Dancing to the Altar Read online

  “You look lovely, Cherie,” Pierre finally replied, patting her on the shoulders. “Head to wardrobe.”

  Elle ambled down the hall towards wardrobe. Since she normally wore costumes on Friday evenings, Pierre didn’t recommend her wardrobe for the night. Tonight, she was wearing a costume designed by a new person they brought to the team.

  The start of Autumn was the theme, so Elle imagined that her costume was probably a tree. She could see it in her mind’s eye.

  She imagined it was a dark tree trunk that went to the floor with sleeves that made her arms look like branches. She opened the door to her dressing room and dropped her laptop bag and coat on the sofa.

  The room was small compared to some of the other broadcasters, but it was cozy. There were two overstuffed chairs, a sofa and a vanity. A small refrigerator was in the corner filled with water and a door next to the fridge led to a private bathroom.

  Normally her costume would be laying on the sofa, but there wasn’t anything there but a pair of flesh colored tights. That’s odd, she thought.

  She could hear voices being raised in the hallway. She yanked on the door. Her producer, Nick, stood next to the new costume designer who was holding what looked like a very small piece of material with felt patches sewed onto it. Dread filled her belly.

  “What is that?” Elle asked.

  Nick yanked the flesh material from the new designer’s hand. “It’s your costume for the evening. Why don’t you have on the tights?”

  Elle stepped aside as Nick pushed into the room.

  He snapped out the flesh leotard. There were large oak leaves that matched the colors in her hair.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Elle asked.

  “Elle, get dressed. You need to get to the recording studio.”

  “I will, as soon as you tell me where the rest of my costume is. Where’s the tree trunk? Where’s the rest of the leaves?” She waved her hand at the leotard. “This looks like I’m performing … well, performing, not telling the weather.”

  Nick picked up the tights and shoved them, along with the leotard into Elle’s hands. “The owner of the station thinks we need to do something to increase ratings.”

  “What happens if I don’t do this?”

  “Then you are free to find employment elsewhere.”

  She turned to the costumer. He looked embarrassed. She knew then who was behind this. “Where’s Walter?”

  “Elle…,” Nick pleaded. “Just get dressed and to the studio.” He left Elle alone in the room and pulled the door behind him.

  Elle paced her dressing room. Walter Mitt was the executive producer and all-around creep. If Elle didn’t need the job, she’d just walk out.

  Unfortunately, Walter had started taking away more and more fabric from her costume. Ratings went up the skimpier her costumes were. She thought it had been resolved after the Uncle Sam incident.

  The producers wanted her to read the weather in a sequined red, white and blue bikini. She had a top hat and a plastic, patriotic pinwheel. She had never been so embarrassed. She didn’t have a problem with sexy… she did, however, have a problem with sexy that crossed into adult entertainment.

  The management did apologize, and it was known from that point forward as the Uncle Sam incident.

  She picked up the leotard and held it out. The leaves were bigger than she thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought.

  I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.

  She quickly removed her robe and hung it on the hook near the door. She tugged on the tights and leotard and went to look in the mirror. The leaves were big enough to cover all her important parts. They even put two large leaves on the back of the costume.

  Elle turned from side to side. Her hair flowed down her back and it did give the illusion of a tree. The colors in her hair popped against the opaque skin-colored fabric. At least her skin was covered.

  She sighed. It wasn’t any worse than the bikini. She didn’t have any appropriate shoes, so she slid into her black Converse shoes and wrapped her trench coat around her. No way was she walking through the studio in this attire.

  She shoved her clothes into her laptop bag and headed to the stage.

  “And the search is on for the next Mr. and Mrs. Claus,” she could hear Jacob Albritton, the late-night newscaster reported. “The last creation from the man that brought you Heartbreak House and Surviving with Rudy is back with a new reality show. And this one appears to have a little more cheer, doesn’t it, Sally?”

  “Yes, it does, Jacob. And instead of a long production schedule, this is going to be hosted live on social media. If you think you are the best Mr. and Mrs. Claus in America and available to go to Alaska for November and December, get your video in right away.” Sally’s voice droned on. Pierre quickly approached and gave Elle’s hair one more go over with his comb, flicking pieces out so they provided volume to Elle’s otherwise flat hair. She approached the stage as Sally finished up her news bite. “The winner will be announced live on Christmas Eve.”

  “Are you ready, Elle?” Nick asked, coming up behind her. He looked at her feet. “Nice shoes,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

  Elle rolled her eyes. “I left my flesh colored ones at home,” she retorted, turning back to the anchors.

  “It’s Friday night,” Jacob said. “And you know what that means.”

  Nick took Elle’s coat and draped it over his shoulder. “Go, go, go,” he said pushing her towards the stage.

  “It’s Weather with Elle. I wonder what costume she is going to wear to represent the leaves changing color? What do you think, Sally?”

  “I don’t know, but … oh…” Elle watched Sally’s face fall as the anchor looked at her. Before Elle could look down to make sure all her leaves were in place, the roaring of a fan filled the studio.

  The camera turned just as the leaves attached to Elle’s leotard started to wave. There was no doubt where everyone’s attention was.

