Page 67 of Off Balance

CAMERON

"Mr. Stevens, my office, please?"

Halfway through rehearsal, and he needs to talk to me right now? And he called me Mr. Stevens?

This can't be good.

I hide my mortification at getting called out in front of the whole company by wiping my face with a towel when I go to my bag to retrieve my water bottle. I'm not about to run out of here like my ass is on fire, which I'm pretty sure is what he expects me to do.

He hasn't been getting what he expects out of me lately, though. At some point, he should get used to having new expectations.Maybe he’s finally getting the memo that I don’t belong to him.

Daphne meets my eye when I pass her, looking worried. It's the same expression she's been wearing since our opening night performance on Thursday, when her entire dressing room was filled to the brim with red and pink roses. I suppose we know why Emile found it so important to have his wallet at the florist last week. There had to have been thousands of dollars’ worth of long stem roses, crystal vases, and silk ribbon. I witnessed hershock and discomfort at the gesture, and worried when I caught her gaze as Emile entered her dressing room and closed the door behind him.

I was wrong about her. Daphne is not like me at all. I walked into Emile's web willingly, half begging for his attention and approval. I voluntarily got on my knees for him because I wanted to show him how thankful I was. I let him fuck me because I wanted him to feel something for me. Eventually, it all became an obligation and expectation that I followed through with because it wasn't worth whatever troubles would arise if I didn't. I didn't want him to be snippier than usual with me, or to hear him complain about how stressed he was. So I just let things happen, and it became the norm.

I let it happen. And I wanted it, in the beginning at least.

Daphne doesn't. She might have been curious and enjoying the flirtations in the beginning, but now he's moved full speed ahead and she looks like a deer trapped in headlights.

The moment that door closed, I marched right up to her dressing room and banged on her door with a falsified emergency. And Friday and Saturday, as exhausting as it was, I found ways to distract him without also compromising myself.

He might not have figured it out yet, but I'll never get on my knees for him again. Although, he might be catching on, as I haven't once allowed myself to be alone with him. I’ve only spent the mandatory class and rehearsal hours in the studio and not a moment more. I've also left directly after the meet and greets, telling him I was far too tired to attend any after parties with him, and making my escape when others are around so he couldn’t demand answers from me about where I’ve been.

I’ve been with Dom. Training, watching him box, dancing for him, teaching him ballet, teaching him other things…

He's a quick study, and willing to do things I’ve never experienced with any other so-called straight or questioning guy. In almost every case, they want to top me, but Dom refuses. Not because he doesn’t want to. He definitely wants to, but he doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s both infuriating and heart achingly touching. I’ve never been with someone who cared this much about my wellbeing. In fact, now that I have something to compare it to, I’ve never been with anyone who cared at all. Outside of my string of once-offs, the few relationships I’ve had have been one sided and short-lived stints with cruel men who made me feel bad about myself.

Dom, on the other hand, makes me feel like I can fly. It’s because of him that I can walk out of this room with my head held high and the knowledge that I am strong enough to withstand anything Emile says to me.

Speak of the devil…

"Took you long enough," he snaps when I make it into the hallway to follow him onto the elevator.

"What is this about, Emile? Is there an emergency?"

"Yes, there is actually. An emergency that will likely determine your future as a dancer."

When the elevator doors open, he stomps to his office like a petulant child. I notice Belinda isn't at her desk, and for once, I wish the judgy bitch was here to witness whatever is about to happen.

Flinging the door to his office open so hard I'm afraid the frosted glass will shatter, he snaps and points to a seat. "Sit."

Pick and choose your battles, Cameron. Pick and choose your battles.

I clench my jaw and sit. And wait. While Emile leans on his desk and stares at me.

I know he knows. I'm not sure how, but he knows I met with Marissa.

"Meet up with any old friends lately?"

Bingo.

"She is my friend. She's maybe the only friend I've had here, since you've ostracized me from the rest of the company. I wanted to check on her, see how she's holding up."

"She is no friend of yours."

"You ruined her life. Over a perceived slight. She just wanted to go home to be with her family."

"She wanted to turn my dancers against me."

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