much.
As the tempo increased, she began her routine. Steps and twirls and kicks, a high-energy routine designed to dazzle. She let the music take her, her feet pounding to the beat, her arms slicing through the air in perfect synchronisation.
It had always been like this, from the moment she’d seen her mum dance on stage in a nightly Kings Cross revue, a wide-eyed three-year-old mesmerised by the glittery costumes, the make-up and the applause.
She’d adored her mum, had wanted to be exactly like her. Emulating her grace and elegance and vibrancy on stage. But Makayla also wanted more. More kudos. More recognition. More.
Broadway. The pinnacle. Her dream.
But unless she scored a leading role soon, her dream would be in tatters, like her bank account.
The song drew to a close and Makayla threw herself into the finale, a run across the stage complete with high scissor split, before landing nimbly on her feet, arms flung high in victory.
The music cut off, the silence deafening.
At some auditions, she’d seen directors clap for outstanding performances.
Hudson didn’t move a muscle.
Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she stepped to the edge of the stage, out of the spotlight.
He scribbled something down before glancing up at her, his face unreadable.
Her heart sank but she forced a smile. A smile that wavered the longer he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, and, with a curt nod, dismissed her.
Disappointment made her knees wobble, but she’d be damned if she gave him an insight into her devastation.
Mustering what little courage she had left, she strode offstage.
And flipped him the bird behind the plush gold curtain.
HUDSON BIT BACK a guffaw.
Mak had flipped him the bird when she thought he couldn’t see. But Embue was renowned for its many mirrors and he’d seen her, clear as day, as she’d exited the stage.
Feisty. Bold. Confident. Still the same old Mak. Yet she wasn’t the same, not by a long shot.
It had been five years since he’d seen her in that Kings Cross strip club, naked in front of a room of slobbering Neanderthals. Five years since he’d fucked up. Big time.
She’d matured since then, her curves more womanly, her legs a tad longer, her eyes a deeper blue, her hair a rich glorious auburn. She’d always been a stunner growing up but now Mak could knock a guy to his knees and make him grovel to get back up.
When he’d seen her name on the audition sheet, he could’ve sworn his heart had skipped a beat; she had that kind of impact on him. Always had.
He’d clamped down on his initial reaction to score a line through her name. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t erase that night he’d seen her strip and the resultant fallout.
How many times had he picked up the phone afterwards to apologise? To see if she was okay? To talk her out of heading down a nefarious path that he’d seen first-hand resulted in tragedy?
Countless times, when he’d tried to formulate the right words yet had been lacking. He’d wanted to lecture her against the dangers of scoring easy cash via stripping. He’d wanted to warn her of the potential to spiral out of control. He’d wanted to tell her the truth behind his funk in the hope she’d understand why he’d freaked out.
Instead, he’d hung up the phone each and every time, knowing nothing he could say could erase the damage he’d done that night.
He’d said awful things, hateful things, in his shock-induced rage. Sadly, there’d been no coming back from it.
A week later he’d left Kings Cross, moving into a small Manly apartment and into the manager’s job at Embue. He’d deliberately avoided going to clubs in the Cross for fear of seeing Mak performing. He couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing her innate innocence tainted in that sleazy world.
Not that he hadn’t thought about her over the years. Some women were unforgettable and Mak was one of them.
Seeing her name on his audition sheet had given him a jolt. Could he really face seeing her dance again, when the last time he’d seen her gyrate and shimmy she’d been naked? He feared it would bring back all the old feelings: anger, disgust, with a healthy dose of jealousy. Crazy, out-of-control emotions, when he had no right to feel any of them.
He’d dithered for two days before the agency had called and demanded a list of potential dancers he’d like to trial. Before he could second-guess his decision, he’d added Mak’s name to the list.
After seeing what she could do a few minutes ago, he was glad.
Mak could dance. Really dance. Exhibiting the kind of talent that would establish Embue as the venue for live shows.
He’d been worried that when she moved on stage, he’d be catapulted back to that horrible night five years earlier and his impartiality as a producer would be shot.
Thankfully, it hadn’t happened. He’d been mesmerised by her lithe movement, her ability to command a small space, her stage presence.
Quite simply, as a dancer, Mak was a knockout.
It made him regret all the more that he’d missed out on seeing her come of age the last five years. In a world where he didn’t trust easily, Mak had been a good friend. One of the best, next to Tanner.
‘Auditions done?’ Tanner slumped into the seat next to him and braced his hands behind his head. ‘Because Abby is getting angsty with the endless trail of long-legged babes strutting their stuff through here.’
Hudson snorted and placed a thumb in the middle of Tanner’s forehead. ‘Your girlfriend is well aware you idolise her and that you’re right under this.’
‘She’s the best.’ Tanner swatted away his hand, his friend’s goofy grin making Hudson want to puke.
Not that he begrudged his best mate and boss a little happiness. If anyone deserved it, he did, after the shit Tanner had tolerated growing up. But ever since Abby had come on the scene a month ago Tanner had been a shadow of his former self. Staring into space at the oddest of times. Leaving the nightclub early to watch chick-flicks with Abby. Refusing to go out on the town like they used to.
Relationships were for suckers.
Tanner steepled his fingers and rested them in his lap. ‘So? Am I wasting my time, giving you a shot at making this live gig fly?’
Hudson sure as hell hoped not. He needed his idea to work. He owed Tanner and he always paid his dues.
‘Once I finalise the lead, rehearsals