  Elle felt her face turn bright red. She could see Walter in the booth with a lecherous grin on his face.

  Grabbing the coat from Nick she shrugged her arms back in the sleeves and tightened the belt around her waist.

  “Elle,” Nick said.

  “I’m done, Nick. This is the lowest of the lows.”

  Elle ran to her dressing room and grabbed her laptop bag. She wanted to get out of the studio as quickly as possible, so she didn’t change, she just swiftly ran to the elevators.

  “C’mon,” she whispered under her breath, pressing the button. “C’mon. Come. On.”

  She could hear footsteps coming down the hall.

  Finally, the doors opened, and Elle entered the elevator and pressed the button to close the doors, followed by the button to take her to the lobby. The doors weren’t closing. Elle repeatedly pressed the button.

  “Hold it, please!” a voice called.

  Drat! The doors were just closing as a man’s hand with a Lange & Söhne on his wrist pushed its way through the doors, breaking the beam. The doors opened again.

  Elle was about to say something when she looked up and directly into the face of the man from the café.

  Chapter 2

  Well, this is interesting, Dancer Holliday thought as he entered the elevator. Here was the woman that had been on his mind all day standing in front of him. In a trench coat and tennis shoes? He bet there was a story there.

  He had just completed his business at the station and was ready to head back to his penthouse apartment before flying back to Alaska the following day.

  He hated New York. Almost as much as he disliked California. It was being surrounded by people, noise and traffic that really grated on his nerves. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil given he was one of the biggest names in Hollywood reality shows right now.

  That was why he loved Alaska, and specifically the area south of Anchorage where he was raised. The scenery was magnificent, the fresh air was exhilarating, and it
was like the outside world didn’t exist.

  In a way it didn’t.

  His father, Gordon Holliday, had purchased a small string of nine islands in the Prince William Sound and had turned it into the honeymoon capital of the world.

  Dancer was one of nine brothers. All named after Santa’s reindeers. Each brother was to inherit an island specific to his interests and talents. Dancer’s Island was all things entertainment. There was a huge recording studio, sound stage and theaters galore. Unfortunately, he only spent a bit of time there until he got the call from his father.

  Come home, Gordon said when he called Dancer on the phone. It is time you stepped up and start to oversee operations on your island.

  Dancer thought there must be something else going on. His biggest fear was that his father was sick. Dancer lost his mother when he was young, and he didn’t want to even think about losing his father. It was too much to bear.

  When he finally wrapped up production on his award-winning reality show, Surviving with Rudy, he flew home and had a heart to heart talk with his father.

  One of the things Dancer loved about his family was the feeling of holiday merriment that lasted year-round. But the holiday season was the merriest of all.

  “I’m retiring, son,” his father told him during their talk. “It is time for me to spend my winters somewhere warm on the yacht.”

  Dancer was more than happy to help where he could and was pleased to have a home base where he could produce the types of shows he wanted. His brothers, however, were a different story. He heard there was a little arm twisting going on from dear old Dad to get them home.

  As he talked to his father, he realized that this was the perfect opportunity to create a reality show that he wanted. A clean, wholesome show with family values that didn’t require a disclaimer before airing.

  What better way to kick off his new station and the holidays with a search for two of the most iconic figures in holiday folklore – Santa and Mrs. Claus?

  When one of his acquisition managers informed him of a small cable broadcasting company that was in trouble, Dancer arranged to broker the deal and purchase the station. In fact, he purchased the whole building.

  He watched the ratings since Spring and they were steadily climbing, especially on the weekends. It appeared to be a safe place to invest his money and the deal was struck.

  He could add it to his already growing portfolio of buildings and businesses, plus he could broadcast directly to the station for his new show.

  He had to be in New York anyway, so it made perfect sense to sign the papers while he was in town. Dancer looked at the woman before him again.

  She was petite. He was well over six feet, and she was probably a foot shorter than him. He couldn’t tell anything from the bulky trench coat she wore. Her hair was down now, and it fell in soft waves. It was a light brown with golden highlights… and red… and yellow… and green.

  “Get in the blasted car,” she groaned, pushing in front of him to pop her head out of the elevator doors. She looked left, then right before returning inside the car.

  She reminded Dancer of an elf as she hopped back and forth on her two feet, waiting for the doors to close. Her finger was pressing repeatedly on the lobby button. When the doors finally closed, he saw her give a sigh of relief and visibly relax.

  “Weather girl?” he asked, moving to the back of the car.

  “Ex-weather girl.” She looked at him, her bright green eyes peeking out from under dark lashes.

  “My associate this morning mentioned that you were a meteorologist.” That wasn’t all that his associate mentioned, but Dancer wasn’t going to pry. There must have been history between the two.

  “Yeah,” she grimaced. “I saw you sit down with Andy.”

  “Andy?”

  “My ex.” She looked back at the silver doors and took a deep breath. “Today is just filled with exes. Ex-boyfriend, ex-bosses, ex-job.” She exhaled in a sigh. She was now watching the numbers light up as they rode down from the thirty-seventh floor. “I hate heights,” she whispered under her breath.

