Chapter 3
Kaisa
After my little incident with the beefcake, my team comes back and we rehearse another forty-five minutes. This number we’re working on—the samba danced to a version of “Jingle Bell Rock” with a Latin beat overlay—is what will start off the show, so it has to be a banger.
“You did a good job, everyone.” As the dancers are filing out, ruddy with sweat and stretching their backs and shoulders, I offer one last reminder.
“See you at seven tonight to meet your athlete partners! Remember we’re excited.” I give up a little whoop! “Tonight’s going to set the tone for the Peppermynt Twist Showdown, so let’s do this.”
There’s not much response from anyone. I remind myself that they’re probably tired—we’ve worked hard today—but it gives me a dash of disappointment, despite myself.
I want to be a good leader: approachable and kind, but also someone who can pull everything and everyone together.
I want to lead this team to victory, which for us would be the most incredible show possible. It’s for a good cause.
Besides, I want to stay on Wynn’s good side. If I’m honest, my place on the show isn’t as secure as I need it to be.
On her way out, one of the dancers does a little fist pump, which I appreciate. I offer her back a grateful smile.
I’m looking forward to getting my dancers situated with their partners for the week.
Not that I feel prepared since I wasn’t supposed to even be in that portion of the show.
I was only supposed to dance in the opener and closer, but when one of the pros from the show sprained her ankle last week, I was asked to fill in.
So, now, not only am I in charge of the whole performance, but I also have to teach some random athlete a dance I choreographed only a few days ago.
The show’s production team hasn’t released the partner list yet, so I don’t know who that will be.
I tidy up the ballroom, disconnect my phone from the sound system, and leave for my room. After a shower, I put on my soft bathrobe in a faded Christmas plaid and receive a call from Wynn’s assistant.
“Check your email for January events,” she says. “The tour start date has been finalized, too, so all of that info is in the email.”
“Tour’s going to be fun.” There’s less pressure on tour. We’re not dancing for votes, just to entertain our fans.
“Yes, it will. It’s non-stop once the new year starts. We’ve got you booked solid, so enjoy your time in Winterbrook while you can.”
Enjoy my time? I’m the lead choreographer in charge of this event and everyone’s counting on me to get this right.
I’ve been preparing for this remotely: meeting with the lighting and set designers on video calls, reviewing the initial concept workups from the costume designers, and communicating with our contacts at the resort.
And now I’m partnering with one of the athletes, too.
It’s a lot—all necessary to prove to Wynn that I’m not expendable.
That I’m not just a good dancer, but I’m a good brand for the show.
There’s been turnover. Some of the dancers haven’t been invited back, and none of us have gotten our contracts yet—which gives me an uneasy feeling.
We’ve always gotten them by now in past seasons.
The longer I talk to Wynn’s assistant, the worse the tightness in my chest gets. “I’m also sending over the partnership lists,” she says.
“Finally!”
Who I’m partnered with could make or break this opportunity for me.
And there’s no predicting it. There are scores of athletes here doing various things for the event.
The show’s analysts and producers have been deciding how to pair eight professional dancers with eight professional athletes. It’s all crazy town.
Which is why, after I eat a grilled chicken sandwich and garden side salad that room service brought up, nerves flitter away in my stomach. I open boxes and throw odds and ends into the swag bags for the athletes, going over my new choreography in my head.
I change into a new body suit, this one an all-powerful red. It makes my re-applied scarlet lipstick look tame in comparison. I have to make sure people know I’m in charge of this—it’s my neck on the line.
I leave the unfinished swag bags on one of the beds in my room and open the email as I hurry downstairs to the lobby. Scanning the list, I locate my partner at the bottom of the page: Ledger Bishop.
A football player? Great. Football players aren’t exactly known for their grace. I don’t watch football, so I don’t know who he is.
I don’t have time to freak out about this, though, because I enter the room and everyone’s looking at me: the pro dancer who’s a minute late to the first meeting.
Dang it. I probably should have taken Isla up on her offer to help me with the swag bags. I’m not quite finished, so I’m going to have to distribute them to the dancers later tonight.
I jog up the steps to the platform stage—a sort of theater-in-the-round situated in the middle of the ballroom—to join my fellow pros and the athletes assigned to this event. As I survey the crowd, my eyes go directly to him. The beefcake from earlier.
Oh no. Is he Ledger Bishop?
I don’t have time to dwell on that possibility. I just smile as brightly as I can. “Alright everybody!” I welcome them and thank them for being here.
Then, I get right down to it. “I have the list of partnerships!” I glance back down at my tablet. “You ready for this?”
The motley crew of dancers and athletes gives a big whoop and starts clapping. There’s only one guy who’s not having any of this: Beefcake—the man who was so arrogant and surly earlier.
Is he our token Negative Nelly? There’s always one.
“Yeah, baby!” I shift a little from side to side and gesture with my hands.
“Can I have the dancers on this side of the floor and the athletes on the other?” It doesn’t take long for them to form two groups.
“Now, make a straight line and then face each other.” I’m traversing the length of the stage.
It feels good to have gotten to this point.
Finally, my baby—this event—can really get going.
“Good,” I say when the lines have formed.
“Look at the person across from you. You may or may not be looking at your partner for the next seven days.” They shuffle into a mostly straight line, and I glance down at my screen.
“And now I’ll start naming off the partnerships one by one.
And sidenote, I had nothing to do with the decisions here, so take it up with Wynn Clark himself if you have any issues, okay? ”
A chuckle filters throughout the room. Taking it up with Wynn Clark? When pigs fly. No one would dare.
“You ready?”
One of the male athletes gives up a holler, “Let’s do this!” Everyone laughs in response.
I smile and nod. “Love the enthusiasm…what’s your name?” I ask him. I can’t help looking over at Mr. Grumpy, who looks like someone rained on his parade.
See? I’d like to say to him. There are people who are grateful to be here.
The athlete tells me his name and my eyes grow wide. “The Olympian?” I ask. And I know my tone is flirtatious, which probably isn’t a good idea. For some reason, I’m laying it a bit on thick right now.
Mr. Grumpy Beefcake is just standing there, his annoyance simmering off him like a pot of boiling water.
“Let’s see…” I smile at the Olympian. “You’re paired up with…” I pause for effect and then hook my tablet under my arm so I can demonstrate a drum roll on my thighs. Everyone copies me as the intensity ratchets up.
“The pro dancer, Malia!” Everyone cheers, but no one more than Malia, who looks relieved to have been paired with such a big star. She races to him and he steps to the middle to greet her. They hug and he even picks her up and spins around once, causing everyone to say, “Awwww.”
“You two are adorable. Very good. The next person is…” I announce the female athlete’s name—an Olympic figure skater—and that she’s partners with Pavel.
With each announcement, my despair rises because Mr. Grumpy isn’t called. One by one, everyone else is paired up and in the end, he’s the only male standing.
Which means he’s my partner.