Page 197 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2
James shook his head, the deliberately slow ominous movement translated the seriousness of this situation. “He had a serious hard on for her mother and she looks just like her.”
“Right then.” Matt shuffled the loose pictures into the open folder before closing it. “Seeing as you’ve gone over and beyond what was asked, I’ll settle up the usual way.”
“There’s no need, Mr Bradley.” James turned towards the office door. “I had to see this through, and your wife appears to be a nice person.”
Matt scoffed as he rose to his feet, his reply was very dry. “Aren’t we all?”
James abruptly spun around, halting his journey to leave. “Those pictures, the ones of her that I verified,”
“What about them?” Matt asked coldly, instinctively tensing at the memory of those images.
“They seemed off.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, James?” Matt walked around the corner of his desk towards his P.I. “They seemed off? Were they authentic or not?”
“Of course they were, I stand by my work and the work of my techs,” he assured Matt. “The photos seemed off, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You keep sayingoff,” Matt took a few steps towards him. “But you’re not really saying anything. What does that mean? Are you doubting the validity of the photos?”
“No, Mr Bradley.” James shrugged. “It’s just my mind working overtime. Forget I mentioned it.”
Matt searched the man’s expression with hawk-like intensity. After a charged moment he nodded once and gestured to the door. James headed out the office with Matt close behind him.
“It all boils down to whether Kincaid gets sent down,” James warned. “If he goes down he might take everyone with him.”
“Madison is innocent of any wrong doing.” Matt said. “And there’s no physical proof she had any knowledge or inkling Kincaid was caught up in this malarkey. She’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.” James agreed, then added, “Unless he thinks the CPS will go easier on him by naming his accomplices. Kincaid could drop her right in it, even if she didn’t know the funds were illegal, they were cycled through her company.”
Matt grunted his response and herded James down the hallways to the front door. “You’ve ensured no traces of your work on this can lead back to you.”
James made no effort to hide his affront as Matt opened the door then stood aside to permit his exit. “How long have I worked for you and your brother?”
“Thank you for the update and good night.” Matt managed a tight smile accompanied with a terse nod before shutting the door. Wasting no time he returned to his home office and grabbed the telephone. Even though it was technically out of business hours, his personal solicitor’s retainer fees meant they were always on call. If Matt had a legal problem in dire need of a resolution, they would handle it. This was a problem.
We were all attentively listening to the Artistic Director, Francois, as he unequivocally called us shit. At barely past 6am no one wanted to hear that crap, but we hung our heads and averted our gazes from his fiery eyes.
“Piss poor.” His native French accent was more apparent the angrier he became, twisting the sound of those two words. “Embarrassed. I am ashamed to have anything to do with this – this debacle.”
Fidgeting on her feet, Lisa sent me a pleading look when Francois zoned in on her. We all knew what was coming.
“You dare fall onmystage? In front the audience? Not even with grace but like a sack of potatoes! You are a potato.” He raged.
Lisa had taken a tumble during last night performance. Francois’s reminder made her cheeks flush with shame.
“And you,” Francois stalked in Gerrard’s direction. “You idiot. You are not a dancer! You are a pretender, yourjeté entrelacelooked like beginner’s work. How long have you danced? You are not a dancer.”
Gerrard looked over at me, eyes bulging as he silently allowed the insult. He wasn’t happy though.
“And you,” Francois sneered at one of our temporary dancers. “You will not be on the stage tonight,” He crooked a finger at one of the understudies at the back. “You will take her place.”
Normally I would rein Francois in, clear my throat and arch an eyebrow to remind him my troupe were part of my family; no one messes with my family. But he was right and last night performance had a few issues we needed to address before we claimed the stage tonight, hence the 6am session.
“Mistakes,” Francois continued while my corp held their tongues and exchanged eye rolls with each other in the mirrors. “Too many mistakes. Tonight there will be no mistakes.”
The dancer who’d been cut from tonight’s performance valiantly fought her tears. I could see her mouth quivering in the mirrors. I said nothing.
