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Makayla had adored her mum and discovering she couldn’t afford a decent send-off...it had driven her to take drastic action and accept that stripping job for one evening only.
The night Hudson had lost the plot and their friendship had imploded.
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stomach her usual beignet and cappuccino before she started her shift.
Of all people to audition for, it had to be Hudson.
What the hell was he doing anyway, producing a dance show at Embue? Back then he’d been a gofer for the clubs at the Cross. Doing whatever jobs that came his way. He’d always talked about getting out when he was older, doing something in the club scene, so how did that equate to producing a stage show?
Entering the kitchen, she slammed the back door harder than intended, causing Abby to jump, the pastry brush in her hand clattering to the work bench.
‘Sheesh, what’s got your knickers in a knot?’ Abby waggled a finger. ‘Don’t you know it takes precision and genius to create the perfect lemon tartlet?’
Makayla rolled her eyes. ‘You could make pastries in your sleep and they’d still turn out delish, so quit your moaning.’
‘Ouch. Someone’s in a mood.’ Abby frowned as Makayla slumped onto the nearest stool and scowled. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘I had an audition this morning. It didn’t go well.’ Makayla folded her arms, belatedly realising that not even the delicious aromas of cinnamon and sugar wafting from the ovens could lighten her mood today. ‘It was a biggie. And I danced my ass off.’
Concern creased Abby’s brow. ‘And they said no on the spot?’
‘Hudson said “we’ll be in touch”.’ She made inverted comma signs with her fingers. ‘But I know that’s BS.’
‘Hudson? I know a guy called—’
‘Yeah, he’s Tanner’s bestie. I didn’t know he worked at Embue when I signed up otherwise I wouldn’t have auditioned.’
Abby had just answered Makayla’s unasked question but she had to be sure. ‘You and Tanner didn’t have anything to do with me scoring a chance at auditioning for the lead, did you?’
Confused, Abby shook her head. ‘I had no idea and I doubt Tanner would, either. He gives his staff free rein while he manages the financial side of things.’
‘Thought so.’ Makayla slumped further on the stool. She should be happy she’d scored an audition of that calibre on her own. Instead, all she could think about was how she would’ve landed the role if anyone else had been casting.
‘I don’t know Hudson well but he seems like a nice guy.’
‘He’s a prick.’
Not entirely true, and she felt guilty immediately for saying it. Hudson was one of the good guys. At least, he had been until he’d gone berserk, lecturing her and admonishing her when he hadn’t had a clue about her motivation for taking off her clothes.
She’d been stunned by the ferocity of his anger. He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He hadn’t done much of anything that night he’d watched her strip but lose it backstage, ranting like a madman. She’d been mortified enough at taking off her clothes in front of a roomful of slobbering idiots, but she’d got through it by blocking out the club and everyone in it, and focussing on her mum.
Then Hudson had to dump another shit storm over her at a time she needed his support the most. She’d never forgiven him and had told him so.
Abby wiped her hands and came to sit beside Makayla. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing.’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. ‘Okay, that’s not entirely true. Hudson and I were good friends once. Then we weren’t any more. And I rocked up today, he was the guy I auditioned for, so it makes sense that’s the end of that.’
Abby raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what happened between you but do you think he’s that petty?’
‘Who knows?’ She snagged her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. It did little to cool her down. She’d been hot and bothered since she’d strutted out onto that stage at Embue and locked eyes with the devil. ‘We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you ask, shit happens. That’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Okay.’ Abby shot her a sideways glance. ‘So what you’re saying is you think Hudson won’t judge you on your dance ability? That he’ll let what happened in your past affect his judgement?’ Abby shook her head. ‘Doesn’t strike me as professional.’
Before Makayla could respond, her cell rang. When she slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, she didn’t know the number.
‘I’m waiting on another audition so I need to get this,’ she said as Abby nodded, and she hit the answer button. ‘Makayla Tarrant speaking.’
‘Hey, Mak, it’s me.’
Crap. She knew that ‘me’.
And he was the last person she’d expected to hear from.
She managed a curt ‘hi’ before he continued.
