Did you ever leave?

3

4 months ago...

'I...I don't want these.'

'Just-please, Milo, take them.'

'I really don't want them.' I slid them along the desk to him.

'They are very informative-'

'I don't want your fucking brochures!' I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, this time speaking in a low voice. 'I'm not-'

'You're pregnant. There's no doubt about it.'

——————

Present day

'Keep your shoulders straight. N-straight, Grayson!'

'They are straight.'

'That is not an upright and strong posture.'

I let go of his hands and walked around to beside him, putting a hand on his chest and his back. 'Up, up, up. Keep your arms strong and in place.'

He blew out a breath in frustration and I held his arm. 'Loose! That's a loose arm. Strong. There you go. Good job, buddy.'

'Can we take a break? I'm getting tired of this bullshit.'

'Fine,' I said, walking towards my bottle.

He slumped onto the floor, leaning against the wall.

'I'm sorry about yesterday.' I turned to him. 'I was taken off guard a little by your entrance. I shouldn't have been so bitchy.'

He stayed silent.

'What's it been, five months? Crazy.'

Still nothing.

'Grayson, you might not care about this but just being here is a fucking massive opportunity for me. I've worked unbelievably hard my whole life to get a whiff of the type of success that this show could bring me. We've got issues, that's fine. But we leave our shit at the door and get on with things professionally from now on, okay?'

He paused, not looking at me. 'Fine.'

'Okay, good. Let's get back to it.'

'What kind of dance are we doing?' he asked after two days of not caring.

I took his hands again, placing them in the correct places. 'We're doing the mambo.'

'The mambo,' he repeated. 'Okay.'

'Not just any mambo.'

'No?'

'No. A Dirty Dancing inspired mambo.'

'What?'

I shrugged. 'I remembered you telling me about your sister watching the movie on repeat when you were younger, so I thought it might've made your first dance a little easier on you.'

His eyes were curious. 'You remembered that?'

I looked away. 'I mean, yeah.'

A second passed before I cleared my throat. 'Anyway, lock your frame.'

'Spaghetti arms,' he said, quoting the movie.

'Exactly,' I replied, a smile playing on my lips. 'Okay, so, we're going to start with some very simple-'

'Andrew wants to see you both, wrap it up.'

Oh shit.

Andrew Llinares, the showrunner, wants to speak to us.

Grayson and I shared a worried glance before letting go of each other and following the cameraman. We were taken into an office with a huge desk and two chairs in front of it.

Llinares gestured for us to sit down and we did.

The first time I met him, I was expecting a short, fat, fifty year old guy with a dark beard and an ever-present stench of B.O. He was, in all actuality, a lanky man that seemed to be in his early forties and smelled...normal.

This was only my second time being in such close proximity with him.

'You're probably wondering why I asked you here.'

I pressed my lips together into a polite smile.

'You're both smart people, yes? Milo, am I right to assume that you skipped two grades in high school and you're now a junior in college at the young age of 18?'

'I-uh-yes, but I-I don't see how that's rel-'

'Grayson, your work environment is one in which image and public perception is everything, yes?'

'I mean, I guess that's a part of-'

'So, what you're both saying is that I'm correct in thinking that at least one of you should be able to figure out what the issue is here.' He crossed his hands on the table and glanced between us.

Neither of us said anything.

'How about I spell it out, hm? I put a lot of thought into this pairing. You each have a height and build that are breathtakingly perfect for the other's, you look aesthetically pleasing together, you're a similar age, and you're both youthful, energetic characters with a truckload of charisma and determination. So, why don't you get along in the slightest?'

Grayson acted surprised. 'What? We get along fine.'

Andrew leaned forward, lowering his voice. 'Why don't you get along in the slightest?'

I decided to be honest. 'I don't know.'

'You don't know?' He was perplexed.

I shook my head.

'Well, you need to find a way to like each other or you're off the show.'

'What?' I exploded.

'I need chemistry. I don't care if you have to share secrets, sing a campfire song or even stay connected at the hip for a full twenty four hours. Get. Me. A. Spark.'

I gaped at him. Then I gaped at Grayson. Then I gaped at Andrew, again.

My job is at risk?

'We'll do it. Whatever it takes.'

'Speak for yourself!' Grayson burst. 'I'm not spending anymore time with you than I need to.'

'I don't give a red monkey's puckered asshole what you say you're doing or not doing. I need this position, dickwad,' I hissed.

He glared at me, both of us leaning over the arms of our chairs to intimidate each other.

'Good,' Andrew cut in, clapping his hands. 'That's all. You can both leave now.'