Epilogue
JACKSON
This was fine.
I could handle this.
People sat down for lunch with the ex who ghosted them all the time, right? Even men like me, who’d either fired or fucked half the dancers in Las Vegas over my years as a producer.
Not that Winter Monroe was technically an ex.
We had never made it official, considering she was my principal dancer back when we were together.
Maybe if I had grown a spine and approached the idea of a relationship, she wouldn’t have disappeared like she had, packing up and heading overseas, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened. What went wrong?
That was neither here nor there at this point.
Four years had passed by the time I sat waiting for her to join me for lunch now that she’d returned to the States.
When I first heard of the hot new show that held Riviera audiences captive for over a year of sold-out performances, I had no idea she’d choreographed and even co-produced the production.
I only knew after watching a few clips online that I needed it. Something fresh, new, exciting. Something to revitalize my family’s stale brand. I was sick to death of putting on the same show time after time, playing it safe to appeal to the brainless masses. We needed fresh blood, new ideas.
That meant I’d jumped at the opportunity to purchase the rights once I heard the show’s producers wanted to expand to the States, Las Vegas being the obvious choice.
I was surprised to say the least, when Winter accepted this meeting invitation without making me wait. Then again, I was the one who’d been ghosted, not her.
Not that I could complain. I hadn’t exactly spent four years pining over her, saving myself in case she came back. Grudges were a waste of time and got in the way of work. Fun too. Nobody wanted to blow the guy who couldn’t stop crying over the one who got away.
If anything, we might be able to enjoy ourselves a little.
We could pick up where we left off. There were times I couldn’t help but remember how good it was, the way we worked so well together both on and off stage.
I could definitely go for a diversion after years of dealing with temperamental dancers and emotional scenic designers.
A smile played over my lips as fantasies sprang to life, a smile I still wore when a familiar blonde stepped into the restaurant, removing her sunglasses before taking in the room with a single glance. One thing hadn’t changed over the years—the woman could still turn heads wherever she went.
She was just as I remembered—tall, lithe, moved with the sort of grace and complete control of a dancer, disciplined, devoted to her art.
It showed in every move she made, right down to the casual flip of her shoulder-length blonde hair.
I could almost feel it between my fingers now, like silk, and the memory threatened to make my dick stir like I needed a hard-on to start things off.
I sat up straighter, lifting a hand to catch her attention.
Was I imagining the jolt of recognition that ran through her?
The way she lifted her slightly pointed chin, the flash of emotion in her sapphire eyes before she took one step, then another in my direction?
The cream pantsuit she wore was chic, something my mother would have loved.
Europe had done her good, polished and refined her.
She had left the States a wide-eyed girl with dreams of stardom and had returned looking like a woman of the world.
A woman who sat down across from me, accepting my handshake with a firm grip but little else to reveal our past involvement.
“Winter, this is a real pleasure,” I began, offering a smile from across the table. “Let me say how impressed I am with the work you’ve done. I’m thrilled to have a chance to work together now.”
She sized me up with her frank, unflinching stare, her full mouth barely twitching. Fuck, I had practiced that short speech, wanting to start us off on the right foot. She couldn’t be bothered to meet me halfway.
“I’m here because I know the kind of work you can do,” she explained in her rich, throaty voice.
“But let me explain something here and now. I’m not the girl you used to know, and I’ve developed a reputation for being a hard-ass when it comes to bringing my vision to life.
If you don’t think you can handle that, let me know now because there are plenty of producers in this town who would love the opportunity to put my show on stage. ”
Okay, then. Shifting in my chair, I folded my hands on the table, something in me rousing at the challenge she posed. “Do you always start meetings so confrontationally?” I asked.
With a slight narrowing of her eyes, she replied, “Only when I know the person I’m sitting down with as well as I know you, Jackson.”
I didn’t know what was worse.
Her sour attitude.
Or how my body warmed when my name came tumbling from her glossy lips.
We had three months to get this show up and running.
Something told me they would be the longest three months of my life.