‘I wanted to let you know that your audition impressed and I’d like you to come in so we can talk.’
She should thank him. Sound enthusiastic. But in that moment, with shock making her gape, all she could think was, I have the opportunity to score a great job working with a not-so-great guy.
‘Mak?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Sure, I’ll come in, thanks. When do you want me?’
Damn, that didn’t sound good. But he seemed to think so, as he chuckled. ‘Can you meet me back at the Embue studio around seven tonight?’
‘Fine,’ she said, still surprised by his offer but managing to sound as if she weren’t. ‘See you then.’
She hit the call end button before he could say anything else to further discombobulate her and stared at the phone as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Good news?’ Abby tapped her on the arm, and Makayla nodded.
‘I got a call-back from Hudson.’
‘That’s great, sweetie.’ Abby leaned over and hugged her. ‘See? Told you he was a good guy.’
‘Yeah...’ She sounded less than convinced.
Something in Hudson’s tone bugged her. A touch of condescension? Like he was doing her some giant favour. Probably all in her overactive imagination but for a moment she considered calling him back and citing a prior engagement.
Foolishness, considering how badly she needed this job and how it could lead to something much bigger. But she didn’t need anyone’s pity and she’d be damned if she backed out of this before she’d given it a real shot.
‘At the risk of getting my head bitten off, I’m going to offer some advice.’ Abby eyeballed her with surprising seriousness. ‘Your heart is in dance, not working part-time at a patisserie to pay bills. So whatever happened between you two, forget about it and concentrate on making the most of this opportunity, okay?’
Makayla grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Who made you so wise?’
Abby grinned and tapped her temple. ‘Considering the mess I made of my own life until recently, guess I learned a thing or two about putting the past behind me.’
‘Thanks, Abs.’ She leaned over and hugged her friend. ‘I’ve wanted a dance role like this for a long time. So I’ll nail this call-back if it kills me.’
The part where she had to meet a guy who’d once been her best friend after hours at a hip club? Not a problem at all.
Not really.
CHAPTER FOUR
HUDSON DIDN’T MAKE it back to the Cross much these days. Not that he shunned his past so much as he’d moved on. But Bluey McNeil had called and when the man who’d given him his first job telephoned, Hudson made an effort.
Bluey hadn’t sounded good. In fact, he’d coughed three times during their brief conversation. Hacking coughs that invoked an image of Bluey’s packet-a-day habit and how haggard he’d looked the last time Hudson saw him about three months ago.
Foreboding lengthened Hudson’s strides as he rounded the iconic El Alamein Fountain, skirted the bar he’d found his father passed out in too many times to count, and into the tiny jazz club aptly named Bluey’s after its owner.
While the sun blazed outside, inside the club channelled the darkest midnight, with blackout drapes ensuring the wall sconces glowed and the faux candles created an atmosphere of intimacy. A few patrons dotted tables around the small stage, where a solo saxophonist did his thing. No older than twenty, the kid wasn’t bad. And obviously another of Bluey’s charity cases, as he’d once been.
‘Hey, Squirt, thanks for coming.’ A hand clapped him on the back, and Hudson grinned. He’d been a late bloomer, so Bluey had always called him Squirt and the nickname had stuck, even after he shot past six foot at seventeen.
However, when he turned around and caught sight of his friend, Hudson’s grin faded. Bluey looked terrible. A walking skeleton. Parchment-thin skin stretched across cheekbones. Furrows bracketing his mouth. And a pallor that indicated just how ill his friend was.
‘Any time, you old reprobate.’ Hudson enveloped Bluey in a man hug, not surprised that his arms met at the back when they once couldn’t. Bluey had lost a shitload of weight and his earlier foreboding blossomed into full-blown panic.
They disengaged, and Bluey gestured at the bar. ‘Let’s have a seat. What can I get you?’
‘The usual,’ Hudson said, knowing it got a rise out of his old friend every time.
Bluey’s nose wrinkled. ‘Orange juice with a spritz of soda is a girl’s drink.’
‘So you’ve told me a million times before.’ Hudson leaned his forearms on the bar, taking comfort in watching Bluey fill a glass with orange juice and adding a shot of vodka rather than soda, something he’d seen countless times before. ‘What’s up, old man? Woman troubles?’
