Page 146 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Because I didn’t know if that word was real.

I was a mess the next day at dance. Camden had put me right to bed after he’d taken me home, and I’d slept right up until it was time to leave for class again.

He’d tried to cajole me into telling him what was wrong...but I’d told him we would talk later. A cop-out if there ever was one.

It had taken five extra strength Advil for me to be in this room, holding onto the barre as I dipped into a plié.

My leg was so sore. I needed a day off. I probably needed a month off actually. This was the worst my leg had been in a long time.

“Anastasia,” Madame Leclerc’s voice cut through the noise of the class. I eyed the doorway, dread pulsing through me as I saw her standing there, her red lips pressed into a severe frown. It never seemed to be a good thing when she needed to talk to me.

The instructor nodded her head at me, and I walked across the room, trying to look elegant and graceful as I did so because Madame Leclerc cared about things like that.

She still eyed me disdainfully the entire way.

“Yes, Madame?” I said, after I'd stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind me. It wasn’t farfetched to think that whatever she wanted to say was not something I wanted the whole class to hear.

“The Company is raising rates,” she began, her French accent clipped and cold. “The economy is not what it was and prices have gone up on everything. This means costumes, tuition...everything will be going up.”

I took a deep breath, my heart sinking. It was already ridiculously expensive to attend here. Only the senior dancers were paid livable allowances for their performances and for whatever reason, I hadn’t been brought up yet. What I was paid for performing, cleaning, and bussing tables, had barely paid for everything.

Hence, why I had been living in a shelter.

I didn’t have a job anymore.

I took a deep breath, thinking of the money that Michael was also expecting in a few weeks.

What was I going to do?

The Showcase. I was dancing with a senior dancer—and not just any senior dancer—the male lead for the entire Company. Regardless of how I’d gotten the role, the performance was still happening.

Shouldn’t I be paid like a senior dancer then?

I gulped, trying to dig up some bravery. Madame Leclerc had always terrified me. I kept hoping she would be old enough that she’d want to retire, and someone new would come in who would see me as the performer that I was.

“I’m dancing with Dallon in the showcase," I began softly. "I…I think that should qualify me for an additional salary for the performance.”

Her face curled up in a sneer, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. Probably because I had a fair point. Her lips pursed again, though, and I stiffened, preparing myself for whatever misery she was about to throw my way.

“I’m not entirely convinced your performance is even going to take place, Anastasia,” she said in a haughty voice. “The reports from Dallon have not been exemplary.”

That didn’t surprise me at all. It’s not like he was going to report that his own poor performance was the thing holding us back. It was much easier to blame the junior dancer that Madame already despised.

“I’m perfectly confident about my performance,” I responded, lifting my chin and holding eye contact with her.

It was the only time I’d seen her...squirm.

“How about this, Ms. Lennox, if you are able to properly perform Giselle, I will promote you. But your performance has to meet my standards.” She peered down her nose at me. “And I think we both know that you have not met those standards even once yet.”

I tried to be a glass half-full kind of person. It was kind of a necessity with what I dealt with on a daily basis—at least until I’d met Camden.

But it seemed to me what she was saying was that no matter what I did at the Showcase, there was no hope.

I was fucked, so to speak.

I needed to find a job.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I even went through the motions during my practice with Dallon. Surprisingly, he didn’t comment on it, probably because he’d almost broken my leg yesterday.

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