Page 35 of Fearless Sinner

Of course, I’m not the only guy watching her.I’m just the only fucker here who believes everything in the world belongs to him, including her.

I’m also the only man here who will stake his claim on her tonight.

Even if I’m crossing another line, I shouldn’t do so with a woman who owes me a debt.

Tonight I’ll be my own worst enemy.

Chapter Ten

Chloe

“I was with the Bolshoi Ballet for over fifteen years,” Tatyana says with pride. “I had the privilege of being prima ballerina for five years.”

“Oh, you lucky girl. I loved dancing with the New York City Ballet, but I was only their prima for two years,” Melody drones on. “It was the best experience of my life, though.”

I think she’s going to get the job. I just have that feeling. The organizer spoke to her more and seemed to love her. Dare I say it? I would choose her, too. She seems perfect. She’s just turned thirty-five but looks the same age as me. She’s also had two kids but her body looks more in shape than mine ever did.

Like me, she went to Juilliard but unlike me, the New York City Ballet hired her fresh out of college. She then worked for them for ten years before she started teaching in Australia while her husband—one of the richest men in America—opened a new branch of his company there.

Of the group of twenty ladies I’ve been placed with, there are five here who worked for the New York City Ballet. The rest danced for various companies all over the world. To say that I’m by far the least qualified is an understatement. And they know it.

They clocked me the moment I walked in and sized me up like sharks checking out their next meal when it was time to introduce myself and my experience.

For the first hour we had a brief presentation in the function room where the organizer assessed our behavior within the group. Then they placed us in mini groups of five and we came out here to mingle.

My group has been mingling with each other and I’ve been listening. Every time I tried to speak, someone cut me off, as if what I had to say was irrelevant and insignificant.

“Do any of you know Margot Bordeaux?” Celine asks.

“She was my teacher at Juilliard,” I say, but no one looks at me.

“Oh my gosh, we went shopping last week in London. It was fabulous,” Melody cuts in and once again it’s like I haven’t spoken.

“I’ll bet that was fun. She was my favorite teacher,” I try again but it’s like I’m a ghost.

“We’re going on a girls' trip in a few weeks to the Caribbean.”

“Tell her I said hi," Celine bubbles. “We worked together for years but I lost track of her. She’s a busy little thing.”

“I know. You should join us for coffee sometime. She’s one of my best friends. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Melody nods with enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the group starts talking about costumes and I get squeezed out of the conversation again.

The organizer comes over and joins the hearty talk. It’s clear when she starts talking about what they’re looking for in the position, she’s referring to everyone except me. I don’t even know why they bothered to invite me.

It was nice to get a taste of my old life in the dance world but not at the expense of me feeling like nothing.

Deciding that I’ve had enough of being invisible, I back away from the group. I don’t even bother to excuse myself. To them I was never there anyway.

I’ll go to the bar and grab a quick drink before I head home. Roxanne is staying over tonight. Adrian, her new boyfriend, has been away on business, so she’s been staying with me every other night to keep me company. I’ve been grateful because it’s been a little scary being by myself.

I take the stairs to the first floor and head to the bar.

I stand behind a row of college girls placing orders while I decide what drink I’m going to order.

I need something to take the edge off. Maybe something that will knock me out the moment I get home, so I don’t think of my problems. Or that my mother still hasn’t woken up. In a semi-drunken state I might be able to pretend I can be positive.

“You know, drowning your sorrows at the bottom of a bottle is never a good idea,” comes the alluring Irish accent of the man I really wish I could forget.

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