8. Celeste
Chapter 8
Celeste
Saar
@Celeste Are you engaged?
Cora
What did I miss?
Saar
I unleashed Caleb on Celeste. I’m about to board the plane and neither of them is answering.
Cora
Celeste was amazing. I left Lily alone and went to see her.
Saar
Was there a diamond on her finger?
Never mind. There was no time for that.
“ S top sniffling, chica.” Jose hands me another tissue.
“We didn’t mean it, anyway.” Matilde bumps her hip against mine, and I snort.
“Celeste, you made this show a hit. You made a mediocre play into a divine art with your dancing. If you leave, we’ll be unemployed anyway, so it wasn’t even that much of a risk.” Jose wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes.
“But you better have a solution, because Reinhard will sack us all, and I have children to feed,” Matilde says.
My stomach dips as the depth of their unsolicited help sinks in. Reinhard would take revenge, maybe not firing the entire ensemble, but as he told me last night, everyone is replaceable.
“Interesting how Leon didn’t join the rebellion, though. That was disappointing.” Jose echoes my thoughts about our choreographer.
“Or smart. With all of you stepping forward, he didn’t need to, and if it all goes to shit, he can still play nice with the management.” My words ring true, but Leon’s neutral stance was kind of disheartening.
Not so much for me as an individual, because I didn’t expect any of my colleagues to step up like that. But for me as a team member. I took him as a guy whose loyalty would remain with the team, not with the management.
“Frankly, if Reinhard hadn’t hired you, he’d have sunk this theater already. I don’t know why the new owner keeps him around.” Jose takes a swig from his water bottle.
“I didn’t know there was a new owner.” I’ve paid little attention to the goings-on of The Pulse Stage beyond my performance.
“They’re not new, Jose,” Matilde says. “It’s been a year, at least.”
“Still.” He rolls his eyes. “Why did they buy it if they don’t care?”
Matilde shrugs. “I get my paycheck. Not my business.” She looks at me. “So what’s the plan?”
“I know someone who can help.” Though just knowing him would hardly allow me to continue in this production.
I better figure out how to reach Caleb. I check my watch. Shit. Saar is in the air already. Can I call Finn’s wife Paris and ask for his number? I can make some innocent reason for that, can’t I?
“Ms. Delacroix?” A uniformed driver calls out when we turn to the main road. He stands beside a large black SUV polished to the nines .
“I wish.” Matilde curtsies, and I laugh despite everything.
I’m overwhelmed by all of my conflicting feelings. The idea of offering sex to sweeten the deal for Caleb wars inside me.
A part of me embraces the decision as the best way to keep a level playing field with him. Quid pro quo.
The other part is protesting the use of sexual favors as if it’s something dirty and tainted.
And the irony of it all is that I drove him away when he was offering his help for free. But then again, nothing is free.
“That’s me. How can I help you?”
“Mr. van den Linden sent me to drive you home.” He bows his head briefly and opens the door.
“So, there was an admirer last night.” Matilde toots.
I quickly say goodbye to her and Jose, and cross the sidewalk to reach the car parked by the curb in a non-parking zone. I guess Caleb’s employees are above the law.
But the legality of the matter is my last concern. I need to play this smart, because this is an unexpected, somewhat outlandish development, and maybe I can leverage it to my advantage.
“I usually take the subway.” I stop by the open door, but don’t get in .
“Mr. van den Linden wanted to make sure you got to your apartment safely. I’m instructed to walk you to the door.” He beckons his head to the seat, his expression tense.
“Like a bodyguard?”
“Miss, could I perhaps answer all your questions during the ride?”
I stare him down, which doesn’t seem to impact him at all, his expression remaining stoic. Like he’s waiting patiently for me to get to my senses and do as I’m told.
“Why do I need an escort?”
He assesses me with a ghost of a smile. “To keep you safe.”
“Does Mr. van den Linden routinely send his car to keep the citizens of New York safe?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask him.” He steps to the side but slightly forward. He isn’t exactly crowding me, but subtly suggesting the direction of my next move. In other words, get in the car, woman.
I don’t move. “But you know the answer.”
“I’m just a driver.”
“And a bodyguard.”
He remains aloof, but I swear he growls softly. Since I need his help before I can take the next step in negotiating with Caleb, I get into the car .
I groan as my corset digs into my ribs the minute I dip into the soft leather seat. I didn’t get changed out of my costume or wash my face. I couldn’t stay there any longer with all the emotions threatening to spill out.
The compassion my colleagues showed me swirled warmly in my chest, but a part of me recoiled. I didn’t know how to accept their kindness. I didn’t deserve it.
“What’s your name, driver-slash-bodyguard?”
His gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror as he pulls into traffic. “Peter.”
“How long have you worked for Caleb, Peter?” Something tells me this conversation will be an uphill battle.
“Since he hired me.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, but he looks back at the road immediately.