Bluey grunted and slid the glass along the bar towards him. ‘You’ve got a big mouth for a whippersnapper. You know my heart belonged to Julia and no woman has come close since.’
‘Who’s talking about your heart?’ Hudson raised his glass in a silent toast, wondering if Mak’s mum ever knew about Bluey’s crush on her.
This place wasn’t just special because of his first boss. Bluey’s was the place he’d met Mak, doing homework on a makeshift bench set up in a nook off the main hallway leading to the kitchen, while her mum worked tables. She’d been a beaming fifteen-year-old high on life; he’d been a jaded twenty desperate to get out of the Cross. But there’d been something about her, something refreshing, and once they’d started chatting their friendship had been born.
Back then he’d watched Bluey make puppy dog eyes at Julia, who’d taken it in her stride, as pleasant to Bluey as she’d been to his customers. Everyone had loved Julia and he could’ve been well on his way to feeling the same for her daughter if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally.
‘Listen, Squirt, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Bluey braced himself on the counter behind the bar and Hudson knew the news was bad from the way his eyes darted away. ‘I’m heading to the big jazz bar in the sky. Lung cancer. Terminal. Few months left, tops.’
Hudson’s stomach fell away, and he downed the orange and vodka in two gulps as Bluey continued. ‘I wanted you to hear it from me, not by a second-hand phone call after one of the geezers here rang to invite you to my funeral.’
Hudson wanted to say something, anything, to make this better. He remained silent, anger and regret roiling in his gut alongside the vodka.
‘And before you go getting all sentimental on me, stop.’ Bluey thumped his fist against the bar. ‘I’ve been around for sixty-one years and been lucky enough to run this place for most of it. So don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had a good inning. And enjoyed sucking back on each and every one of those bloody cancer sticks that gave me this bugger of an illness.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So now you know. What’s happening with you?’
The ache of impending loss blossomed in Hudson’s chest. He’d experienced the same feeling before, the night he’d strode into Le Chat and seen Mak stripping on stage. In that moment he’d laid eyes on her, wearing a thong and little else, he’d known they were over.
And when she’d removed that thong...there’d been no coming back from that, and he grieved the loss of their friendship almost as much as he’d grieved the mother he’d never known.
This time he waited until the ache eased. Took his time formulating a response. If he’d done the same thing with Mak back then, maybe they would’ve had a chance.
When the lump in his throat finally subsided, Hudson said, ‘Thanks for telling me but damn, it’s fucked up.’
‘Yeah, Squirt, it is, but what’s a man to do?’ Bluey shrugged and blinked rapidly. ‘Tell me something to take my mind off it.’
‘Mak auditioned for me today.’ The words tripped out in haste and he instantly regretted them because if he’d cottoned on to Bluey’s crush on Julia the old guy definitely noticed his on Mak and had teased him endlessly about it.
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Good.’ Hudson ignored the knowing glint in Bluey’s astute gaze. ‘She’s got talent. I’m casting her as the lead dancer in the revue I’m producing at Embue.’
‘Well, well, well.’ Bluey folded his arms, his grin smug. ‘This should be interesting.’
‘We’ll be working together in a professional capacity,’ he said, sounding like a pompous ass and hoping he could keep it that way.
He needed to delineate clear boundaries from the start: he would be Mak’s boss, she’d need to follow his orders. He couldn’t afford to blur lines. Not when he had no frigging idea how he’d go seeing her dance for him every single day. Just because he’d coped at her audition didn’t mean he had a grip on his memories.
Seeing her dance for those few minutes already had him thinking about her way too much and imagining how their future interactions would go, professional or otherwise.
Bluey sniggered. ‘I have no idea why you two fell out and I haven’t seen that darling girl in years but you tell her I said hi. And if you’ve got half a brain in that big head of yours, you’ll treat her right this time.’
‘What do you mean, this time?’
Bluey rolled his eyes. ‘Because, numbskull, it’s always the man’s fault, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re thicker than I thought.’
