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“Looking for a—I’m sorry?” Addisyn furrowed her brow. What was going on? Surely the man had confused her with someone else. “I—I must have misunderstood.”
“Yes, forgive me for being unclear. I’m the general manager at the Showtime Dinner Theater here in town. Corner of Forty-sixth and Ninth. We offer meals with entertainment—all kinds. Burlesque, drama, singing, all that. I’m looking to hire three or four talented skaters.” Mr. Moorehouse waved his hand in the air, as if gesturing to his grand scheme. “You know, skating exhibitions during dinner. Guests’ll love it.” He studied the drink selection and chose a glass of bourbon. “Anyway, I thought you might be interested. My theater is top-notch.”
Confusion squiggled through Addisyn’s chest. What in the world had this man heard? The very thought of displaying her skating in that way—lumping her soul-fired performances in with burlesque and opera, selling her heart like a cheap commodity—nauseated her. “Mr. Moorehouse, I’m—” She caught her breath. Remembered to be polite. “Thank you very much for the offer, but I’m a competitive skater. On my way to the Olympics. Brian—Mr. Felding is my coach.” She knew her smile was weak. “Perhaps you weren’t aware.”
Mr. Moorehouse’s eyebrows rose in sharp peaks. “Well, yes, I was aware.” He paused. “But Brian told me that competing hadn’t worked out for you—that you weren’t going to be able to make the Olympic team after all. Said you had a real bad loss at Sectionals and didn’t have much hope of getting any further.” He shook his head contemplatively. “No surprise there. Sectionals gets harder every year. Kids are skating younger and younger. Last statistic I heard, something like only five percent—”
“Briantold you I would want a job at your theater?” Addisyn felt as if she might laugh. Or maybe cry. Or maybe run across the room screaming and wallop Brian over the head with the champagne bottle.
“Well—” Mr. Moorehouse seemed much less confident now, apparently sensing tension between them even if he couldn’t diagnose the cause. “He—he told me you needed a job, yes. We’ve known each other for years, him and me. We always help each other out like that.” He sipped his bourbon, then shrugged. “Just think it over. I pay good wages. Solid benefits. And working for me, you can still skate, even if you can’t compete.” He clinked his glass to hers. “Cheers.” And with that he was gone.
The room spun crazily around Addisyn. With shaking hands, she set her drink down before she dropped it. There had to be some mistake. There had to be. Brian was her coach. He was supposed to be encouraging her, training her, helping her fight to the top—not going behind her back like this!
Of course there was a mistake. Brian would never, ever do such a thing. But to make her heart beat normally again, she had to hear it from him—had to see the shock on his face when she told him what Marty Moorehouse had pitched to her. Addisyn felt alternately hot and cold as she threaded her way through the crowd, muttering “Excuse me” indiscriminately.
Brian was still rapt in business chatter with his associates. She tugged on his sleeve, oblivious to all but her angst. “Brian, I need to speak with you.” Her teeth were chattering; she could barely get the words out.
He turned with a frown. “Baby, I’m busy right now.”
Busy? No, she needed him now. The gaping hole in her heart was threatening to suck her into it. Only his reassurance could possibly ease this moment. “This is important.”
He shot a smooth smile at his group. “Excuse me one moment.”
The others cheerfully obliged, with one man cheekily cracking some joke about a lady being in charge of “her man.” At any other time, Addisyn would have been indignant over the weak humor, but now nothing mattered except the truth. She all but dragged Brian to the edge of the room and launched in without preamble. “Why did Mr. Moorehouse come and offer me a job at his theater? He said that you told him that I—” Addisyn choked over the words—“That my career was ruined. And that I needed a job besides competing. What is that about?”
Brian’s face flushed. He glanced around the room. “Moorehouse said that?”
“Yes.” His obvious exasperation slowed her breathing and calmed her nerves. See, Brian hadn’t really done such a low-down thing. Of course he hadn’t. He’d explain to her that he was innocent, and then he’d find Moorehouse and give him a piece of his mind.
“Well, baby, I—” Brian ran his hand over his hair. “I mean, Moorehouse said he had this job opening. I thought it would be a good fit for you. You still get to skate, you know, and—” His words seemed to fizzle out. “I—I didn’t really expect him to bring it up here...”
“So you told him that? You told him I wasn’t going to be competing anymore?” Addisyn’s stomach was cold inside.
Defensiveness glazed Brian’s eyes. “Look, you know this—your career, your skating—it’s just not going well. I mean—it’s a sinking ship.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I just thought this would give you the—”
“Never mind.” Addisyn blinked back the stinging in her eyes and lifted her chin. She would not let Brian see the tidal wave of emotion that was drowning her soul. A sinking ship? Really? She was one of figure skating’s fastest rising stars. Hardly a sinking ship. A few small losses couldn’t stop her. “I’m leaving.” She gripped her clutch in both hands. “I’m taking a cab home.” She spun and began walking for the exit as fast as her stiletto heels would allow.
“Addisyn, wait!” Desperation rang in his voice, but she didn’t look back.
She’d already heard enough from him. More than enough.
