Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Sienna
I gritted my teeth as Dana stumbled again, this time nearly crashing into Venus. "Jesus, Dana! Get it together before you break our star attraction!"
The music screeched to a halt, leaving us hanging in a thick silence. All I could hear was the dancers' ragged breathing. Great. I rubbed my temples, fighting the urge to scream. These girls were supposed to be the best of the best, but today they were moving like they'd been hitting the tequila since sunrise.
"I'm sorry, Sienna," Dana mumbled, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'll do better, I promise."
Yeah, you better. I sighed, my irritation battling with a flicker of sympathy. Dana was our oldest dancer, pushing thirty, and usually one of our most reliable. But today? She looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here.
I pulled her aside. “What’s going on with you?” I asked, softening my tone just a touch. “You’re a million miles away.”
Dana’s eyes welled up, and I braced myself for the waterworks. “It’s Lily,” she said, referring to her daughter. “She had a really rough night. The autism... sometimes it’s just...”
“Shit,” I muttered, feeling like an asshole. Of course, it was about her kid. I ran a hand through my hair, buying myself a moment to switch gears. “Look, I get it. Being a mom is tough. But when you’re here, you’ve got to be here, you know? We can’t afford any injuries, especially not to Venus.”
Venus piped up from the back. “It’s okay, Sienna. We’re all just a little off today.”
I shot her a look that said ‘not helping,’ but appreciated the attempt at smoothing things over. “Alright, ladies, listen up,” I said, clapping my hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know we’re all tired, I know we all have shit going on outside these walls. But in here? In here, we’re goddamn professionals. This routine needs to be perfect for tomorrow night’s debut, and right now, it’s looking about as coordinated as a drunk octopus trying to put on rollerskates.”
A few giggles rippled through the group, and I felt the tension ease a bit. Good. I needed them focused, not terrified.
“Now, I want to see this routine one more time, start to finish, no mistakes. After that, we’ll take a water break. Got it?”
A chorus of “Yes, Sienna” echoed back at me. I nodded to Darcy, our sound tech, and she cued up the music.
As the first beats pulsed through the speakers, I watched the girls snap into formation. Dana’s movements were still a bit sluggish, but at least she was hitting her marks. Venus moved like liquid sex, as always, drawing the eye even in rehearsal clothes.
Just as they were hitting their stride, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, eyes glued to the dancers. It buzzed again, more insistently this time. With a growl of frustration, I pulled it out, ready to silence it.
Gavin’s name flashed on the screen.
“Shit,” I muttered. I don’t ignore a call from the boss. “Keep going!” I shouted to the girls as I answered the phone. “Gavin, what’s up?”
“Sienna, darling,” Gavin’s smooth voice flowed through the speaker. “I need a favor.”
I felt my eyebrow arch involuntarily. Gavin Manning didn’t ask for favors. He gave orders and expected them to be followed. “What kind of favor?”
“I need you to pick someone up from JFK. A friend. Name’s Fury Gracen.”
I blinked, momentarily thrown. “I’m sorry, you want me to do what? Gavin, I’m in the middle of rehearsal. We’ve got the new routine debuting tomorrow night, and?—”
“I’m aware,” Gavin cut me off, his tone brooking no argument. “But this is important. Fury’s flight lands in two hours. I need you to pick him up, take him to the club, make him feel welcome. Consider it part of your job description for the day.”
I bit back a sigh. “Fine. But who’s Fury Gracen, and why is he so important?”
Gavin chuckled, a sound that always sent a shiver down my spine. “He’s our new money manager, darling. Treat him well.”
The line went dead before I could respond. I stared at my phone for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Since when did we need a money manager?
A crash from the stage snapped me back to reality. I looked up to see Dana sprawled on the floor, Venus helping her up with a concerned look.
“Alright, that’s it!” I barked, striding back to the stage. “Water break, five minutes. Then we’re running this thing until it’s perfect or we all drop dead. Understood?”
The girls scattered, grateful for the reprieve. I pulled Dana aside, lowering my voice. “You okay?”
She nodded, looking miserable. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. I swear, I’ll get it together.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “I know you will. Look, take ten minutes, call home, check on Lily. But when you come back, I need you one hundred percent here, got it?”
Relief washed over her face. “Thank you,” she whispered before darting off to make her call.
I watched her go, then turned to survey the rest of the dancers. They were all chugging water and stretching, stealing glances at me like I might explode at any moment.
“Listen up, ladies,” I called out, drawing their attention. “Change of plans. We’ve got exactly one hour to nail this routine before I have to leave on a... special assignment.” I ignored their curious looks. “That means no more screw-ups, no more distractions. We’re going to run this thing until it’s perfect, even if that means you’re all puking in the wings tomorrow night. Clear?”
