Misha’s jaw twitched as if later should be now.
“Listen,” Maxwell spoke from behind us. “If you get me a sexy ballerina to take off my jacket later today, then I’ll wear pink, green, and any other color.”
I glanced over my shoulder and winked at him. “I’ll work on it.”
“I’m holding you to that shit, Ava.” Maxwell headed off. “I’ll be outside and by the car, man. Doing what I do.”
Misha checked his watch. “We should leave, Ava. You can’t be late.”
My stomach twisted.
He gently took my hand. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You look nervous. Mrs. Hightower came to you.”
“You’re right.” I let out a long breath. “I think I’m getting a touch of imposter syndrome, wondering when someone is going to jump out and say, ‘No, Ava. We made a mistake. You actually suck.’”
“You worked too hard for that to ever happen.”
Misha guided us away from the bedroom and through his underground spot. After living here for several days, it had become an odd little home. As we walked through it, I smiled and whispered goodbye.
When we walked outside, it took me time to get adjusted to the sunlight. I breathed in the fresh air and relished in a cool breeze tickling my skin.
Naveen stood next to Maxwell, wearing a beige blazer, fitted navy blue pants, and a crisp white shirt.
Maxwell gestured at Naveen. “Now this is a proper color.”
“But he’ll be lost in the crowd.” Misha opened the door for me. “However, you and I, we’ll be the talk of the city. Old rose trumps beige.”
Maxwell snorted. “They’ll be talking about us because motherfuckers will be wondering why we’re both wearing pink and dressed alike.”
Laughing, I climbed into the limo. Misha followed. Naveen and Maxwell entered next. Once the door closed, the limo sped off.
Across from us, Naveen sat next to Maxwell and didn’t look my way. In fact, he barely talked to me in these past days. The only time we shared words was if he happened to pass by me and it was usually a low excuse me. Other than that, he kept his distance.
Does he dislike me? Or is he just a quiet guy?
Naveen shrugged. “Don’t worry, Maxwell. His dressing you is a sign that he loves you. Instead of saying the words, he’ll buy you a jacket to show how much he appreciates you.”
“Word?” Maxwell smirked at Misha. “I love you too, man.”
Ignoring them, Misha turned to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Excited and nervous at the same time.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“I hope so.”
“Try Hightower out as an agent for a while. If you don’t like her then we’ll find you a new one.”
I nodded. “It took O four tries before she found the right agent. Granted, O can be difficult to work with.”
Naveen spoke up which shocked me. “Why would a ballerina need an agent?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh. Umm. We get an agent to stay relevant as well as get commercial gigs to supplement our income. Plus, agents negotiate contracts for dance jobs.”
Naveen kept a stern expression. “What sort of commercial gigs?”
“These would be bookings for film, television, and even places like Broadway. Have you seen the rapper Kanye West’s Runaway video full of ballerinas dressed in black?”
Naveen nodded.
“That would be a great example of a commercial gig for a ballerina. Kanye West even hired many to perform with him onstage at the music awards.
Naveen turned to Misha. “And you would be able to handle Ava getting so much exposure?”
Misha frowned. “She gets a lot of attention now and it hasn’t been a problem.”
“There hasn’t been a problem?” Naveen scowled. “You’re fighting one of the most powerful oligarch families in St Petersburg.”
“Besides that.”
Maxwell raised his finger. “In all fairness, the motherfuckers brought it on themselves. They were pimping ballerinas.”
Naveen directed his view to me. “And what’re your thoughts on Misha trying to kill himself?”
I widened my eyes. “I don’t want him to do any of this—”
“We’re done with the conversation.” Misha squeezed my hand. “What’s done is done. And no one is killing me—”
“Besides Kazimir.” Naveen frowned.
Fear rose inside me.
Edge coated Misha’s voice. “We’ll leave for Paris soon.”
Naveen looked at Maxwell. “How many times have you heard him say that?”
Maxwell raised his hands. “Yo, I’m not in this.”
Naveen returned to me. “Ava, if this is going to work between you two, you’ll need to get control of him.”
“Trust me,” Misha interjected. “She has plenty of control.”
Naveen sneered. “I’m talking to her, not you.”
“And if you keep on talking to her, you may find yourself being thrown out of a moving limo.”
I stirred. That didn’t sound like a playful tone. Misha’s words held violent promise.
Maxwell jumped in. “So, Ava, how would you get onto a music video? That actually sounds like fun.”
Naveen and Misha glared at each other.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It would be a great opportunity. The agent constantly communicates with different casting directors. A good one always knows about opportunities, auditions, and upcoming projects. When a cool gig comes up, they’ll submit my headshot, resumé, and other materials to casting.”