by Jayne Frost
Before he could respond, I pushed through the swinging door. Chlorine hung thickly in the air, burning my throat as I marched toward Blondie.
Startled, her big blue eyes jumped from me to Daryl, then back again. “Can I help you?”
Probably not.
“I’m Miles Cooper. I’m here for your class. Where do you want me?”
Gelsey
Stunned, I took a step back, heat exploding in my cheeks as I blinked up at the scowling giant I recognized from our encounter in Reber’s office. Miles Cooper.
Annoyance flashed across his features, and he closed his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking under a layer of dark stubble. “Focus, sweetheart. I’m here for your class. You can check me out later.”
And there was that attitude again.
Now that I knew who he was, it didn’t surprise me.
I’d taken Shannon’s advice and looked him up. But only because I didn’t have anything better to do when I was confined to my couch, icing my knee.
Rock God. Hermit. Survivor.
Those were just a few of the terms the press threw around. And of course, they mentioned his looks. The cheekbones. And the toffee-colored eyes. Those full lips.
His photos didn’t begin to do him justice. But tall, dark, and brooding didn’t do it for me. And the arrogance was straight out of Ivan’s playbook. Making him far less attractive in my eyes.
Infusing steel into my spine, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Don’t call me sweetheart. And I’m not the instructor.” Hitching a thumb over my shoulder, I smiled sweetly. “That would be Shannon. The catatonic one in the blue bathing suit.”
His gaze flickered to my best friend, and he blanched. For a second, I thought I saw something else—regret?—and I waited for the apology. But then he brushed past me like I wasn’t there.
“Asshole,” I muttered to his back.
Shaking my head, I popped in my waterproof earbuds. “Penny Lane” blasted from the tiny speakers as I eased into the water, intent on getting a few laps in while Shannon went over the rules.
I’d just completed my second lap when I noticed how empty the pool was. Breaking the surface, I blinked the chlorine out of my eyes.
What the hell?
I dog-paddled toward the shallow end where everyone was congregating on the deck. Not just people from our class. It looked like everyone in the place was here.
I spotted Miles in the thick of the crowd. He didn’t look particularly surprised by the commotion. More like resigned.
A collective groan echoed off the tiled wall when the guy who’d shadowed Miles into the pool area barked out a warning for everyone to move along. A couple of staff members appeared, herding the interlopers out the door.
Shannon shouldered her way through the wall of bodies and headed straight for me, eyes even wider than they were the other day at Reber’s office.
“Can I speak to you?” she asked through a clenched smile.
I parked my hands on my hips and waited for her to descend the stairs.
“Remember that guy—” she began.
“Miles Cooper. Yeah, I know.” I made a rolling motion with my hand to get her to move on. People were staring. And her star client looked royally pissed. “What do you need?”
Looping her arm through mine, she spoke close to my ear. “Miles needs to be in the back so he won’t disrupt the class. But I can’t really see him if I’m in the front. So I need you back there, checking his form and guiding him through the moves.”
Was she serious? Apparently so, if her death grip was any indication.
“The man hates me.” I glanced in Miles’s direction, and he scowled. “You’d better find someone else.”
Shannon’s nails dug into my skin. “There is no one else. Come on. It’s only this once. He’ll catch on after that.”
Considering she added new moves to every session, I had my doubts. But that wasn’t my problem. “Fine. Just this once.”
She practically squealed. Grabbing her arm when she started to glide away, I asked, “What are his injuries?”
I’d avoided any of the articles on the net that went into detail about the accident. It felt like an invasion of his privacy.
“Leg, hip, and back. The full enchilada.”
She knew more, but now wasn’t the time. And it didn’t matter. Miles would need to get acclimated to the routine before adding any moves specific to his injuries. I’d be long gone by then.
Trying not to look interested, I watched out of the corner of my eyes as my best friend motioned for Mr. Personality to get in the pool. Reluctantly, he joined her by the steps, out of earshot. After a brief exchange, she pointed at me, and he shook his head.
As far as I was concerned, that was that. Relieved and a little insulted, I dunked under the water and smoothed my long hair away from my face.
When I popped up, Miles was right in front of me.
“Oh…hey,” I said, quickly securing my long tresses in a high ponytail. “I’m Gelsey.”
He looked anywhere but at me. “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?’
“School?”
His eyes found mine, slowly falling to my chest. “You know…high school? Or middle school? What are you…like, twelve?”
I felt the flush rise on my skin. A little girl, that’s what he saw.
“Fifteen, actually,” I said brightly, grinning when his eyes bugged.
A beat of silence turned into two. Then four. All the while, Miles kept his focus pinned to my face, like he was afraid to investigate my non-existent curves for confirmation.
Shannon’s voice boomed from the deck as she introduced herself to the class. Miles snapped out of his haze and took his place at my side, leaving three feet of space between us.
When I was sure he’d suffered enough, I leaned toward him and whispered, “I was kidding about my age. I’m twenty-two.”
His gaze cut to mine, and for the first time, he allowed his eyes to wander. Seemingly unimpressed, he turned back to Shannon, raising both arms over his head to mimic her stretch. “Good to know.”
