He’s not threatening to kill me… yet. That’s a good sign, right? If I can get him talking, then maybe he’ll just let me go. Or I can figure out a way to get him away from the door… I look around the room and circle behind the desk, putting it between us. I drop my bag on it and press my back against the wall.
“You and I met that day in Rose Hill,” he says. “It was out of the blue, yes, but you drove down. You seemed excited about it.”
“Why?” I demand.
“Because I was trying to recruit you.”
I rear back. “For what?”
He gives me a look. One that says:you should know. But even if I have a theory—and one is beginning to form—I don’t trust him. I don’t believe him.
“I wanted you to dance for the American Ballet Theatre,” he says carefully. “And that might sound crazy, but I was given the chance to handpick some dancers for their upcoming touring season. I chose—”
“Giselle.” I cover my mouth. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute. “So I met with you that day?”
He nods. “We went over choreography. You were going to be in touch later in the week to come and dance for the board of directors.”
This doesn’t make any fucking sense.
“I was Odette.” My brow furrows. “I was the principal dancer forSwan Lake.”
He scoffs. “You think Crown Point Ballet can stand up to what ABT can offer you? You and I both know that they’re leagues apart. I was giving you a chance.”
“But then I broke my leg. My memory of that day was just…” I snap my fingers. “It was gone. How can I believe you?” I squint at him. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“What about your phone? We had conversations. I left you a voicemail, you called me back.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Smashed in the accident. I lost data from a week prior, since my last cloud backup.”
He sighs. He’s right to sigh—the signs of the truth are there. In the dance I somehow knew, in the spaces of my memory. But it doesn’t stop him from opening his phone and setting it on the desk.
A video plays. He stands in a studio that looks awfully familiar, and I face the mirror. Someone else holds the phone for him, filming me dance. Poor Violet back then, she had no idea what was about to happen. When I finish, I turn and beam at Shawn.
It goes black, and I step back. I let out a shaky breath.
“What time was that?”
He looks at the time stamp on the video and wordlessly points. Seven-zero-five p.m. Greyson hit my car closer to eleven.
“Did I leave after that?”
Shawn narrows his eyes. “Yeah, Violet. You got a call and left.”
I swing my bag back over my shoulder. “It’s been two minutes,” I say stiffly. “And it doesn’t really seem to matter much, since you’ve probably chosen for ABT. That was months ago. Besides, we’re both here.”
Shawn reads my stiffening posture, and he immediately raises his hands again. Like he’s not a threat to me. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised, is all. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought you knew me.”
He steps aside, and I rush out the door.
My mind is a mess. He wanted me to dance for him at the American Ballet Theatre? One of the best ballet companies in the US? I’d only just debuted as a principal. Hadn’t had a chance to dance a lead in front of an audience before it was ripped away from me.
I wipe at a tear that rolls down my cheek. Then another.
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning the corner.
I almost crash into Mia.
She grabs my shoulders and lets out a laugh. “Violet! I thought you had left already. Oh—what happened? Are you okay?”