Hudson managed a wry grin. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Right back at you, kid.’ Bluey’s eyes glistened before he turned away to cough, the harsh sound raising the hairs on the back of Hudson’s neck.
Life wasn’t fair. He’d figured that out pretty damn early when his mum did a runner and he was left in the custody of a mean drunk. But losing Bluey would hit hard and he knew it.
When Bluey’s cough petered out, he turned back around. ‘Now get the hell out so I can do some work.’
‘Propping up the bar, you mean?’ Hudson stood, moved around the bar, and enveloped him in another hug. ‘You call me, okay? Any time, day or night, if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, kid.’ Bluey shoved him away with half-hearted force. ‘You always were a soft touch.’
Not always. Hudson had taken a hard stand with Mak and look how that had turned out.
‘I’ll pop in next week,’ he said, and Bluey saluted in response, his mouth downturned and worry clouding his eyes.
Bluey had said he had months to live but with a death sentence hanging over him, Hudson understood the old guy would be living each day as his last.
The injustice of it all swamped him anew and he headed for the door, desperate for air before he bawled. He stumbled outside, and it took a while until his eyes adjusted to the sudden glare and he made for the nearby fountain, slumping onto a bench next to it.
Tourists streamed by, snapping pics with their phones or giggling excitedly about being in Australia’s most notorious suburb.
To him, Kings Cross would always be home in a way no one could understand unless they’d lived here. Unless they’d braved the back streets. Unless they’d used every ounce of savviness to survive.
Mak understood. And catching up with Bluey had clarified his situation with her in a way he could never have anticipated.
Life was too short to hold on to the past. Ironic, he’d strived so hard to become successful and put the past behind him yet here he was, back where it all started, feeling as lost and lonely as he had back then.
He’d come a long way. Mak probably had, too. He had no right to judge her. Not any more.
When she came in tonight, he’d keep an open mind. Be friendly. Try to forget the past and focus on the future.
They both deserved that.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAK STRODE INTO Embue as if she owned the place, confident that she’d achieved the impression she’d aimed for and then some.
Smoky eyes. Siren-red lips. Sleek blow-dried hair. Killer heels. And a strapless, knee-length, figure-hugging emerald sheath that had got her more second dates than she could count.
Earlier today, auditioning for Hudson had rattled her. Tonight, she wanted to assert her dominance and show him who was boss.
A tad overdramatic, maybe, and in reality she’d have to be deferential and respectful because she really needed this job. But dressing like this ensured she felt good and the way her insides quivered with nerves she needed all the help she could get.
Her mum had taught her many life lessons, and dress to impress had been one of them. It didn’t matter whether she was doing a yoga class early on a Saturday morning or picking up groceries on her way home, she always wore lipstick and mascara. She felt naked without them. And while her budget might be verging on dire, she managed to find outfits at second-hand shops that garnered compliments.
As she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors lining the club, she squared her shoulders and stood tall. She could do this. Meet with Hudson. Convince him to hire her. Dance her ass off for however long this show ran. Definitely doable.
Until she caught sight of him striding towards her, and her tummy went into free fall, her confidence following suit.
This was Hudson.
The guy she’d secretly crushed on for years.
The guy she’d idolised.
The guy who’d been the best friend a girl could wish for.
The guy who’d seen her stark naked, at her most vulnerable, and turned his back on her.
Crap.
‘Hey, Mak, glad you could make it.’ He held out his hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world they shake in greeting, when it had once been customary for them to exchange a kiss on the cheek. ‘Let’s head into the studio to talk.’
Mak managed a mute nod, surreptitiously swiping her palm against the side of her dress when he released it. Yeah, like that would stop the tingles creeping up her arm.
It had been years since she’d seen him, so why the same irrational reaction, as if her body recognised on some visceral level what her brain refused to acknowledge?
She should hate him for how he’d treated her, how he’d dismissed their friendship without a second thought. But she couldn’t afford to let her residual bitterness towards him flare now. This job had to come first.
‘How was your day?’ He cast her a sidelong glance, as if he couldn’t gauge her mood. Join the club. She didn’t have a clue how to act around him now that her faux confidence had dwindled on sight.
