by Kendall Ryan
Sienna pauses, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “I promise the ballet won’t interfere with this job at all. I’m so grateful that you set this up for me; there’s no way I’m going to turn around and screw you over in the process.”
I wouldn’t complain about a little screwing . . .
Shit, Case, get it together.
“Don’t worry about it; I have full faith in you. I know you’ll manage both just fine.”
She smiles, and after a brief nod, turns back to her paperwork.
I take her cue and follow suit, returning to the mile-long list of unread emails that need to be answered. Even with Sienna’s help, I’m barely staying on top of this booming business. Plus, she’s got me on such a tight writing schedule that my email-response time has taken a hit.
After a few minutes, Sienna stifles a small giggle, causing me to turn and look at her with an arched brow. She bites her bottom lip when she looks at me, a move I think is supposed to make her look innocent, but mostly it just causes another violent twitch in my pants. Suddenly, I’m grateful for the massive oak desk between us. God, I want her.
“What are you giggling about?”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t need to see a doctor? I’m sure he woodn’t mind helping you out. Get it? Wood like the building material, not the helping verb.”
Part of me wants to spank her fine ass, and the other part . . . If you weren’t my best friend’s little sister, I’d prove that I don’t need a damn doctor right now.
Instead of acting on my sinful thoughts, I roll my eyes again, a smile tugging at my lips. “You know what? I think I’m going to hit the gym.”
“Didn’t you already work out this morning?”
“Yup.”
After readjusting myself the best I can, I stand and quickly duck out of the room before the maddening shitshow about my penis can go on for one second longer. Sienna’s laughter follows me down the hallway, but all I can do is shake my head.
If I don’t find a way to deal with these urges for her soon, there’s no knowing when my bipolar soldier will decide it’s time for a midday salute.
I don’t know about a doctor, but maybe I need to see a psychologist.
Chapter Eight
Sienna
“Can you all say hi to your new ballet teacher, Miss Sienna?”
Helen, the studio owner, insisted on giving me a proper introduction to my very first class. A dozen miniature ballerinas are sitting on the studio floor, looking up at me with big, curious eyes. I feel like the new kid on her first day of school. Except I’m the teacher.
“Hiii, Miss Siennna,” they singsong in unison, a high-pitched chorus of three- and four-year-old girls, but it’s music to my ears.
Miss Sienna. That sounds so official.
One little girl yells out “You’re pretty!” which starts a giggle fit among the group.
I smile and wave back at the class. My class. It’s hard to believe that these twelve little ballerinas are going to be my responsibility.
“They’re all yours,” Helen whispers, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”
As she disappears through the office door, reality finally sets in. I’ve never so much as taught a dog how to sit, and suddenly I’m being trusted to teach a dozen preschoolers how to dance. But I’ve taken ballet my entire life, so surely I can figure this out, right?
I join them on the floor so we’re all closer to eye level. Here goes nothing.
“Hi, guys! I’m so excited to get to work with you all this summer. Without talking, can you raise your hand if you’ve taken a ballet class before?”
Twelve little arms shoot enthusiastically into the air. I’ve got a class of veterans. That should make this easier.
“Great. This is going to be super fun. Let’s all find a spot at the barre, okay?”
As if each of them were spring loaded, all twelve girls pop up to their feet at once, scurrying around the room to find a bit of barre to hold on to, bickering over who gets to stand next to whom.
“Shhh, get ready, everyone.” When I connect my phone to the stereo and press PLAY, the soft piano music silences my class of chatty little girls. They turn their heads toward me expectantly, awaiting instruction.
Showtime. I demonstrate our first plié combination to an audience of eyes glued to my feet. Maybe Case was right. Maybe I am cut out for this.
“All right, let’s try it. And five, six, seven, eight!”
I circle the mirrored room, watching the reflections of the tiny pink ballet slippers, gently correcting their form as I call out the instructions for the combination.
“Good. Demi plié, and grande plié!”
Class goes on this way for a full half hour. I show a basic combination at the barre and the girls follow my lead, mimicking my every movement, right down to the way I purse my lips when I change positions. They’re so cute, and I’m surprised by what good students they are. Despite the occasional chattiness, they listen to instructions and are quick to adjust their form when I come by to correct them. These girls want to be here just as much as I do.
With only fifteen minutes of class time left, I’m struck with an idea I’m sure will make me the coolest teacher these girls have ever had.
“You guys have done such a great job today,” I say as the music dies down and my mini ballerinas complete their last barre exercise of the day. “Do you think we should end class by doing something extra fun?”
A symphony of high-pitched squeals of “Yeah!” vibrates through the studio as I head over to the stereo. I open my music app and select the “clean pop music” playlist I made last night. The second I press PLAY, the class erupts into shrieking laughter.
“Did you guys know you can do ballet to any song you want?” I call out over the music as I sashay to the front of the room. The bubbly pop lyrics are accompanied by delighted giggles from my girls as I perform a super-easy eight-count combo.
