Amour Amour by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie Read Free Book Online Page A

feet from me. And then his voice lowers. “You’re up first.”
    “What?” I gape in confusion.
    He puts his fingers underneath my chin, physically pushing my jaw closed. My plump bottom lip meets my top. “You’re up first in the audition.”
    A short, round man with glasses and peppered hair lingers off to the side, arms crossed, and he interjects with a flurry of Russian words.
    Nikolai replies back easily, still staring down at me. Then he breaks into English. “Do you want to audition, Thora?”
    I nod.
    “Then bark like a dog.”
    What. The hell? I feel my eyes darken. “Is this a joke?” He’s planning to humiliate me, for payback or something?
    He wears a new expression, one full of severity. No curved lips. No theatrics. His tough exterior intensifies by ten-thousand degrees.
    I can’t shrivel. I’m solidified to stone by his change in demeanor.
    “I take my job seriously,” he says with force behind each word. “You want to be a performer? Then bark like a dog.”
    I hesitate, my gaze flickering to the table of directors. Some of them share furtive whispers, but for the most part, they watch us, poker-faced. They won’t intervene then. He’s taken over my audition and turned it into a crazy one.
    I step forward once, closer to him, and say under my breath, “This isn’t a game to me.” This whole audition is so much more important than a bet.
    His hand flies to my mouth, silencing me. His large palm practically fits across my entire face. “How badly do you want this?”
    Badly.
    What am I willing to do then? Barking like a dog isn’t that horrible, in comparison to other things he could’ve said. Okay. Okay, Thora. When his hand falls, he waits for me to do something more. We’re only a foot apart now, and I look up at him, silently hoping he’ll give me a reprieve, an out at the last minute.
    He doesn’t.
    I clear my throat. “ Woof woo f,” I say, sounding as awkward as I feel.
    Nikolai stares without a single ounce of humor. No one laughs. He just says, “A dog that has rabies.”
    I bite my tongue, hopefully suppressing a scowl. Then I think for a second. “ Grrr…arh arrhhhh… ” I find myself actually crinkling my nose too. I wonder if this is being videotaped. In the back of my head, I hear Shay laughing hysterically at me.
    “Now,” he says, not missing a beat, “crawl on the mat and pretend you’re a cat in heat.”
    Kneejerk reaction, I shake my head.
    “No?” he questions with a deadly stare. “You’re going to quit.” It’s a statement. An assumption. I don’t want him to be right.
    I swallow a lump. “I meant yes.”
    “Get on your knees then,” he commands.
    The older man observing the audition suddenly points at me and speaks in rapid, hasty Russian. It flies in one ear and out the other.
    Nikolai replies back gruffly, gesticulating with his hands as he talks.
    The older man waves him off, his thick brows pulled together in a giant one. My stomach twists as I stare between them. The way the older man jabs his stubby finger in my direction—it makes me think he’s not pleased by me. That he hasn’t been on my side since the start.
    To rectify this, I drop quickly to all fours, and their argument ceases like I chopped through it with my movement. I tilt my chin up. A cat in heat. I channel the most lustful look I can muster, my mouth partially open as a heady breath escapes. And I slowly crawl on my hands and knees, slinking around his shins.
    I circle languidly, licking the side of my palm. And then I rub my hip against his calf, all the while a swelter boils in my body. But I do it again. And again, my arm brushing up against his skin.
    His quads tighten in response. I tense just as much, and I catch a peek of his features, which haven’t changed since the beginning.
    “Purr,” he tells me.
    I freeze at the new command. Purr? How does one even purr? I’m going to try to attempt it. I have to. As soon as I open my mouth, the sound that leaves is