Page 52 of When Hearts Ignite

My chest is heavy and my shoulders ache from tension as I step into the apartment, my fingers pulling off yet another red eviction notice taped to the door.

Taylor is curled up on the sofa, her eyes red with tears streaming down her face.

My heart plummets to the ground.

Dropping everything to the floor, I hurry toward her. My throat narrows, restricting my airflow, and my heart thumps rapidly in my chest.

My rebellious sister, who defies modern conventions, never cries. The only time I remember her in tears was when Mom and I picked her up from her sleepover and I told her Uncle Bobby wasn’t going to be with us anymore. He was family to us at that point. We wrapped our little arms around each other while she sobbed into my chest. Since then, like me, she never grew attached to anyone or anything that would warrant tears.

“Tay? What happened? Please tell me you’re okay.” I wrap my arms around her shuddering frame.

“I’m fine, b-but the loan shark came by. He moved up the date of the payment to next Tuesday. He said something about his boss having cash flow issues.”

Her words ring in my ears and I feel lightheaded.

“What! He said we have another three months.”

“I don’t know. He mentioned the deadline got moved up and if we don’t pay, he’ll hurt Mom. I’m scared, Grace.” She gazes up at me, her eyes bloodshot. “These people are dangerous.”

“Tay,” I whisper, my voice choking up, “I didn’t get the job. I’m so, so sorry. I know we were depending on the signing bonus, but something happened, and—”

Taylor shushes me, her face crumbling at the news. Her eyes take on a determined glint. “I’m going to drop out of the program and find a job, but that’ll take time and it won’t be enough—”

“No! You can’t. You have talent, Tay. Let me think. Give me some time to think.” I get off the couch and pace on the floor.

Even if she gets a job, it’ll hardly make a dent in the amount of money we need right now. Steven’s recommendations and connections will probably get me something mediocre in a few weeks, as all the excellent offers have most likely been made by large firms by now. Furthermore, we don’t have weeks. I need something fast and lucrative.

“I’m going to take care of it, Taylor. Don’t tell Mom about any of this. She’ll only worry and there’s nothing she can do, anyway. I’m going to call Belle and see if she knows anyone. She might have some connections. Focus on your classes. Everything is going to be fine.”

My lunch threatens to make a reappearance as I listen to the quiet pings of the elevator indicating the passage of each floor. The air smells faintly of lavender and I glance around the dark oak paneling and shiny silver railing, everything immaculately clean with no dust or smudges.

I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less at the retreat for the rich and the famous here at The Orchid.

Belle came through when I called her earlier.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to lend you money?” she offered. “I’d need to let my parents know with that large of a sum, but it’s no trouble.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. Money has destroyed friendships and relationships and I couldn’t risk that with her. She means too much to me. I also don’t want her to see us at our lowest. This is a mess we need to get ourselves out of, not something others should help us with.

“Thanks, Belle. But I need to do this on my own. You said she’s expecting my call?”

Belle let out a sigh. “I knew you would be this stubborn. And yes, Sofia Kent is expecting your call. I don’t frequent The Orchid a lot, but Sofia manages the Rose floors, and some of their dancers and companions come to us for custom designs and fittings. When I called her earlier, she said she had a position open which needed to be filled immediately and she could front a loan. I don’t know what that position is, but you can call and find out.”

Sofia has asked me to meet her on the lowest level of the Rose floors, which is situated toward the top of the fifty-plus story building.

An interview. To be a dancer. One that’ll require me to shed my clothes.

I swallow, the nausea churning in my gut, and I can feel the sweat beading on the back of my neck. A weight sits atop my chest as I realize this is a pivotal moment in my life, because I’m about to embark on something I thought I’d never do. To use my face and body to make a living instead of my intelligence.

My thoughts flit to Mom and her years as a dancer on Broadway. In the good years, she’d have supporting roles. In the bad years, I’d see her dancing in burlesque clubs, where men would leer at her curves.

Her eyes would dim then.

I let out a shaky breath. Snap out of it, Grace. Whatever happens, this is only temporary. You can go back to working in finance later.

But still, the anvil on top of my chest presses down, making it hard for me to breathe.

The elevator doors slide open and I walk up to the receptionist, a beautiful redhead in a tasteful, black body-con dress, who smiles in a welcoming way when she sees me.

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