Page 8 of His Mistress by Blackmail

Now thirty-three, Xandro Christofides had taken that same plan and turned himself into a casino and hotel magnate, providing first-class luxury and decadence to the richest of the rich.

Before twenty-one, nothing could be found on the man, save for the rumour that he’d grown up in the roughest suburbs of New York. That explained the layer of hard ruthlessness that clung to him despite his designer clothes and feline grace.

A layer that attracted beautiful women to the enigmatic man. Picture after picture showed him with dazzling females smiling up at him, clinging to his arm, their possessiveness blatant. All while he stared stony-faced into the camera.

Xandro Christofides was a stranger to the art of smiling. Sure, their encounter so far hadn’t lent itself towards affable banter, but she doubted he smiled at any other time. He didn’t seem the type. In fact, he seemed impervious to anything besides making money and dating beautiful women.

A quick look through his company history also showed he was one hundred per cent owner of every venture, with no collaborations or business partners. He’d even stated as much during an interview.

‘I prefer complete control. I don’t like to share. What is mine belongs only to me.’

Apprehension danced down her spine. The man was addicted to control. It spoke volumes that he had travelled from the West Coast in search of Ben when he could’ve let the authorities or the many minions in his employ deal with it.

So why had he just given up?

Sage noticed she’d been staring at his image for five minutes and grimaced. Resolutely, she cancelled the search then returned to her training.

Four hours later, exhausted, she let herself into the townhouse where she lived. At almost ten o’clock on a Friday night the house was thankfully empty, the other dancers having hit the town. In the kitchen, she fixed herself a qu

ick sandwich, then dug through her rucksack for the five-pound dumbbell she always carried with her. She was halfway through her wrist-strengthening routine when her phone blared to life.

She stared at the number on her screen for a startled second before she slid her thumb across the screen. ‘Hello?’

‘Miss Woods?’ a no-nonsense female voice enquired.

‘Yes?’

‘This is Melissa Hunter, director of the Hunter Dance Company.’

‘Uh...hi.’

‘My apologies for calling you so late,’ the director said.

‘That’s okay.’ Sage stopped and cleared her throat, setting her dumbbell down to grip the edge of the kitchen counter. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked cautiously.

‘I have news on the next set of auditions.’

Sage’s grip tightened, her heart diving into her stomach. ‘Okay...’

‘The company’s circumstances have changed a little and we’ve decided to bring the auditions forward. Next Tuesday, to be precise. Successful applicants will be given a place in the next Hunter Dance Company production slated for September. I know this is short notice, but if you still wish to be a part of it I need a yes tonight.’

Sage stared blindly into space for a shocked three seconds before her brain kicked into gear. ‘I...of course. My answer is yes. To all of it!’

‘Great. My assistant will be in touch in the morning with further details.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hunter.’

‘You’re welcome. Oh, before I go, you should know that these auditions are going to be held off-site.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Sage hurriedly reassured.

‘Good. My assistant will require your travel documents when she calls. Be sure to have them ready. We’re very pressed for time.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured again. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘I have other dancers to contact, Miss Woods. Expect my assistant’s call.’ She hung up abruptly, leaving Sage staring at the dead phone in her hand.

A full minute later, the enormity of the call sank in but the smile that broke over her face dimmed all too soon when she realised she had no one to celebrate her news with.

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