‘Same old,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I work part-time at a patisserie. Le Miel. You may have heard of it?’
Of course he had, considering his boss Tanner had worked there temporarily while his brother Remy had been laid up in hospital following a fall. And Abby knew him, which meant he’d know she worked there, too. But she wanted to see how honest he’d be, how their new working relationship would pan out from the start.
He was staring at her as if he knew she’d been trying to trip him up somehow. ‘Tanner’s my best bud, so yeah, I know it. And I’ve met Abby, she’s lovely.’
Relieved he’d been honest, she nodded. ‘They’re both good people.’
He cast her a quizzical look. ‘Are you okay?’
No, she wasn’t. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend they didn’t have a past. Like the argument that had ruined their friendship never happened. Like she wasn’t still hurting that he’d thought so little of her; that he hadn’t known her as well as she’d thought he did.
‘Honestly? I’m having a hard time accepting you as my potential boss considering we share a past.’
He didn’t react. In fact, she couldn’t see a flicker of acknowledgement on his stoic face bar a slight clenching of his jaw. How did he do that? Hold his emotions so closely in check when she was having a hard time not blurting every single thing she wanted to say to him?
‘Let’s talk in here.’ He pushed the double doors to the studio open and waited until she’d passed through before closing them.
Makayla should’ve relaxed stepping into the studio with its familiar set-up of stage, mirrors, steel rails lining the walls and spotlights. The space was new, or rarely used, because it didn’t have the familiar smell of stale sweat and greasepaint. Maybe that explained her nerves.
A crock and she knew it. Her nerves had everything to do with the man staring at her with trepidation, as if he knew she was about to unleash years’ worth of home truths.
Before she could speak, he held up his hand, annoyingly imperious. ‘I know we need to talk about what happened back then. But before we do, I want you to know you’ve got the job of lead dancer. Your audition blew me away and I’m not saying that out of some warped case of guilt because of how things ended between us, I’m saying it because you’re incredibly talented and I need this show to succeed, so I want you in it.’
He blew out a long breath after his ramble and in that moment she realised he was nervous, too. Hudson didn’t do long-winded speeches. Less was more for him when it came to words. So the fact he’d blurted all that indicated he was just as nervous as she was.
‘Thanks, I’m thrilled to get the job.’ She sounded formal, stilted, and cleared her throat, wondering how long she’d have the job for once she said what needed to be said. ‘But the last time we saw each other you basically called me a whore and it’s difficult getting past that.’
He flinched as if she’d struck him. ‘I didn’t—’
‘You didn’t use the word but it was pretty damn clear from everything else you said what you thought of me.’
That night was imprinted on her brain. The night she’d been so desperate to give her mum the funeral she deserved that she’d shelved her principles and done whatever it took to get the money she needed.
Hudson hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He’d taken one look at her stripping on stage and flipped out. She’d expected better from her best friend. She’d expected so much more than what she’d got.
While time should’ve eased her resentment it hadn’t, and seeing him again seemed to bring it all back in a mortifying rush.
She remembered every single moment of that humiliating night in excruciating detail. Pretending not to care when the club owner leered at her, demanding she strip down to bra and panties so he could see the goods before he gave her the gig. Throwing up before she went on stage. The stench of cheap aftershave and beer when she’d been taking her clothes off.
And in the midst of her degradation, she’d spotted Hudson, staring at her as if she were the worst person in the world.
His opinion mattered to her. He mattered to her and having him witness her shameful, demeaning show had crushed her. She’d been desperate to explain. He hadn’t let her. His appalling lecture had rung in her ears long after he’d stormed out.
Now she had to dredge all that up so they could move forward as professionals. Ugh.
‘I’m sorry.’ He leaned against the nearest wall, looking like a cool, impervious model, not a guy hell-bent on repentance. ‘That was the night I landed the job at Embue and I came looking for you to share my good news. Bluey told me he’d seen you entering Le Chat so I headed there.’ He shook his head, remorse twisting his mouth. It was an improvement on the loathing she’d seen all those years ago. ‘I freaked out. Said some things I shouldn’t have—’