Page 1 of The Virgin's Dance
Chapter One
New York City
One year later
Pilot Scamo closed his eyes and counted to ten, willing his phone to stop buzzing.Don’t give in to her, don’t answer the phone.To his relief, the phone fell silent, and he breathed out a sigh.
Looking up, he saw a table of young women staring at him and giggling. He smiled at them, and sure enough, a moment later, one of them dared to come over.
“Mr. Scamo?”
He stood and shook the young woman’s hand. “Hey there.” She flushed red with pleasure. He posed for a selfie with her and signed her notepad. She thanked him and went back to her table.
He was used to the attention. His name was well-known in celebrity circles now, thanks to his skill behind the camera.
Pilot Scamo, the son of a billionaire Italian city banker and an American feminist, was nearly forty now, but age had not withered his incredible looks. Intense green eyes, dark olive skin, and an unruly mop of wild dark curls meant he was catnip to women—and men—and people assumed he would be someone who slept around.
Hisex-wife always assumed he was fucking the models and celebrities he shot forVogueandCosmoand so she had taken a myriad of lovers in their fifteen-year marriage. Pilot? Not once. He had been steadfastly faithful to Eugenie, even as she screwed her way through her Upper East Side friends’ husbands, thenhisfriends,hiscolleagues … even his ex-best friend Wallis. Wally had been drunk, and devastated afterward, but Genie had crowed in Pilot’s face.
Her cruelty had been her own way of loving him.
But, even now, three years after he’d finally had enough and divorced Genie, she still kept him on a string, using his kind nature against him, always playing the victim, the narcissist in her unleashed. She had been desperate to cling to him, proud to be on the arm of such a beautiful man, the envy of every woman.
Her cocaine habit had grown out of control, and now the rail-thin blonde was heading for some sort of crisis.But God help me, I can’t be part of it,Pilot thought now. He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. Nelly was late, of course. His old college buddy, now the publicist for one of America’s most prestigious ballet companies, was irreverent, gossipy, and the complete opposite of Genie—the two women loathed each other and made no secret of it, and so he hadn’t seen Nelly for nearly seven years. When she’d called him out of the blue and arranged a lunch at Gotan on Franklin Street, Pilot had been delighted.
He saw her now, barreling through the door, her messenger bag knocking a glass off a table, her musical laugh as she apologized to the server who came to help. Pilot grinned as he watched Nelly charm the young man, then she was hugging Pilot. “Gorgeous boy, how are you?”
Pilot kissed her cheek. “I’m good, thank you, Nel. Glad to see you again.”
They sat down and Nelly unwound her scarf from her neck, studying him. “You look stressed. Maleficent still bugging you day and night?”
Pilot had to laugh. Nelly’s disdain for Eugenie was biting and hilarious—or would be if it wasn’t so on the money. “You know Genie.”
“Unfortunately.” Nelly grimaced. “She showed up to one of the company’s benefits the other day with a dude who could have been your mini-me.”
A curl of unease crept through Pilot’s body.Jesus, really, Genie?She was determined to humiliate him at every turn. Nelly noticed his expression and her own softened. “Hey, for what it’s worth, she was a laughing stock.”
“That doesn’t help.” Pilot blew out his cheeks and fixed a smile on his face. “But let’s get back to you. It’s so good to see you, Nel.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You too, Pil. God, you get better looking every year—if only I was born liking dudes, I’d do you sideways.”
Pilot snorted with laughter. “Sideways? How exactly would that work?”
“You dare to question me?” Nelly grinned. “How’s work?”
Pilot’s smile faded. “Slow. I have an exhibit coming up at MOMA, to benefit theQuilla Chen Foundation… Grady Mallory offered it to me, but I haven’t got anything. Not anything.” He tapped his head. “Nothing is going on up here; the juice isn’t flowing. I spend my days just wandering around the city, hoping something will trigger an idea.”
“Hobo.”
Pilot smiled. “Brainless hobo, at the moment.”
“Well, I may be able to help.”
They were interrupted then by the waiter who took their order, grilled cheese for Pilot, a cauliflower and tahini sandwich for Nelly, a lifelong vegetarian. As Pilot sipped his coffee, he raised his eyebrows at Nelly. “So?”
“The Company is struggling,” she said matter-of-factly. “Since Oona’s suicide, and the crap in the paper about Kristof, our funding has dropped significantly.”
“I read about that … so that stuff about Kristof isn’t true?”
