Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I walk to work, thinking about everything I have to replace, which upsets me even more.
Today sucks so bad!
When I get close to the ballet company, I glance around to make sure I don’t see Dario’s car, and not seeing it parked anywhere, I walk into the building.
“Hi, Quincy,” I say as I stop by his desk. “Some asshole just stole my bag.”
“That sucks,” he mutters. “Stafford is on a warpath, so you better get to work.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I mumble before heading to the back, where the staff’s lockers are.
As I pull on my apron, my phone starts to ring, and I quickly dig it out of my pocket.
Seeing Tyrone’s name, I answer, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Two men were sniffing around your apartment and asking about Mandy.”
Sinking down in a crouching position, I rub my palm over my forehead. “The bitch. I’m going to kill her when I see her again.”
“Not if they get to her first. These men meant business, baby girl. Be careful when you come and go.”
“I will.”
We end the call, and I sit flat on my ass on the cold tiles as a hopeless feeling fills my chest. There’s a lot I can endure, but today is starting to get the better of me.
Just as my luck would have it, the door opens, and Madama Stafford catches me sitting on the floor.
I quickly climb to my feet, but it’s too late.
She levels me with an angry look. “I don’t pay you to sit around doing nothing.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Bring a mop. One of the girls vomited.”
Jesus, why do you hate me so much?
Chapter 10
Dario
With the winter show fast approaching, things are tense at the ballet company. We already lost two ballerinas because they couldn’t handle the pressure.
And Mrs. Stafford has turned into a screeching banshee. Christ, the woman should’ve become a sergeant in the army. She sure as fuck has the lungs to shout out orders the whole day.
Sitting in the auditorium during a rehearsal, the usual peace I get to experience is nowhere to be found.
“No! No! No!” Mrs. Stafford shouts while stomping her foot. “What have you all been learning in class? I have more grace in my pinky than you lot are displaying. Start over.”
Having had enough, I stand up and walk to the front row where Mrs. Stafford is seated.
When she looks up at me, I say, “I think you should take a break. Go home.”
“What?” she gasps as she climbs to her feet. “The show is in three weeks!”
I give her a look of warning, then murmur, “Never raise your voice at me.”
She quickly collects herself and forces a quivering smile to her face. “I apologize, Mr. La Rosa.”
When she walks away, I turn to the stage and call out, “Everyone take a fifteen-minute break.”
Needing to get everyone under control so the show won’t be an epic failure, I walk out of the auditorium and go after Mrs. Stafford.
When I come around a corner it’s to see her laying into one of the janitors.
“You can’t mop the floor when we’re all still here. What if one of the ballerinas slips and breaks a leg?”
I can’t hear what the janitor is mumbling, and when I get to them, I glance at the poor woman, but I can’t see her face because the cap she’s wearing is in the way.
Locking eyes with Mrs. Stafford, I say, “Your office. Now.”
When I walk away, I hear something fall from the cleaning cart.
“You almost spilled bleach on my shoes!”
Losing my shit, my voice is harsh as I snap, “Mrs. Stafford, stop screeching at everyone and go to the office.”
Not waiting, I stalk to the office and shove the door open. Pacing the floor, I take a deep breath so I’ll calm down because I can’t afford to fire Mrs. Stafford this close to the show.
She comes into the office and shuts the door so we’ll have privacy.
I take another deep breath before saying, “I won’t tolerate you screaming at my ballerinas and staff. Everyone is stressed out, and you’re making it worse.”
“I apologize, Mr. La Rosa,” she murmurs. “The pressure got to me.”
“Take tomorrow off and get some rest. I’ll handle the rehearsals until you return.” When it looks like she’s going to argue, I shake my head. “It’s an order.”
She walks to her desk to retrieve her handbag, and before she leaves the office, she asks, “I’ll take the night to compose myself, but please let me return tomorrow. I’ve worked the whole year for this show.”
“Fine, but if I hear you screaming at one more person, it will cost you your job,” I warn her.
I can see my threat hit her hard, and she walks out of the office with a trembling chin.
As silence falls around me, I feel fucking agitated.
I don’t lose my shit a lot, but if there’s one thing that pisses me off, it’s people mistreating others.