“If you line up real quick and stay super quiet, I might just have time to teach it to you,” I say, giving them a devious smile.
The girls gasp and scramble into two lines without any further instruction. I walk them through the combo at quarter speed, then half speed, and by the end of the hour, all their turns and dips line up in perfect time with the peppy electronic beats.
I feel like a proud mother. In fact, I’m a little sad when class is over.
“Be sure to practice at home so we can add more to the routine next week!” I remind them as they line up at the door, high-fiving me on their way out.
As they file out of the studio and into the arms of their waiting parents, each one vies for my attention with a different question.
“Miss Sienna, are you gonna be our teacher forever?”
“Miss Sienna, are you a real ballerina?”
“Miss Sienna, will you be my best friend?”
I can’t wipe the smile from my face, even if I wanted to.
Once every ballerina has found her parent, I escape back into the studio, eyeing my phone on the stereo. I’m dying to call Case and tell him all about my first class, to thank him for the tenth time for literally making my dream come true, but I know I have a different boss to report to first.
Right on cue, Helen swings open the door of the back office, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Well, it seems like they took to you like moths to a flame,” she says with a smile.
I smile shyly, pulling bobby pins from my hair until my neat ballet bun tumbles down into a mess of blond waves. “I think it went pretty well.”
“Pretty well?” She steps back, her hands resting on her slender hips. “I’ve never seen those girls so well behaved. They were acting like they won the ballet-teacher lottery.”
I watch my cheeks turn pink in the mirrored walls. I’m the one who feels like she hit the jackpot with this job. I’m so glad Case pushed me to take this interview. Where would I be without him?
But I don
’t say all this to Helen. Instead, I just smile and thank her for the opportunity.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she says. “Really. Case knew what he was talking about when he said you were one in a million.”
If I wasn’t pink enough before, now I’m giving bubble gum a run for its money. Did Case really say that about me?
Before I can ask, Helen unclips a ring of keys from her waistband and holds them out to me. “Would you mind locking the place up? I’ve got to pick up my daughter from dance-team practice.”
I grab the keys from her, eager to take on any responsibility I can. “Absolutely. I can lock up every week, if you want.”
Helen smiles. “Add filing paperwork to that, and we can give you an extra stipend as a business manager.”
“I’m in. See you Thursday.”
The second the door clicks shut behind her, I twirl into a pirouette of joy. This job couldn’t possibly be any better.
I rush over to my phone and have my thumb hovering right over Case’s contact when I remember our little episode from earlier today. Was he actually pissed off, or had he just had enough of me teasing him?
Choosing not to risk it, I open my music app instead. I’ve got the whole studio to myself and no plans for the rest of the evening. Let’s see if these old ballet slippers can still work their magic.
As the piano music begins, I take my place in the middle of the floor. Watching my reflection move along to the music, I turn and leap through the air as though I were weightless. With every fouetté turn, I feel more and more at home.
This is it. Finally, my work is lining up with what I love. I can’t believe I ever let my body stand in the way of this.
The thought puts an unexpected knot in my stomach, enough to make me stop mid-turn.
My body standing in the way of doing what I love. That’s exactly how Case must feel.
Chapter Nine
Case
I hit SAVE in my document, sitting up straight and stretching my back, a big smile on my face.
Ten chapters done now, and I’m damn proud of them—and that’s only since Sienna’s been here. She might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but damn, that girl knows how to set up a writing schedule and hold me to it.
Ten chapters down, ten to go, and I’ve got over two weeks left to finish. The book I’ve been trying to write for months now is finally coming together, and honestly? There’s no way I’d be where I’m at now without Sienna.
Speak of the sexy devil herself.
Sienna walks into my office in a tight navy-blue skirt and a tweed jacket, flashing me a smile as Ryder saunters in behind her, his crisp paisley button-down tucked into a pair of perfectly tailored baby-blue polyester slacks.
“Glad to see Ms. Swanson’s demands are as detailed as ever.” I smile, nodding at Ryder’s brightly colored outfit.
He shakes his head, smoothing the front of his shirt. “Not going to lie, these outfits always make me feel like her five-year-old son on Easter morning.” He smirks.
Sienna crinkles her nose and shakes her head, but Ryder and I just laugh.
“Come on now, don’t tell me you’re kink-shaming your brother’s client.”
“I would never. Would you, Case?” She raises a challenging brow at me.
“The clothes don’t stay on for long. And it’s not an incest fetish; Case was kidding. Let’s just say her kinky interests lie . . . elsewhere.” Ryder motions to the shiny white belt around his waist.
“I don’t want to know,” Sienna says, raising her hands and turning to her computer.
“Just make sure you have a clear conversation beforehand with her about what is and isn’t on the table. We don’t want a lawsuit on our hands.”
Ryder rolls his eyes at me. “Dude, I’m a professional. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
When he’s sure Sienna isn’t looking, he mouths “you need to get laid” at me, thrusting his hips in an exaggerated way.
You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew who my dick wanted.
I roll my eyes back at him, but he just laughs.
