Winning Moves: An Anthology (Harlequin Blaze, Band 722) - Softcover

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Katherine "Kat" Moore stepped off the exit ramp into the Las Vegas International Airport with her long blond hair piled on top of her head, ready for a hot bath, cool sheets and her own bed, which she hadn't slept in for months. After globe-trotting with a couple of big-name pop stars' tours back-to-back, she'd found the escape she'd sought, but the lifestyle had taken a toll. She was done. This was it. She wanted roots, a pet, a fridge full of her favorite things. Stability.

Wearily, she headed toward the luggage area when her cell phone started to ring. Dang it, she knew she should have left the darn thing off. Kat sighed and dug the phone out of her purse to see her agent's number on the display. Of course. They'd been arguing when she'd had to turn off her phone in italy to head to the States.

"Yes, I'm home, Michael," she said, without saying hello. "And no, I'm still not taking the new tour. I don't care if it's Derek Mercer or how many number-one hits he has. I don't need the money and you probably need it less." She needed a life. She needed… No. No, she didn't. She refused to think of what she really needed, what she'd run away from—apparently unsuccessfully.

"You're right," Michael answered. "You're not taking a tour. I have something just as big and you get to stay right here in Vegas."

She stopped walking. "I'm listening." Someone bumped into her and she quickly moved to the side of the walkway as clusters of people passed by.

"I got a call this morning from M&M Studios. They have a top secret project they're working on. They won't release details over the phone, but the pay is double your tour pay if you get the gig and you were requested by name."

"Double? You have to be freaking kidding me."

"Money isn't something I ever joke about."

"No kidding," she said, thinking that the house she'd planned to surprise her parents with for their retirement next year might just have gotten bigger. "And I'm not complaining."

"I need you at the Wind Walker Hotel in thirty minutes."

"Wait. No. I'm a mess. I'm grimy and tired. I've traveled halfway across the world. And who asked for me, anyway?"

"They want to make a decision today. They're waiting on you. I told them you'd be there. This is my reputation and yours. You're committed."

She was going to kill him. "Michael—"

"You said you wanted to stay home in Vegas. You said you wanted stability. I'm giving it to you. Get your skinny, pretty little backside over there—and do it now. Call me from a cab and I'll fill you in on whatever details I can." He hung up.

She gaped at the phone. He'd flipping hung up on her. She growled low in her throat and started walking. She'd been with Michael ten years, since she'd turned twenty and landed her first big dancing job. If she didn't like him so much, she'd fire his "pretty little backside." She wasn't going to an interview now.

Damn. Damn. Damn. She had to go. He told them she'd go, and her decision to put down some roots meant there would be less opportunities for work. She glanced down at herself as she stepped onto an escalator leading to baggage claim. She had on a PINK Victoria's Secret T-shirt and faded jeans with a rip down the leg. She looked more like she was hanging out at the house on a day off—not to mention that she felt like death warmed over, after a number of time changes.

She rushed onward to baggage claim to discover her bag was missing. Frustrated, she dialed Michael. She couldn't do this interview. Not now. She'd make a bad impression.

He didn't answer. She glanced at the time of their last call. She was never going to make it to the interview if she stayed and argued about her luggage. She hesitated and thought of her parents, of their dream retirement, of living close enough so she could actually see them. She hurried toward the exit and the cab line.

The interview was poorly scheduled, but it was a blessing, and if it worked out, she'd be thanking Michael for pushing her.

Twenty minutes later, Kat still hadn't reached Michael and she was pretty sure he was avoiding her calls so she couldn't back out of the interview. By the time the cab pulled up to the front of the towering Wind Walker Hotel, one of the largest casinos on the strip, Kat had removed her hair clip, applied lipstick and unsuccessfully tried to cover her dark circles.

She paid the driver and dialed Michael again. She didn't even know where she was going at this point. Finally he answered, and before she could even speak, he demanded, "Are you there?"

"Yes, and—"

"I have my contact on my cell so hold on," he said, and she heard him say, "She's there." He came back to Kat. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the front door, but—"

"Front door," he told whoever he was talking to, then back to Kat, "Go to the bellman and give him your name. You'll be escorted."

"Okay, but—"

"Hurry," he said. "Kat. This is bigger than I thought. This is huge. Call me after. Go get 'em, tiger." He hung up.

Kat let out a breath and just gave up. She found the bellman and gave him her name. She resolved to do what she did in the middle of a tour when something went wrong—she just needed to roll with the punches. An employee led her to the hotel theater ticket booth and a row of offices behind it.

The woman knocked on a door. A few seconds later, to Kat's surprise, ellie Campbell, an old friend and top-notch choreographer, rushed from the room, pulling the door shut behind her. "Kat!" Ellie's arms were outstretched, her long hair that, at least for today, was a pale shade of light blue, floating behind her.

Kat hugged Ellie, whom she'd met on a television project a good seven or eight years before.

"I can't believe you're here," Ellie said, leaning back to inspect her friend. "I wanted you for this project so badly. I couldn't believe the timing of you coming home today!"

"I can't wait to hear the details, but what happened to Stepping Up? I thought you were judging?"

"Oh, I am," she said. "I love it. Absolutely love it."

Kat's stomach twisted with the connection the show held to the very past she was avoiding. "I'm confused. Then why am I here? Why are you here? Surely you don't have time to work on a Vegas show?"

"The studio came up with this idea that we should organize a multi-state tour in between seasons and a Vegas show to run for a full year here at the hotel. The show will open a month before auditions start for season three of Stepping Up. The catch? They gave us a whole six weeks to make this happen. Thankfully though, the tour will be after season three ends. It's fun and exciting, but—" she grinned and rubbed her stomach "—I have a bun in the oven. I just dropped the bombshell on the studio. I can't travel to judge and do the Vegas show. It's too much."

Kat gaped. "A bun in the oven. How?"

They both laughed.

"Okay," Kat said. "I know how."

Ellie raised her finger. "Last season we had a new production manager for Stepping Up. Needless to say, we sort of hit it off."

"Sort of?" Kat teased, staring at the gorgeous white diamond on her friend's finger.

"I'll tell you the story later. But right now, we need a replacement for me on the live show and the tour. I saw your name on a prospect list and knew you were the one, but I called and got your...