2. Lena
CHAPTER 2
Lena
P resent Day
A man stands before me. I don’t know who he is, but he’s staring at me. He has gloves on his hands and watches me intently.
“Do you know him?” Julie asks as she sits next to me on the floor. My chocolate-colored hair falls in my face, and I push it back, mimicking her stretches as we cool down. I don’t necessarily need to do them, but I enjoy it, and it helps me unwind after a show.
“No, do you?” I ask, not looking away from his intense green-eyed stare.
“It’s not me he’s staring at,” she points out. It doesn’t escape me that she didn’t deny or confirm she might know who he is. “He’s kind of hot in a he-might-kill-you-and-dismember-you way.” She laughs, but I get that exact feeling. “Anyway, I have to go check on the other dancers. Don’t get murdered in the time I’m gone.”
She stands and does one more quick stretch before she turns and walks off, leaving me sitting on the floor. As I continue my own stretching, I consider the intensity with which he’s studying me, and think that’s a lot easier said than done.
I just did a set, and Julie was one of my dancers. I’m a singer, and I love it. I went to school for singing, and manage to make a living from it. While I haven’t hit it big, I earn more than most within the industry, especially living in New York.
Glancing back up at the guy with the shaved head, I see he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still watching me. Intently, I might add.
“Lena, you sang beautifully.” I’m grateful for the distraction as the head of the off-Broadway theater, Matthew, approaches me. He stops, and when I look up, all I can see is his large belly hanging over his pants. He adjusts his belt, and as he does, his belly moves. Yes, I’m grateful to see him, but perhaps not from this angle.
“Thank you. I was a little nervous but loved every moment,” I say, surprised by his generosity. Tonight was my third night performing on stage in front of an audience. My gaze darts back to where the gloved man stood only a moment ago. He’s gone now. How did he even get backstage? Only those who work here or are a part of the show have access. Unless maybe he’s an employee and I haven’t seen him before?
He definitely didn’t look like someone who works here, though. I go to ask, but Matthew cuts me off.
“You did splendid. If you wouldn’t mind, I have a few big paying clients here looking forward to meeting you.”
“Oh.” I look down at my bare feet and then my heels lying in front of me. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone, and I’ve already changed into basic long, loose pants and a yellow crop top with a smiley face on it. “I may need to change.”
He waves me off. “No, you look perfect. They may want to invest more.”
I stand at his urging and grab my shoes. Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have worn the smiley crop top today. But I didn’t have many other options because I haven’t done my washing in over a week.
“Just remember to smile, no matter how tired you are, and give them what they pay for. It’s clients like them who pay our bills here.” I nod, still not feeling a professional vibe from my crop top, but I do as he says anyway.
We aren’t a large theater troupe like those on Broadway, but this place has people from all over the world. Dancers and singers try their hardest to get in here. It took me a good two years of auditioning twice a year after graduating and receiving my bachelor’s degree to get in. And I managed to snag a lead role.
I’ve been here now for six months, rehearsing and working my ass off, but tonight is only my third time on stage. We’ve gone through so many dancers and singers that I wasn’t sure I would get a solo shot at first. But now that I have it, I want to keep it. It’s my best-paying job so far. I’ll be able to give up the bar job in a few months and start living off what I make here, which has always been the plan.
“This way,” he says, and I follow him past the line of dancers heading back out to entertain those still mingling and drinking.
We stop at a private room, where several wealthy-looking people are seated and talking. I feel underdressed for this, but considering I was literally about two minutes from heading home, I must make the most of the opportunity. Why the fuck would Matthew let me come here dressed like this?
“Lena Love,” my boss says, introducing me to the roomful of people. Heads turn toward me, and a bunch of flowers are given to me by an older lady. It feels more intense than the night of my debut.
“Your voice was truly magical,” the lady gushes, and my cheeks redden at her praise as I step forward to the next person who tells me he hasn’t heard a voice like mine for quite some time. It’s always flattering to hear these things. But I have years of rejections, of “not yet good enough,” “we have someone better,” and “you’re just not ready yet” to negate all of the compliments I receive. But I suppose it’s the highs and lows of being an artist of any kind.
After I speak to a few others, I feel the sensation of someone staring at me again. Glancing to the corner of the room, I see the man from earlier sitting on a sofa, watching me.
I suppose it now makes sense as to why he might’ve been backstage, but even then, clients such as these aren’t usually allowed back there. They’re in a room such as this, where they can mingle, and they usually choose to focus more on each other than the cast and performance itself.
How long has he been watching me? Do I even want to know? I place my flowers on the bar and take a bottle of water. Turning and looking around, I find everyone chatting. They all appear to be rich, older people. Except for him. He’s younger than the others and keeps himself apart from the group. He’s still sitting on the sofa, staring at me, almost expectantly.
Taking a sip of my water, I contemplate why he’s here. He has to be a sponsor of some sort, but he’s made no move to come near me. And I can’t really see him all that clearly without staring at him the way he’s staring at me. He certainly doesn’t look like the other sponsors. Well-dressed. Yes. Wealthy. Undeniably. But there’s an air to him that he’s not to be fucked with, and even others in the room avoid him and his stare.
I should take that as a warning, but instead, I find myself walking toward him, leaving the flowers on the bar.
Fuck this. I’m not going to feel intimidated by a stranger in my own workplace.