I smile. “Well played.”
“We should be at your address in half an hour, miss.”
I don’t know if he wants me to shut up, or if he’s giving me an estimate of how much time I have left to grill him.
Based on his initial answers, he won’t share much with me, anyway. And he for sure won’t give me Caleb’s number.
“Actually, Peter, could you get me to Mr. van den Linden’s instead? ”
His eyes jerk to the mirror, but he says nothing. As he continues driving, he clicks something on the screen on the dashboard.
“Good evening, sir. Miss Delacroix asked to come to your place.”
I slide to the middle of the seat to see Peter’s profile, and I notice the white earpiece. He has Caleb on the line.
The silence seems to stretch to an unreasonable length. Is Caleb silent as well? Considering my request? Or is he giving Peter an earful for the outlandish suggestion?
“Yes, sir.” Peter nods.
I hold my breath, but nothing changes. Peter continues to drive in silence. Is Caleb still talking to him? The screen on the panel remained black during the call, so I’m not sure if the call is still on.
Peter continues driving toward the East Village, so I guess that’s my answer. Of course Caleb doesn’t want to spend his evening bickering with me.
It’s Wednesday night, but he probably isn’t even home tonight. Or he has a woman there. That’s the most likely scenario. Someone blushing and less opinionated.
Am I really going to let the whole production down? I slouch into the leather seat, my eyes set in front of me, the corset bruising my torso .
Funny how I don’t feel its constraints when I’m dancing, but the minute I’m off stage, the thing becomes a prison. I should have changed.
“I can finally turn here, but it will take us another hour or so to get there in this traffic. There are water bottles in every door, miss.”
I jerk my head to Peter and blink a few times. “He said yes?” God, can I sound more desperate?
Again, Peter says nothing. He just nods, which is great because at this rate, I’ll be left with no dignity by the time I get to Caleb. And for this mission, I need every little smidge of it.
The drive takes more than an hour, that I spend fidgeting, lifting my hips off the seat to relieve my aching core, drinking all the water in the car, and rehearsing what I’m going to say.
In the depths of a dark garage, Peter escorts me to the elevator, swipes a card, pushes a button, and steps out before the door closes. “Have a nice evening, miss.”
What? The lift jolts up and I close my eyes, breathing to calm my nerves. Why am I even this nervous?
Because it’s not about me at this point. It’s about the entire ensemble.
And because the success of this mission is in the hands of a man whose behavior and words bring all my insecurities to light .
In the hands of a man who—for the love of God—waits for me as the elevator door opens, wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a white T-shirt that hugs the perfect V of his lean but strong body.
Caleb in a suit is handsome, but this casual version of him is pure foreplay. His light brown hair is damp and in disarray, as if he’s just towel-dried it.
A five o’clock shadow covers his square jaw. His dark blue eyes are almost black as he pins his hooded gaze on me.
He stands there with the backdrop of the city glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the entire wall behind him.
His eyes rake up and down my body, and I feel so misplaced I freeze. God, I hate how this man makes me feel.
Before I find my mental faculties, the door starts closing. Caleb leaps forward and pushes a button, I think to reopen them, and I stumble outside.
Jesus. Could I have orchestrated a worse entrance?
Caleb eyes me, amusement dancing across his face. “Am I getting an encore performance?”
Yeah, I should’ve changed. And I shouldn’t have drank all that water in the car. “Can I use your bathroom? ”
He raises his eyebrows, but thank God, doesn’t comment. He turns on his heel and points to a door, which I assume is the powder room.
I step in gingerly and let out a long breath behind the closed door. Jesus, this bathroom is larger than my apartment.
I sit on the toilet, engaging my muscles to void my bladder in a dripping motion.
The idea of starting this encounter while Caleb listens to my full stream is mortifying. Merde.
I finish my business and refresh my smudged makeup before I step outside. The powder room is in an alcove near the elevator. Both are on an elevated platform—the size of a ballroom—that opens up to a beautiful living room.
I find Caleb sitting on a sofa lining the wall of windows. A glass staircase leads up one side, and bookshelves line the wall on the other side. The room is cavernous, but also somehow homey.
And the king of the house doesn’t hurry to offer any morsels of hospitality. He just sits there, waiting.
I take two steps down from where I’m standing, my heels clicking loudly on the wooden surface before they dig into the soft carpeting of the living room area. “You sent a driver.”
In my frenzy to get to him, I didn’t even get a chance to evaluate what that was about. Why would he do that? Like a consolation prize? I’m not helping you out with your visa, so at least I gave you a ride home?
“You’re Saar’s friend, and your neighborhood didn’t feel safe.”
“My building was perfectly safe before you broke the door.”
He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “That doorknob was barely hanging.”
I swallow the retort on my tongue. Focus on the mission, Celeste. “Thank you.”
His eyebrow jerks up, and then he furrows it, studying me with suspicion. “What are you doing here, Celeste?”
