Free The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight by Lynne Connolly Page B

That would give them time to clean up and rearrange the tables for the evening session.
    He’d dropped by to discuss the matter with his manager Vella, another Talent.
    In appearance, she was middle-aged because she’d kept her daughter with her. She had to look like the mother of a young adult. Children were rare and precious commodities to Talents, so Vella would have given up her youthful appearance gladly. Vella gave the appearance of well-maintained, mature woman, from her shiny brunette bob to the tip of her stilettoed feet and everywhere in between. And it was obvious she knew what she was up to. The books were well kept, and the club’s profits were maintained. But not increased.
    A spike of—arousal, awareness?—lanced through his thoughts. It wasn’t Vella. He spun around and stared in disbelief at the woman sitting on a chair waiting her turn to audition.
    There she was—Kristen Lowe—sitting in the club with the other dancers, legs primly crossed. She wore a peacock-blue leotard with a skirt over the top. At least she didn’t have the dreaded ballet dancer’s legwarmers. She’d removed her boots, which stood carefully lined up by her chair, and had donned a pair of practice shoes.
    The other dancers wore an assortment of costumes. Some had come dressed to kill in miniskirts and tight tops, which would no doubt come off when they auditioned. Others were dressed similarly to Kristen, but all were ready to strip. The manager wouldn’t employ them if their bodies weren’t up to scratch.
    Recalling Kristen’s small though beautiful breasts, Nathan knew she didn’t have much of a chance. She had to present something really special to make up for the lack of a boob job. This wasn’t a ballet audition. The attendees needed spectacular bodies, something to flash at the men as well as dancing ability to please the women guests.
    Some of them had stood around and jiggled. Until he’d put a stop to it. He wanted dancers, not strippers.
    A few had come with partners, men who lolled around waiting their turn, watching the others with the predatory stares of hunters.
    Nathan couldn’t blame them. His instincts told him to race downstairs, scoop Kristen up, and bring her here, where nobody would reject her. Because he knew she must have been rejected at her audition earlier. Why else would she come? Unless she told them to shove their job up their asses and was finished with the dance world. Ballet was a hard career. Even the successful ended with ruined bodies and exhausted souls.
    She’d found him. Of course she had. All it took was an Internet search. Disappointment lanced through him. He was sure she hadn’t sought him out in the country, but maybe she was hoping to cash in on her luck. Who wouldn’t? Except he wouldn’t show himself. Absolutely not. He’d let his manager deal with her. She need never know he was here.
    Nobody could see him up here. The gallery was lined with one-way glass so the staff could keep an eye on the patrons when the club was open without being too obvious. Only a few staff remained, the ones who’d served his and Vella’s lunch and some of the office staff working on their laptops. Except for the view, it could be an office anywhere.
    Downstairs, another woman climbed on to the stage and began her act. Some people didn’t realize what the club was about, and this woman was one of them. She stripped, posing with a practiced routine that should have been retired years ago, plenty of bump and grind, but no dance steps. He prayed she didn’t have a snake. Snakes were so last century. No snake, just a boa and an attempt at fifties glamor.
    She was a stripper, and he didn’t employ those. Couldn’t afford to, because if they went too far, he’d lose his license to sell liquor. Chicago laws said they could either make money with scantily clad women exposing their bodies or by selling liquor. Nathan had added the men, the dance, and called it a dinner and dance club. Perfectly