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that these things happened.
    “You just have to get back on the bike,” Mallory had told her.
    Nadia didn’t know about that. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay and watch the rest of the show. It was painful to endure the pitying glances of the other girls. And what was the point of hanging out until eleven? She certainly wasn’t going to the after-party at Justin Baxter’s apartment.
    She made her way out of the crowded dressing room as unobtrusively as possible. She knew she just had to slip out of the club without anyone’s recognizing her—which, without her wig and in her street clothes, shouldn’t be a problem. And then she was in the clear.
    She hadn’t counted on Anna’s intercepting her at the front door.
    “Nadia! Wait—are you leaving?”
    For about three seconds, Nadia seriously considered just walking out the door as if she hadn’t heard Anna. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she reluctantly turned around. It was okay, she told herself. Anna was a friend—she didn’t have to be perfect in front of Anna.
    Except Anna wasn’t alone: She was with a tall, great-looking, dark-haired guy. And unfortunately, this wasn’t just any tall, dark hottie—Nadia knew immediately it was Max Jasper.
    Was Anna out of her mind bringing him there? She wanted to yell that at her, but refrained. She had embarrassed herself enough for one night.
    “Thanks for coming,” Nadia said, forcing herself to go on autopilot.
    “Of course! I wouldn’t miss it. You looked beautiful out there. You really did.”
    Nadia knew her friend was trying to be kind, but it just made her want to cry.
    “I have to go,” she said.
    “I saw you dance in
Giselle
,” Max Jasper said. “You are good.” Reluctantly, Nadia looked up at him. Irrationally, she felt a surge of anger at this stranger for intruding on one of her worst moments and making her feel even worse just by his presence.
    “I
was
good,” Nadia said venomously. “I don’t dance anymore.”
    “There are other things you can do within a company,” he said.
    The nerve!
    “I don’t recall asking you for career advice,” Nadia said. Anna looked back and forth between them as if watching a tennis match.
    “Maybe you should have,” he said. Nadia looked at her friend, shook her head, and walked out the door of The Painted Lady. She just hoped she would have the courage to walk back in.

4

    A nother night, another party.
    Justin Baxter observed the crowd of models, actors, film producers, magazine publishers, and artists cavorting in the infamous art deco apartment he shared with his wife. The living room was so full he couldn’t see the way to the bar. Normally, such a turnout would give him a thrill so intense it was almost sexual. But after a few years of the most decadent soirées this side of Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball, his excitement was waning. He didn’t even feel inspired about the pinnacle of each party—picking out the woman he wanted, then seducing her into going upstairs with him so he could fuck her while Martha watched.
    “Do you need a scotch, baby?” asked his wife. Martha was, as always, the least attractive person at the party. Usually, this didn’t bother him; she provided companionship and love and financial security, and he still had the freedom to fuck any hot young thing that caught his eye. The only caveat was that Martha always had to be in the room. Sometimes a woman was willing to let her join in. No, he never wished his wife were more appealing to look at. So far, he’d found the perfect balance having her as his partner and other women as his excitement.
    But tonight, even Martha was irritating him. It wasn’t her fault—something inside of him was just . . . off.
    Maybe he was more bummed out than he’d realized about the recent distance between himself and his former good friend, Billy Barton. The A-list New Yorker, man-about-town, and publisher of
Gruff
magazine used to be one of his favorite