I square my shoulders. Showtime. “I figured out what you can gain from the arrangement.”
“I thought the price was too high.” He smirks, throwing my words back at me.
“Well, maybe I realized I have more to lose, and that put a new value on the arrangement.”
“So you came up with a counter offer?”
“Yes.”
Why is it so hot in here? And why am I parched even though I drank the entire water supply in his car?
“I was trying to do you a favor, and you did everything to dissuade me. How do you know there still is an offer on the table?”
The bastard won’t make this easy.
He sits there casually in those stupid sweatpants, his T-shirt straining across his chest. They should ban sweats for men. Especially when a man is built like God.
One arm casually thrown across the backrest, he rests the other in his lap. And suddenly I have an image of what he could do with those hands, and the whole transaction doesn’t feel like such a sacrifice.
After the display of support from my colleagues earlier, I’m willing to go through with this. Push my pride and my feelings aside and take one for the team.
And considering the fine specimen in front of me, with his latent smirk and sparkling dark blue eyes, it might even be an enjoyable endeavor.
I step forward, placing one foot in front of the other, making sure my hips sway naturally. I’m a dancer, after all.
Caleb sits straighter, his gaze roaming down my body. I’ve never fucked with any purpose other than the joy of it, and my stupid head is offering all sorts of opinions, most of them judgmental, but I push them all away and saunter toward him.
I step between his legs. Caleb tilts his head up slowly. Very, very slowly, not letting the movement disturb him from his obvious appreciation of my body. Damn, the man is good .
Finally, his gaze lifts to meet mine. Full of hunger and heat. I smile at him and lean my knee on the edge of the sofa, grazing his crotch. Accidentally on purpose.
“What exactly are you offering here, Celeste?” he rasps, not moving. Other than his cock tenting the soft cotton of his sweats.
I plant both my hands behind him on the backrest, taking advantage of the tight corset I’m wearing, my tits practically in his face. I toss my hair. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He takes a good, long look at my cleavage, his face impassive. I wish it was confidence that was running through my veins. Instead, my heart hammers with anticipation—not the good kind—and I wonder if he can see my thumping pulse.
But when his eyes meet mine again, the heat is a notch higher than before. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be a good businessman if I acted on impressions.”
Merde. He’s going to make me work for it. “I don’t think your dick shares that concern.”
He gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you have an offer, use your words, Celeste.”
I falter. Fuck this . I push off with my hands to straighten up. Before I can step back and look for my dignity, his hand moves to the back of my knee.
I gasp, and we both look down where his touch burns my skin. The oxygen supply in the room drops, and I can only get enough to reach the top of my lungs .
“So?” he taunts.
He can’t know how sensitive I am behind my knee. Most of my former boyfriends took weeks before they found that particular spot, and yet, with an impulsive move, he landed right there. Goddammit.
“You marry me to help me get my visa, and I’ll sleep with you.”
He cocks his head and studies me, his finger tracing up and down, scorching my skin.
I invest all my acting skills into pretending I’m unaffected, but my underwear is soaked, and I’m sure he can smell it.
He shifts, leaning slightly forward, and inhales. Yep, he can definitely smell my arousal. He places his other hand on my other leg, tracing slowly up my outer thighs.
I stifle a moan. His touch is lethal, killing any inhibition or any restraint I think I still have.
He pushes up to stand, his height overwhelming as he looks down at me. I always knew Caleb van den Linden was handsome, but this close, I can fully appreciate his chiseled jaw, his full lips shadowed by the stubble on his face.
And his deep blue eyes. That gaze can melt panties, and it’s a good thing I’m so wet because I’d burst into flames.
The pads of his fingers, soft on my skin, continue their perusal up my torso, brushing the sides of my corseted breasts. Slowly, he trails up my clavicle to my neck. My breath hitches.
He squeezes my jaw between his thumb and index finger and tilts my head back. Is he going to kiss me?
Anticipation builds inside me, fluttering in my stomach, swelling in my chest, soaring in my core. Merde, this man is intense.
He stares at me for what feels like several lifetimes, his breath warm on my face. He smells of something earthy and chocolate, which is so unexpected and welcome. I want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and feed my senses on his musk.
“I’ll pass.” He drops his hands.
I stumble backward, dizzy from the loss of his butterfly touch and confused by his words. “You’ll pass?” I snap.
My legs hit the coffee table behind me, and I lose my balance, but before I can fall, Caleb snakes his arm around my waist and jerks me to him.
Now the light touch of his fingers threw me off, but his palm on the small of my back… Dieu aide moi.
“Yes, black swan, because I might be attracted to your beautiful dancer body, and my cock has a mind of his own when I’m around you, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Not to save your career or your stay in New York, not as a sacrifice or a bargain. Not until you want it, need it so much that fucking me is the only thought on your mind. Not until you beg me for it on your knees, because your pussy weeps for my cock.”