He doesn’t introduce himself. He just remains seated, with his gaze locked on me.
“I’m Lena Love,” I tell him. He continues to stare me, and now I can really see what he looks like. His red hair is shaved close to his scalp’. His jawline is sharp, his lips full, and I wonder how his voice sounds when he speaks. His eyes are forest green and pop against his all-black suit. It looks like it probably cost a lot of money. Black boots encase his feet and black gloves cover his hands. He looks like a hitman in a horror film. But people like that don’t really come to places like this, do they?
“Alek, always a pleasure to see you here,” Matthew says, interrupting. And I’m kind of annoyed that the guy still hasn’t introduced himself personally, but I’m relieved that someone is here to break the tension. “Alek here, is our major sponsor. He pays your wages.”
I look down at the man, not at all wanting to be entirely polite considering his intensity and the fact that he still hasn’t spoken to me, but since I like this job, I offer him the same smile I give everyone.
“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the show,” I say.
“Oh, that’s Tanya. I have to speak with her before she leaves for the night. Thank you for your continued support, Alek.” Matthew smiles before he walks off, leaving me alone with Alek again.
Every one of my instincts tells me to leave, yet I find myself saying, “Do you mind if I sit?” I wave to the seat next to him, but he doesn’t answer or look at it. He just keeps those vivid green eyes locked on me. He’s a major sponsor so it’s natural he’d be in this room. Which means I need to make a good impression.
I also know that if I sit beside someone quiet like him, I might actually be able to decompress after tonight’s performance instead of remaining switched on for all these members, most of whom I’m already associated with.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting next to him even though he didn’t agree or offer. “I haven’t seen you here before. Do you not come often?” I ask him casually as I pick at my nails. His gaze flicks to my hands, watching the movement. I stop immediately, and brush my hands down my pants. This is too awkward, even for me, and all my bravery is quickly swallowed. I have the sense that this man has that effect on quite a lot of people. I stand up. “Well, it was nice chatting with you.”
“You should sit.” He speaks with a very slight, almost unnoticeable Russian accent.
A shiver breaks over my body. It was not a suggestion; it was a command hidden under a beautiful and rough tone.
So now he wants me to sit beside him even when he was ignoring me.
This guy is either socially awkward or an outright asshole.
I don’t do well with being told what to do. My parents and teachers called it having an “attitude.”
“I have to mingle,” I tell him, now defiant and wanting to leave.
“Sit,” he says again. If he were anyone else, someone who wasn’t paying for me to sing, I would have told him to get fucked and walk away. But I notice Matthew briefly glancing in our direction, and I internally sigh in defeat.
So here I am, sitting at his command. His gloved hands rub together as he looks at me. I wait for him to speak, but he just stares at me. What is this guy’s problem?
“Do you like to keep secrets?” he finally asks in a monotone. It’s strange in the way he seems to lack emotion, and that’s also a fucking weird question. My nose immediately scrunches up in confusion, and I’m not sure what to say.
He continues. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Okay…” I manage to say. He sits back, eyes locked on me. The longer I’m with him, the more I feel like I’m potentially sitting with a sociopath.
“Where is Cinita?” he asks. My eyebrows furrow. Cinita? How would he know anything about her? “She’s your roommate, is she not?” Then he adds, “Remember, I expect the truth.”
“How do you know Cinita?” I ask. I haven’t actually seen her for months. And she owes me rent.
An exasperated sigh escapes him. “You have no idea where she is either,” he says. Damn, how did he do that? Was my facial expression that obvious? “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Months ago,” I answer. “Remind me how you two are acquainted again?” I press. He stands as if to leave, but I do the same and face him. “So you’re only good at asking questions, not answering them?”
His expression doesn’t change as his gaze roams me from head to toe. “I don’t have to answer any questions from someone who still dresses like a teenager.”
My jaw drops. Did he seriously just say that? “Is it the smiley face that pisses you off? You don’t exactly seem like a happy chap.”
His jaw tics, almost as if surprised that I bit back.
“If she contacts you, I suggest you call me.” He pulls a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me.
I stare at it. Why the fuck would I want anything from this man?
“I suggest you take it if you want your next paycheck,” he says.
My jaw drops again. “Are you threatening me?”
With a lack of expression, he says, “You would know if I was. Take the card.”
This asshole.
When I reach for it, he makes sure our hands don’t touch. As soon as I grasp it, his hand disappears. I look at it in confusion until I see his name and number on the card.
“Is she in trouble?” I ask quietly. I don’t like this guy, but if he knows anything about her disappearance, then I want to know as well.
“Yes. A fucking lot, so call me if you want her to live.” His words hit me: if I want her to live . Shit, is she involved in some dangerous shit? Surely, she couldn’t be that stupid. But then again, I think she may be. I don’t really know her all that well. She kept a lot hidden. But we both started here around the same time, and both were looking for somewhere to live. It worked out well for maybe a month or so, until she disappeared, and I had to call my parents for money to help me cover the rent. That was not fun.
They always thought my singing was a waste of time and that I should have gone to college for something more stable, but I love to sing. I will sing until I can no longer breathe. It’s a part of me, and no one can take that away, no matter what.
Rent be short or not.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond, moving past me and through the crowd, making sure not to brush anyone as he leaves.
Who the hell is Alek? And how much trouble is Cinita in?