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go, Portia shook her head, causing her long curls to cascade around her shoulders. She was a natural beauty, with buttery tanned skin and deep-set eyes under naturally long lashes. Portia could turn heads in an orange prison jumper.
    “Nah, girl, if you could see the way you dance, how you make people feel, ya know? This was all you, honey. I’m so proud!”
    Sydney’s joy bubbled over in her laugh. She limped away to the sofa.
    “What’s with your foot?” Portia asked.
    Sydney sat down, but kept her foot raised. Reaching up, she pulled off her boot. “Some fool robbed a store this morning and I got in his way.”
    “What the hell?”
    “He pushed past me. I’m fine.”
    “Damn, girl, don’t tell Trish that shit. All I need is her freaking out again.” Sydney had to agree with her. When it came to protecting Trish, they always agreed. Their friend had been robbed before, and it took them months to get her to ride the subway alone again.
    Sydney’s eyes were drawn back to the vase of roses as she massaged her foot. Whoever this NA person was, he knew her address and her birthday. She couldn’t decide if she should call the police or check with Bellevue.
    Portia plucked a rose and sauntered over to her. She put her hand on her hip and waved the rose in Sydney’s face. “Only you could get a secret admirer on your birthday,” she said, laughing. “Damn, too bad Trish isn’t home. This is the most excitement we’ve had in weeks.”
    Nolen stormed angrily out of the meeting. Annemarie struggled to keep up. “I gave you specific instructions,” he barked. He cut his eyes over to his assistant. “This deal will go through. You get me what I fucking need to convince Hollister to go public!”
    “Yes, sir.” She nodded, hurrying along at his side. His car waited for him on the curb. The rain had turned to sleet and frosty wind nipped at his cheeks, but nothing could cool the ambers of fire glowing in his eyes when he looked back once more at the courthouse.
    The driver held open the door to the limo. Once inside, the car eased into traffic. The phone in Annemarie’s hand rang. “For you, sir,” she grabbed his sleeve.
    “This is Adams.”
    “Nolen, where are you?” Xenia asked.
    “What is it?” He gave an exasperated sigh.
    “A celebratory dinner, of course.”
    “I have plans,” he said. Xenia had taken to calling Annemarie in order to get to him. He rarely shared his direct line with anyone, not even business associates. Xenia’s persistence would have to stop. It made him feel trapped.
    “All night?”
    Nolen held his tongue. Xenia was wise enough not to persist. “Ok . . . well, soon, then. We need to meet with my other investors to discuss the benefits of you being a part of my team.”
    “Fine.”
    “I’ll call you later this week. Bye.”
    Nolen handed Annemarie the phone. “My plans this evening with the dancer, are they set?” Annemarie nodded. “Yes, sir. A driver will pick her up around eight and bring her to you within the hour.”
    “The dress?”
    “She should have it, sir.”
    He settled comfortably in his seat. The day might be salvaged after all.

Chapter 3
    The Date?
    Sydney dropped her foot into the warm water in the spa tub, cloudy with Epson salt. The healing was instant. Portia was on the opposite side of her, holding a cup of tea and looking at her sheepishly. “I know you want to tell me about the audition. I swear, girl, I want to know every single detail, but aren’t you just dying to know who sent those flowers?”
    “Oh, good grief, here’s the thing, Portia––”
    “Wait, don’t get upset––”
    “I’m not. Listen to me. We’ve been to tons of auditions. You know?” She dropped her head back on the sofa cushion. “Producers, directors, actors, other dancers, and, hell, even the janitor hit on you. My best guess is that this NA person was someone with the production who heard me say that it was my birthday, and thought he could get a piece.