When my hand slid to his hip to adjust his posture, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Ignoring his discomfort, I asked, “How old are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “How old do I look?”
Tilting my head, I searched his face. His skin was smooth. No wrinkles. But his eyes—they looked tired. And not from lack of sleep. “Fifty? Wait…no…” I bit my lip. “Fifty-five?” His mouth dropped open, and for a minute I thought he actually believed me. I laughed. “Kidding.” Taking his wrist, I gave it a tug. But he didn’t budge. “Stop fighting me. You have to stretch your obliques.”
“Oh.”
To my surprise, he bent with ease. Whatever the issue with his back, it wasn’t too bad.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Miles said, slipping back behind his mask of indifference. “I just turned thirty.”
Close. I would’ve pegged him a couple of years younger.
His eyes narrowed when I scooted in front of him to check the alignment of his shoulders. “Why are you here? I mean…what’s wrong with you?”
I thought I was bad. But this guy took socially awkward to another level. Either that or he didn’t give a shit. “Shannon’s my best friend. I’m just helping out.” I smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I’ve taken the classes before.”
My attempt at casual conversation came to a screeching halt when he looked away. For the rest of the class, Miles kept his eyes trained forward, and he didn’t say another word.
After what felt like a million years, Shannon blew her whistle. I turned to Miles to wish him luck, but he was already trudging toward the steps.
“You’re welcome,” I muttered and shifted my pointed gaze to Shannon.
She shrugged, mouthing “sorry,” but I just shook it off. Miles Cooper was a puppy dog compared to Ivan. And I’d been dealing with his brand of assholery since I’d learned to walk.
I helped gather the equipment, then took a quick shower and headed out to the parking lot, “All You Need Is Love” spilling softly from my earbuds as I trudged across the pavement.
Halfway to my car, I noticed Miles sitting on the open tailgate of a red Ford truck, his bodyguard a few feet away.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, easing to his feet when I jerked open the door to my old Honda Civic.
“Sorry. I’m running late.” Miles looked so confused I almost laughed. “Not used to being told no, are you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually…”
I flashed him a wry smile as I tossed my gym bag into the back seat. “That was a rhetorical question. But it doesn’t surprise me.”
He grabbed the door as I slid behind the wheel. “I want to hire you. To help me with the training.”
From the look of distaste, you’d never know he was asking me for a favor.
“I’m not a therapist. You should talk to Shannon.”
“I did,” he bit out. “She told me I should ask you.”
“Again…not a therapist.” I made a little shooing motion with my hand. “Good luck.”
“I can pay you,” he said flatly.
Inclining my head, I looked up at him. “Do you even remember what my name is?” That granite jaw of his ticked. “Didn’t think so.”
His eyes darkened. “A thousand a week.”
Everything has a price.
My babulya told me that when she related the story of selling her favorite gold necklace to pay for my mom’s first pair of pointe shoes.
Did that apply to people too? Obviously, Miles thought so.
“You can’t buy me.”
The words slipped out in a whisper. More for myself than Miles. Because I wanted to be that girl. I wanted her strength. And her principles. But I needed the money. And need trumps want every day of the week.
A retraction coiled around my tongue. Miles must’ve seen it, my internal struggle and my imminent surrender, because a smile ghosted his lips.
I couldn’t abide it, that smile. Not for a thousand dollars. Or ten thousand.
“Thanks anyway,” I said, offering a smile of my own as I yanked the door out of his hand. “I’m not interested.”
Gelsey
Olga smiled when I walked through the door of Ivan’s office later that afternoon.
It felt weird to be here in my street clothes. “Hey. I got a message to meet Ivan?”
“He’s with Micha in the studio,” she said. “While you’re here, I’ve got some papers for you to sign. And…” her grin widened, “look at this!”
She flipped her catalog around and slid it in my direction. I scanned the page. Item after item from the New York City Ballet. Suitcases. Warm-up gear. Socks? All with exorbitant price tags.
“What’s this for?” I asked, turning the page to find even more stuff.
Olga bounced in her seat. “It’s for you! You have to order your gear! Isn’t it exciting?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What gear?”
She tore out a form from the back of the booklet. When she saw my expression, she patted my hand. “Don’t worry. You only need the things that are highlighted.”
I forced a smile. “Just those, huh?” I did a quick calculation, my brain shutting down when I reached eight hundred dollars. “When do I have to place the order?”
Tapping her finger to her lips, she scanned the fine print. “It says ‘allow eight weeks for delivery’ so I’d say a month or so?”
A month. Before I could recover from the initial trauma, Olga said, “You need your passport now, though. They want to see proof of your application within a week.”
Swallowing hard, I wiped my sweaty palm on the front of my jeans. “How much is that?”
“A couple hundred dollars, I think. I’m not really sure.”
Panic rose as she shoved all the paperwork into a huge envelope.
“Here you go. We’re so proud of you, Gels. I can’t wait to see you decked out in your tracksuit.” Her smile turned sheepish. “It’s on page fifteen. I think I’m going to order one for myself.”
Nodding weakly, I tucked the ticking time bomb under my arm.
