Page 67 of Endless Love

“There is no time to think about it.” Anger rose in his voice. “I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. To dance in front of New York’s elite. Tomorrow morning, you will wake up and you will be a star. My star. Pack your bag and grab a gown. My driver is waiting for us.”

I didn’t move.

He leaned into me. “Will this convince you?”

I quickly jerked my head away, avoiding a kiss. “Don’t do that, Gustave.” I swallowed a deep breath. I’d made up my mind.

He eyed me lustfully. “I shall not take no for an answer.”

“I will dance tonight. Not for you, but for the company.”

Five minutes later, I met Gustave back in the restaurant, my dance bag with my necessities slung over my shoulder and a garment bag with a cocktail dress and heels folded over my arm. With a victorious smirk, he snatched my free arm, hooking his through mine, and whisked me to the front door. On the way out, I told my father’s staff that I’d be back later, not telling them where I was going or what I was doing. They looked at me quizzically as I asked them to tell my father that I’d call him later. I didn’t want my father to know what I was up to. It would upset him. Worse, kill him.

A shudder shimmied through me. I was having second thoughts, but I told myself it was just a one-night thing. A good thing. Fingers crossed I could help save The Royal Latvia Ballet from going under. Save the careers of the dancers who had become my family. Well, except for one. Fucking Mira.

With these positive thoughts in my head, Gustave swung open the front door. I stopped dead in my tracks. A gorgeous man, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, stood before me.

“Ryan!” I gasped, my eyes wide.

His eyes, as wide as mine, ping-ponged from me to Gustave and then back me. “Willow, where the hell are you going?”

“I-I’m…”

Gustave finished my sentence. “She’s going with me.”

“What!?” A cloud of shock, rage, and confusion fell over Ryan. With my heart in my throat, I watched as Gustave shoved him out of the way.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Ryan snapped.

“Then get lost, peon. Willow’s going where she belongs. On the stage.”

“What!?” Ryan repeated.

My heart stuttering, I filled him in. “Ryan, Gustave has an emergency. His lead dancer injured herself, and he needs me to fill in at tonight’s performance of The Firebird at Lincoln Center.”

As Ryan processed my words, Gustave, to my horror, whacked Ryan’s shin with his cane.

“Jesus Christ,” he cried out in pain.

“Oh my God, Ryan! Are you okay?”

Grimacing, he bent down to rub his sore leg, but before I could join him, Gustave grabbed my elbow.

“Gustave, what are you doing?”

“Let’s go. We cannot waste time.”

On my next heartbeat, he hauled me away to the waiting limousine and shoved me inside. Looking out the tinted window, I watched as Ryan hobbled to the car, trying desperately to yank open the locked passenger door. Tears burned my eyes as a sharp pang of guilt shot through me.

“Fuck,” Ryan shouted, still clinging to the door as we pulled off the curb. “Open up, Willow. Don’t go.”

It was too late. On my next painful breath, the limo sped off and we were heading uptown.

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