  “I’m Dan,” he said, stretching his hand out.

  She looked at him warily, before putting her small hand in his big one. “Elle.” She quickly pulled away as if he burned her. “Look,” she finally said. She was back to hopping from one foot to the next. “I am really sorry about spilling coffee on you earlier today.”

  Dan held out the bottom of his jacket. “No harm done.”

  Suddenly the elevator lurched, and Elle lost her balance, falling into Daniel’s arms. He was now leaning up against the wall of the elevator, his arms wrapped around her to steady her fall. The elevator had stopped, and the lights flickered.

  “What was that?” Elle responded, fear lacing her voice. She didn’t seem to realize that she was still in his arms. Her scent intoxicated his senses -- it reminded him of vanilla and cinnamon. She fit perfectly pressed against him and Dan stifled a groan.

  “It sounded like the motor stopped. Probably just an electrical hiccup.”

  “This doesn’t feel right.”

  Dan pulled her a little tighter. “It feels plenty right to me.”

  The elevator lurched once more, plunging them into darkness, before the emergency light flicked on. He could feel Elle’s fingertips digging into his arm. “I hate the dark,” she said, under her breath.

  Heights. Darkness. Dan put those in the back of his mind. Why, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was going to see her again, after they reached the lobby.

  “It’s alright, Elle. Nothing is going to happen to you as long as I’m here.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered in the semi-dark interior.

  Dan raised his hand to her cheek, allowing his fingertips to caress her soft skin.

  He heard her intake of breath as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own. He had been thinking about her all day, and he wasn’t disappointed. She made a low mewling sound and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He tightened his grip around her, the elevator shuddering once more. The light flickered and then extinguished, plunging them into the darkness.

  She pulled back from him and he felt the loss instantly. He could hear her feet shuffling in the dark until she hit the other wall.

  She was grumbling under her breath. Dan tried to suppress a laugh. She was the most interesting woman he had been around in quite a while.

  Dan pulled out his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight attachment. Elle was kneeling on the floor rummaging through her bag.

  Dan noticed that her coat had split apart and he could see all the way up to her hip. He diverted his eyes away immediately.

  “You always walk around naked under your trench coat?”

  Green eyes flashed up at him. “What?” She looked at her exposed leg. “Oh!” She pulled the coat tighter around her. “You shouldn’t be looking!”

  “I wasn’t,” Dan grinned. He looked at his phone. His battery was full, but the bars weren’t displaying.

  “Found it!” she cried, pulling her phone from the bag. “It must have fallen to the bottom.” She held it up towards the ceiling.

  “There’s no signal in here.”

  He used the flashlight to scan below the elevator buttons for the red, emergency one. Pressing it, he listened for the sound of it connecting with emergency services. Nothing happened, so he pressed it again.

  “I think that has been broken for a while.”

  Dan turned and looked at her. Her eyes were larger in the dark and it almost looked like she was going to cry. Dan couldn’t deal with a woman that cried. His stepmother used crying as a manipulative tool. Somehow, he didn’t think that was Elle’s MO, but he didn’t want her crying just the same.

  “Really?” he asked. Elle nodded, the beam of the light casting a shadow from the wall.

  “Yeah. I think the owner of the building was too cheap to get it fixed. Safety issue too.” She huffed and sat back
against the wall, stretching her legs out. Dan watched her wrap the coat back around her legs.

  “I’ll call the management of the building and get this fixed as soon as we are out of here.” Elle snorted. “Something funny?” he asked.

  “Yeah… if you consider the money that should be used to fix the building, lining their pockets instead.”

  This concerned Dan. He had met with the building management and the executive producer for the station, and although they weren’t the most likeable fellows, he didn’t think there was anything untoward going on.

  “That’s a pretty serious accusation, Elle.”

  Elle crossed her legs and reached up to press the button again. Nothing.

  “It wasn’t Mr. Hobbs. It is those two boneheaded nephews of his,” she said adjusting her skirt. “The way they take advantage of that old man is just despicable. He would send money and instead of doing that was needed to repair the building, or hire the right people, or expand operations, they fed him a song and dance and pocketed the funds.” She looked at him with those big eyes. “There is no way that Walter Mitt could afford his collection of cars or that house or his two ex-wives and still have a penthouse in the most prestigious building in New York.”

  “Maybe he is smart with his investments?” Dan countered, sliding to the floor. He could always send his clothes to the dry cleaner once they got out of the elevator.

  “I invest. The only thing that man invests in is what he shoves up his nose.”

  “You really are going down this rabbit hole, aren’t you?” Dan furrowed his brow. “And what makes you so sure about all this.”

  Elle gave Dan a pointed stare. “I’m a reporter. I have a degree in communications and entertainment management. It isn’t that difficult to see if you follow the money trail.”

  “Entertainment management, you say. Interesting. Then why are you a weather girl?”

  “Because the station didn’t have anyone, and someone needed to step up to the plate and do it.”

  “Do you know anything about weather?” He could see her blinking in the light glow from the phones. She reminded him of an owl.