A chorus of determined “Yes, Sienna” echoed back at me. I nodded, satisfied. They might hate me right now, but they’d thank me when the crowd was screaming for more tomorrow night.
“Alright, ladies!” I shouted as the dancers took their positions. “From the top. And this time, make me believe you actually want to be here!”
An hour later, I sighed as I stepped into the dressing room, kicking off my heels and savoring the cool floor against my aching feet. The rehearsal had been a nightmare, but we'd finally nailed the routine. Now, a whole new headache was waiting for me.
“Fury Gracen,” I muttered, testing the name on my tongue as I made my way to my private closet. “What kind of name is that anyway?”
As I stripped off my dance clothes, my mind wandered back to how I’d ended up here. From struggling dancer to talent coordinator at one of New York’s most exclusive clubs. It was a hell of a journey, and I owed it all to Gavin Manning.
I remembered the night he’d saved me from a handsy client, offering me a job on the spot. “You’ve got fire, darling,” he’d said, those piercing eyes seeing right through me. “I could use someone like you.”
And used me he had. But not in a lewd way. Gavin had been a mentor, a challenge, a force that pushed me beyond my limits. He'd molded me into the woman I was today - a woman who could handle entitled rich boys and temperamental dancers with equal ease. A woman who commanded respect, not just admiration.
Standing in front of my closet, I frowned at the rows of clothes. What the hell do you wear to pick up a money manager? I settled on a dark forest green silk blouse, pairing it with a modest black pencil skirt. Professional, but with just enough edge to remind this Fury guy that he was entering my world.
I slipped on a pair of three-inch heels, checking my reflection in the full-length mirror. The outfit hugged my curves without being too provocative. Perfect for representing Club Privé.
The drive to JFK was a nightmare, as usual. Stuck in traffic, I pulled up Fury’s profile on my phone, curious about the man who’d thrown my day into chaos.
“Well, well,” I murmured, scrolling through his impressive resume. Stanford grad, co-founder of a successful marketing and investment firm, now expanding to New York. But how did he know Gavin?
By the time I reached the airport, I’d worked myself into a state of nervous irritation. I stood in the arrivals area, holding a sign with “F. Gracen” written in my neat script, feeling like a damn chauffeur.
And then I saw him. He looked even hotter than in his online picture.
Fury Gracen was, well, fury personified. Tall, with a build that screamed ‘I work out but I’m not a meathead about it.’ His bronze hair was artfully tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed, yet looking like a model. But it was his eyes that caught me off guard – dark brown, intense, with a hint of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.
I straightened my spine, plastering on my best professional smile as he approached. “Mr. Gracen? I’m Sienna Marquez from Club Privé. Welcome to New York.”
He looked me up and down, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect Gavin to send one of his entertainers to pick me up.”
And just like that, my irritation flared back to life. I kept my smile firmly in place, but I knew my eyes had gone frosty. “I’m the talent coordinator for Club Privé, Mr. Gracen. Not your ‘entertainer’.”
To his credit, Fury had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend?—”
“No offense taken,” I cut him off, my tone making it clear that offense had very much been taken. “Shall we get your bags?”
As we made our way to baggage claim, Fury tried to salvage the conversation. “So, talent coordinator? That sounds like an interesting job.”
“It has its moments,” I replied, my eyes scanning the carousel for his luggage. “What brings you to New York, Mr. Gracen? Besides the obvious allure of our charming traffic and overpriced real estate?”
He chuckled, a warm sound that I refused to find attractive. “Expanding our business, actually. Gavin mentioned he could use someone with my financial expertise.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Did he now? And what exactly does a high-flying investment guru know about running a club?”
“About as much as I know about coordinating talent, I’d imagine,” Fury shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But I’m a quick study.”
I bit back a smirk. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely insufferable. “You’re ready?”
“Lead the way, Ms. Marquez,” Fury said, grabbing a sleek black suitcase from the carousel. “I’m eager to find out what all the fuss is about.”
As we walked to the parking garage, I felt Fury’s eyes on me. It wasn’t the usual leering I was used to from men—this felt more... assessing. Like he was trying to figure me out.
“So,” he said as we reached my car, “how long have you worked for Gavin?”
I popped the trunk, gesturing for him to load his bag. “Five years. Started as a dancer, worked my way up.”
Fury nodded, looking impressed. “That’s quite a climb. Gavin must think highly of you.”
“Gavin knows talent when he sees it,” I replied, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Just like he seems to think you’re some kind of financial messiah.”
Fury laughed as he buckled up. “Hardly. But I do know my way around a balance sheet. And I’m always up for a new challenge.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as we inched forward in the gridlock. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, glaring at the sea of red brake lights stretching out before us.
Fury shifted in the passenger seat, his long legs cramped in the confines of my modest car. “I thought California had bad traffic, but this is something else.”
