minute, but eventually relented and accepted them.

She promised me this morning she was doing much better, but what if she got here and couldn’t do it?

I’m reaching in my jacket pocket for my phone, ready to call her, when the stage lights go down and a spotlight shines on the ceiling as the girl I would recognize from a million miles away appears. She was supposed to the in the mix on the stage with the other dancers. Not the girl gliding from thirty feet in the air.

She sits on a swing made of red and yellow aerial silks as they lower slowly. My breath catches when she flips backward, legs outstretched in a wide V as she spirals toward the floor. My heart thunders in my chest when she stops herself halfway, wraps the silk around her ankles and spins upside down the rest of the way until she rights herself in a graceful turn, and lowers herself to the floor.

As if she didn’t just spin until a normal person would be dizzy from thirty feet in the air, she comes up on her toes, leaping across the stage. Her back bends as she rolls her body in swift, sharp movements, done so elegantly and effortlessly, it’s as if she’s still suspended in the air.

I’ve seen Casey dance many times. She’s stunning on stage as she floats with unmatched grace and strength with passion spilling from her while she gets lost in the music. But it wasn’t until this moment I appreciated how strong she is.

My eyes never leave her. A bomb could explode and it wouldn’t tear my attention away from the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’m not just captivated. I’m enthralled.

Sadness tugs my spirit when the music ends and the lights lower. I could watch her all day.

Having seen what I came for, I stand from the seat and walk toward the side to avoid the ushering of theaudienceout of the building. Directions are being yelled and people are chattering as they prepare for the next portion of the day. The staged ballet was the longest part, having filmed the entire ten-minute performance despite knowing parts would be cut in editing, but it went off without a hitch from what I could see.

My eyes are sweeping the area, watching for Casey. Since she apparently became the lead dancer, I’m no longer sure if she’s done for the day like I thought she would be. When I see the other dancers, no longer in costumes, exiting the building, I realize she’s become the lead in the video. While my chest is swollen with so much pride it could burst, I can’t help but wonder what happened to Ariel Vega.

A dark presence appears beside me, dressed in black from head to toe. I turn my attention toward him and nod, acknowledging him. “Came to watch your girlfriend dance?” Masters asks, his tone mocking.

“I did,” I clip. He hums, and I feel his eyes penetrating the side of my face. I can see his grin from my peripheral, but he remains silent. Annoyance crackles in my veins as I roll my head to alleviate the tension building. “What?” I snap, knowing I’m giving this asshole exactly what he wants.

“I just didn’t expect you to admit it. I figured I’d get some bullshit about her being your sister.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I’ll bet my last dime Liam doesn’t know. I’ll sign the company over to you right now if you say I’m wrong.”

I look at him with a raised brow and a grin. “Would you like to have this conversation again in a few days?” He laughs and shakes his head. “We’ve established why I’m here. Why are you here? And what happened with Ariel?”

“Ariel and Maverick…” He presses his lips together and rolls his eyes. “They didn’t get along. She quit a couple of weeks ago. Andre,” he nods toward Peter Andre, the director of the video. “He liked Casey, and I didn’t disagree.”

“Well, at least you save that money.” Ariel’s wasn’t a cheap hire by any means, but this entire production has been expensive. I thought it was excessive for a music video. Especially for a somewhat new artist, because when the idea was pitched, Maverick had one song released. But Masters has a sixth sense about these things, I suppose, because since his second song released, Maverick has exploded on a massive scale.

“The money was in the budget for the female lead, so it will go to Casey.”

“Why? You could save it.”

“Someone whose name rhymes with frilly told Josephine that Casey was going to let her apartment go, but she couldn’t afford a new place. Josephine asked… Well, actually, she demanded Casey get what we negotiated for Ariel because,” his hands lift and he does air quotes, “Casey deserves it more than that holier-than-thou diva who only got where she is because she stays on her knees.”

“Okay then,” I laugh because it’s true. “But Casey was never moving.”

“I guessed as much, but we—and by we, I mean Angel—weren’t going to argue.”

“And the second question?”

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