I needed two hundred dollars in less than a week, and who knew how much more a month later? I had to sit down.
“Thank you. I’m going to wait in Ivan’s office.”
Olga tossed me a wink, and I tried to look enthusiastic, even with my stomach tied in knots.
Once inside Ivan’s office, I took a seat in one of the chairs and buried my head in my hands.
Think, Gelsey.
But the only thing that kept running through my mind was Miles Cooper and his stupid offer. And then my father’s voice, laced with irritation.
More pride than sense.
That’s what he’d told me when I’d refused to pose for some pictures for a yoga company to use on their website. Five hundred dollars to wear a leotard thong. Imagining the day I’d have to explain my naked ass on the Internet to Ivan, I’d immediately refused their offer.
Angry voices knocked me out of my stupor. Micha burst through the door first, face beet red and green eyes lit with fury.
I barely spared him a glance, my attention fixed on my teacher, following a step behind. Ivan’s features were schooled into a mask. Unreadable. But his cornflower blue orbs were pools of ice.
“Did you know about this?” Micha hissed, dropping into the seat beside me.
“I don’t—”
“Enough, Micha,” said Ivan, easing into the chair behind his desk. “You are trying my patience.”
Though every fiber in my being demanded answers, I snapped my mouth closed as well.
Ivan’s focus shifted from Micha to me. “We were just discussing the piece you will be performing in New York for your placement in the company.”
Micha shifted, and I could feel the anger vibrating off his body. The meaning was clear. He didn’t want to be my partner.
“I know the dance,” I blurted, turning my body toward Micha. “The one you’ve been working on with Sydney? I can be ready. I can—”
“Quiet, dorogaya moya,” Ivan interjected. “That is not the right piece for you.”
In a flash, Micha was out of his chair. “This is bullshit,” he seethed, pacing in a tight circle. “I’m not going to New York with a ballet you choreographed to accommodate a weaker dancer.” Pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from his back pocket, he tossed it on Ivan’s desk. “I’ll take my chances with a solo piece.”
Micha started for the door, and Ivan leaned back in his chair, looking more amused than put out. “In this particular instance, you are the weaker dancer.” Micha spun around, daggers shooting from his eyes. Ivan shrugged. “That is not my judgment. The scout was not impressed with your form. So a solo dance is not an option for you.”
Micha remained silent for only a second before shaking his head. “No. No. No. This is not my fault. I’m only as good as my partner. Isn’t that what you always say? You paired me with Sydney. You—”
Ivan’s cool facade finally cracked, and he slowly pushed to his feet. “This was not Sydney’s audition, it was yours,” he growled. “Sydney is young. Undisciplined. And therefore, it was your job to take the lead. To guide. As you have been taught. You failed to do so. And when you were paired with a stronger dancer, she overshadowed you.” Ivan laid his palm flat on the sheet of paper that Micha had tossed on the desk. “This ballet was created for Gelsey. And since you are riding her coattails, I would suggest you shut your mouth, and learn it. Or your offer to go to New York could very well be rescinded.”
The standoff between the two dragged on for several tension-filled moments before Micha ceded his ground and stormed out.
I blinked at the door, too stunned to speak.
“Micha will come around,” Ivan said confidently as he rounded his desk.
I took the sheet of paper he held out, a little gasp tumbling from my lips
as I read the title at the top of the page.
The Dance of the Flower by Ivan Volkov.
“This is for me?”
I knew it was. My name quite literally translated to Jasmine or flower. Still, I couldn’t believe it. My bottom lip quivered as I traced the title with numb fingers.
“That is your ballet.” Ivan tipped my chin with his knuckle, and a tear slid down my cheek. “I’ve been working on it since you were a child. Since the first time you danced en pointe. We will begin rehearsals in two days.”
There was so much I wanted to say, to ask, but I couldn’t force anything past the lump in my throat. “Thank you, uchitel’.”
Teacher.
The only one I’d ever had. Everything I was, or would be, I owed to him.
Popping out of my chair, I threw my arms around Ivan’s neck. He stiffened at first, then returned the embrace.
“Come,” he said, pulling away. “Dry your tears. I have something to show you.”
I followed without question, offering Olga a watery smile as we passed her desk. Down the hall we went, to the little accounting office next to the changing rooms.
When Ivan flipped on the lights, the air squeezed from my lungs. The utilitarian desk in the corner was gone, replaced by a small vanity with a lighted mirror. And the walls were no longer white, but the palest pink. Photos from my recitals decorated the space, along with a poster from my mother’s guest performance at the Royal Ballet in London.
A dressing room. For me.
Gratitude and love and so much more bubbled up. But when I turned, Ivan was already gone, the door whispering closed behind him.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
Maybe he didn’t need to hear it. But I needed to say it. Even though he already knew.
Pawn shops had to be the most depressing places in the world. People milled about, some buying. Some selling. Everyone looking grim.
Melting into the shadows by the wall of instruments, I ran a hand over one of the guitars like I was window shopping. Funny, since I didn’t have two nickels to rub together.
A stocky man in his mid-fifties approached with a wide smile. Something I wasn’t expecting. But then, he wasn’t the one who needed money.