“All right, you two, I’ve got to get going. Can’t be late for my date with Mommy,” he says, winking at Sienna.
She cringes and fake vomits into the wastebasket by her desk.
“Well, that’s one way to start the day.” I chuckle, shaking my head and watching Ryder walk down the hallway to the living room.
“I’m already trying to forget it, and you should too. You’ve got another chapter and a half to write today.”
Yes, ma’am. I love it when she gets bossy.
• • •
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of answering emails and drafting the next part of my book. Sienna works diligently by my side like always, and by the time I check the clock, it’s already five thirty, half an hour after she’s supposed to go home for the day.
I’m about to tell her she can leave when both our phones start making loud siren-like noises, causing Sienna to jump in her chair.
“What the hell is that?” She looks at me with wide eyes, her hand resting on her chest just above that delectable cleavage I want to bury my face in.
I grab my phone and silence it. “An emergency alert. Looks like there’s a big thunderstorm on its way, and they’ve put us under a tornado watch.”
She stands and immediately goes to the window, assessing the gray thunderheads neither of us noticed forming. “Well, damn. I should probably head home before shit really hits the fan.”
“Or you could stay. Ride out the storm.” The words come out before I can think twice about them. Way to play it cool, buddy.
Sienna stares blankly at me for a moment before furrowing her brow and shaking her head. “No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It doesn’t even look that bad yet.”
A crack of thunder interrupts her just as a torrential downpour starts outside. When I smile, she shakes her head.
“Looks like I spoke too soon.”
“I’m not going to make you stay, but if any part of you is worried about driving in that, you’re more than welcome to stay here. I have a spare room. Several, actually.”
She nods, biting her damn lip again as she squints out the window. I wish I were the one biting that lip. Her phone buzzes, and when she reads the text, she snorts, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“It’s Ryder. He says the roads are super slick, and it’s impossible to see. He thinks I should stay here too.”
She gives me a worried look, but I just shrug at her.
“Up to you,” I say, ignoring the ache in my gut forming at the thought of her staying overnight in my house, just a few feet away from my bed. No matter how much I want her, she’ll always be Ryder’s sister and my employee.
“Okay, fine. What are we making for dinner?”
• • •
Half an hour later, we’re in my kitchen, each working on our part of the meal with a glass of wine in hand. I’ve had some steaks in the fridge I planned on making tonight, and Sienna dug behind a six-pack of beer to find a bunch of different vegetables she could use for a salad. While I tend to the steaks, she preps the veggies, the conversation between us light and easy.
“I can’t believe it’s taken me all day to ask, how was your first class?” I turn and ask, only to find her bent over in front of the fridge, her perfect ass high in the air and only accentuated by her skirt. I stare for a few beats longer than I know I should, but hey, at least she can’t see me do it.
She straightens, lifting a jar of green olives triumphantly in the air. “Aha! I thought I saw olives in here last week. I’ve been craving them all day.”
“You should probably check the expiration date. The guys tend to forget about stuff like that.”
Her face scrunches up as she searches the tiny print on the label. When she can’t find anything, she shrugs, unscrews the lid, fishes an olive out with a fork, and pops it in her mouth. She moans a little when it
hits her tongue, causing an involuntary stir behind my zipper.
Down, boy.
“Olives don’t go bad, right?”
“Guess you’re about to find out.”
She sets the jar on the counter and continues to slice tomatoes and place them in the large salad bowl she picked out. “The first class was amazing. Seriously, thank you so much for pulling the strings you did to make it happen.”
“You made it happen. I just made you aware of the opportunity.”
She smiles, and I feel another twitch in my pants.
Jesus, even that did it for you? A fucking smile and I’m half-hard. My hottest clients don’t do shit for me anymore, but a simple smile from her does. I really need to get my head checked.
“Either way. Thank you.”
“Really, I should be the one thanking you. I’ve made more progress on this manuscript in the past two weeks than I have since I signed the book deal six months ago. That’s because of you.”
A rosy blush creeps over her cheeks as she smiles shyly down at the cutting board. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a little flustered by my compliment, which is honestly the last thing I’d expect. “Yeah, well. You’re an easy student.”
The phrase “easy student” sends a flurry of dirty images through my mind. Sienna dressed as a slutty schoolgirl, bent over her desk in my office, waiting for me to either spank her or fuck her, the choice is mine. The images pass quickly, and I’m left staring at the real Sienna in front of me, smiling innocently and scooping sliced tomatoes into a bowl.
Ryder’s right. I need to figure something out before all this pent-up horniness for his sister gets the better of me.
We eat dinner at the table in the kitchen, something I haven’t done in a while. Most of the time I’m on my own for dinner, and it’s easier to just eat in front of the TV, or, on days when work is really crazy, in my office. It’s a welcome change, made even sweeter by Sienna’s presence. If the circumstances were different, this would almost feel like a date.
Almost? Who am I kidding? I’m so goddamned attracted to her, eating dinner and trying not to come on to her too strong. This feels exactly like a date to me.