I snorted. “Welcome to New York, honey. Where dreams come to die in a traffic jam.”
He chuckled, and I felt a little surge of pride at making him laugh. Wait, what? No. Focus, Sienna.
“Any idea what’s causing this?” Fury asked, craning his neck to see ahead.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the traffic alerts. “Looks like a perfect storm. Road work on 5th, and apparently there’s some kind of demonstration near Times Square.” I groaned. “We’re not moving anytime soon.”
Fury checked his watch, then glanced at me. “How far are we from the club?”
“About ten blocks,” I said, already knowing where this was going.
He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Up for a walk?”
I weighed our options. Sit in this hellish traffic for who knows how long, or stretch our legs and get there faster? I figured I could have Gus, our bouncer, pick up my car later and drop off Gavin's luggage. It would save me hours.
“Alright, Gracen,” I said, already scanning for a place to park. “Hope those fancy shoes are made for walking.”
We found a spot in a nearby garage, and soon we were on the sidewalk, dodging harried New Yorkers and tourists alike.
“So,” Fury said as we walked, matching my brisk pace, “what’s the deal with Club Privé?”
I smirked. “Let’s just say it’s not your average nightclub. We cater to a... discerning clientele.”
“Discerning, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a fancy way of saying ‘rich as hell,’ isn’t it?”
A burst of laughter escaped from my lips. “Among other things. But don’t worry, you’ll fit right in with your fancy suit and big city swagger.”
Fury clutched his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know this swagger is one-hundred percent genuine, small-town boy charm.”
“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve met plenty of ‘small-town boys’ in this city. They usually last about a week before running home with their tails between their legs.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Wanna bet I’ll last longer than a week?”
I was about to fire back when I felt the first drop hit my nose. “Shit,” I muttered, looking up at the suddenly ominous sky.
And then, because the universe clearly had it out for me today, the heavens opened up.
“Run!” I yelled, grabbing Fury’s hand without thinking and darting towards the nearest awning. We made it about half a block before the rain really started coming down in sheets.
“There!” Fury pointed to a cozy-looking café across the street. “Come on!”
We dashed across, narrowly avoiding a taxi, and burst through the café door, breathless and dripping.
The place was packed with other rain refugees, but Fury snagged us the last empty table in the corner. I collapsed into the chair, pushing my wet hair out of my face.
“Well,” Fury said, looking at me with an amused grin, “that was refreshing.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, nothing like a New York shower to really welcome you to the city.”
He joined in, and for a moment, we were just two people laughing at the absurdity of it all.
A waitress appeared, looking frazzled but friendly. “What can I get you two?”
“Large black coffee, please,” Fury said, then looked at me.
“Make that two,” I said, then added, “And a blueberry muffin, please.”
As the waitress left, Fury raised an eyebrow. “Blueberry, huh? I pegged you more as a chocolate chip girl.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Oh really? And what else have you ‘pegged’ about me, Mr. Gracen?”
He grinned, accepting the challenge. “Well, let’s see. You’re tough as nails on the outside, but I bet there’s a softy in there somewhere. You probably have a secret stash of rom-coms you’d never admit to watching. And...” he paused for dramatic effect, “you definitely have a cat.”
I blinked, thrown off by how close he’d gotten. “Okay, Sherlock. How’d you figure all that?”
Fury leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “The tough part’s obvious. You've got your hands full handling dancers and dealing with Gavin Manning. The rom-com thing? Just a hunch based on that little smile you got when we walked past that movie poster earlier. And the cat?” He pointed to my black skirt. “You’ve got some telltale fur on your clothes.”
I brushed at my skirt, cursing internally. Damn it, Whiskers. “Not bad, Gracen. But don’t go thinking you’ve got me all figured out.”
The waitress returned with our coffees and my muffin. I took a sip, savoring the bitter warmth.
“So,” Fury said, wrapping his hands around his mug, “since we’re stuck here, why don’t you tell me something about yourself that I couldn’t guess?”
I took another sip of my coffee, buying time as I considered my response. Fury’s eyes were still on me, patient but expectant. I couldn’t deny the pull I felt towards him - the way his smile made my stomach do a little flip, how his gaze seemed to see right through my carefully constructed walls. But I’d been down this road before, and I wasn’t about to make the same mistakes again.
“Something you couldn’t guess?” I finally said, a coy smile playing on my lips. “How about the fact that I can juggle knives?”
Fury’s eyebrows shot up. “Now that I’d like to see.”
I laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Maybe if you’re lucky. It’s not exactly a skill I break out at parties.”
“I’ll have to make sure I’m at the right party then,” he replied, his voice low and warm.
I felt a flush creep up my neck and cursed internally. Despite my best efforts, there was definitely a spark there. And in my experience, sparks usually led to fires.
And I’d been burned enough times to know better than to play with matches.