Page 14 of When Hearts Awaken

Tay, you’re still going to the open house at The Orchid with Grace next week to check out their new amenities, right?

Grace

The Rose floors! *Devil emoji* You should come with, Millie.

Millie

Um. No, thank you.

Grace

You never know. Maybe you’ll find your kink there.

I groan at the idea of going to that exclusive establishment for the rich and famous, but on a whim, I promised Grace I’d go with her after I read the newest therapy book I bought—The Wonderful and Terrifying Year of Yeses—a book recommended online about saying yes to new experiences and living without fear.

I’m about to type my response when I feel the menacing stare from earlier again. Only this time it’s more potent, more laser focused.

A frisson of unease slithers through my body. More messages ping through on my cell phone, but I can’t focus. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.

Just as I’m about to search for the asshole who’s staring at me, someone claps loudly, interrupting the lively activity in the studio.

“May I have your attention, please!” Madame Renoir announces to the crowd.

A hush descends in the room. We turn toward the double doors where Madame Renoir is standing.

My gaze sweeps over the large space, past the other demi-soloists and the corps de ballet, the company musicians with their instruments huddling in one corner, when my eyes inadvertently land on the second floor balcony.

And I seehim.

The asshole who’s making me uncomfortable with his intense scrutiny.

It’s the arrogant CEO, Charles.

He was striking from the earlier glimpses of him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of him from the front. The earlier charismatic demeanor is gone, and in its place is something far more formidable.

I notice his startling eyes first. An angry forcefulness radiating from them that steals my breath. A pair of eyes on a face so compelling, I can’t seem to look away.

Cold daylight shines down from the skylight above him, bathing his figure in a stark aura. His stunning blond hair appears almost white under the bluish light. His square jawline with an enticing divot on his chin and just enough scruff gives his stately appearance an edge of roughness.

A streak of danger.

He looks older than me by at least ten years. Madame Renoir drones on, but my mind can’t seem to compute her words as I’m locked in this strange staring contest with him.

Heat crawls up my neck, every nerve ending standing at attention. My body is priming to fight or flee, and I know I’m blushing like an innocent coed, which I’m anything but, but I refuse to look away.

From this predator, because that’s who he is. There’s no way he’s the prey. Then I’m reminded of his response to his buddies outside the bathroom and his comment to the crowd downstairs.

Rich assholes. How typical.Not all rich men are assholes, Taylor. You don’t even know him.

I know that. Logically, I understand that. But they say first impressions are lasting.

And clearly, judging from the way this Norse god of thunder is staring at me, he doesn’t seem to like me much either.

In fact, he looks at me with murder in his eyes.

Chapter 6

She was butchering thedance. A bloody massacre. Killing the beautiful swan in front of my eyes.

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