Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(53)

I’m not sure how to respond without sounding like such a girl, and unprofessional on top of that. I don’t have to justify myself to Dub, but he’s been a huge part of the success I’ve had so far. There’s no rational reason for us not to continue what has been an incredible partnership.

Except my boyfriend. And I wouldn’t call him rational.

“Dub, you’re amazing.” My voice and my laugh grate in my raw throat. “The best actually, and I can’t believe my luck having you for this first tour. Artists would kill for that.”

“And you’re a once-in-a-lifetime talent, Kai. Your body was made for my moves.” His voice drops, his eyes darkening as they run over me in the cut off leotard and half shirt I rehearsed in. “We could be so good together.”

“We’ve been great together.” I give him a pointed look. “Professionally. There’s nothing else there.”

“You don’t believe that.” He lightly grasps my wrist, pulling me a few inches closer. “If Gray wasn’t in the picture, I’d already be in your bed.”

I jerk away, setting my jaw now that I see the hand he’s never shown this clearly before.

“I don’t think so.” I make my voice firm and sure. Neutral. “I’m pretty selective about who makes it into my bed. Rhyson’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and he wouldn’t tolerate company.”

“If you’d give us a chance.” He gathers my fingers into his, pressing a hand at the curve of my back. “Let me show you how it could be with us.”

I step back abruptly, pulling my fingers away.

“I’ve said no. I’ve tried to be nice, but you’re pushing, Dub. This only confirms that we should go our separate ways professionally.”

“What’s going on?” Malcolm asks from a few feet away, eyes sharp and darting between Dub and me. “Everything okay here?”

I draw a quick breath and nod. Dub’s expression stays hard, not giving the same assurances.

“Kai was just telling me she wants to go in a different direction creatively for her project,” Dub says. “And will be using a new choreographer.”

“Nonsense.” Malcolm spreads his lips over an unnaturally white smile. “You two are magic together. No need to fix what ain’t broken.”

“I don’t really want to get into it before the last show.” I smile at them both, really needing to lie down now. “It’s just something I feel strongly about.”

Malcolm’s smile slips a little before he recovers, turning to Dub.

“Hey, Dub, gimme a minute with my artist, okay?” he asks. “I think production had a lighting question about Luke’s set.”

Dub glances at me before nodding and walking off.

Dub is barely out of earshot before Malcolm is speaking again, his voice almost arctic.

“You listen here, little girl.” His sharp glance slices over my face. “Dub Shaughnessy is the best there is, and we aren’t using anyone else until I say so.”

I’ve always suspected Malcolm’s slick demeanor hid something hard and cold. Now I know it’s a knife.

“I’m not your little girl,” I say, my voice only a few degrees warmer. “And I’m the one out there every night performing. If I say I need a new choreographer, I think we should at least explore other options.”

“Except you don’t get paid to think.” Malcolm slides his hands into his pockets and leans close enough for me to smell the garlic he had for lunch. “You get paid to sing and dance and look like every man’s fantasy every night. I do the thinking. You stick to that, little girl.”

“I’m not getting into this.” I turn to walk away. “I have a show tonight to prepare for. We’ll talk about this later.”

His meaty hand around my arm pulls me short. I look from the fingers clamped around my arm to the hard lines of his face, but he doesn’t let me go.

“We don’t have to talk about it later.” His mouth becomes a cold curve, his teeth like icicles in his smile, fat blurring the line of his jaw. “You should have read your contract a little closer, sweetheart.”

Dread creeps over me. I read the contract, but Rhyson and I were fighting, so I didn’t run it by him and didn’t know anyone else. I just wanted out of LA. I wanted space between Rhyson and me. I wanted this opportunity, so I signed a two-year artist development deal. It seemed pretty standard to me at the time, but maybe there were some fine print details I overlooked.

“I own you, lock, stock, and barrel for the next two years,” Malcolm confirms. “According to your contract, all creative decisions are mine, including who choreographs your videos and shows. And I made sure it’s so airtight, even your famous ex-boyfriend won’t be able to get you out of it without sidelining you until your contract is fulfilled. Even if you won’t work for me, you can’t work for anyone else.”

He drops my arm and straightens his tie.

“You want to wear Converse instead of high heels, go right ahead. I don’t give a f*ck,” he says. “Everything else, I decide.”

I don’t know if it’s my fever or the horror of what I’ve gotten myself into, but something makes me sweat and sway a little on my feet. Malcolm’s hand snakes back out with false solicitation to steady me.