Page 33 of When Hearts Awaken

Sir Ian clears his throat. “The reason I asked for this meeting is to make sure you’re fine with this arrangement.”

I frown. “Arrangement?”

“Me working here. You being one of my dancers,” he explains, his voice gentle. “I know I shouldn’t mention the unusual circumstances in how we met,” he pauses and stares at me, and my skin heats, “but I wouldn’t be a good boss if I don’t make sure any concerns are aired out before my employment here begins.”

Sir Ian leans forward, and I shrink back, slowly pushing the chair farther away from the desk. My fingers automatically inch toward the pepper spray.

He says, “I’ve reviewed tapes of your past performances. You’re talented, Taylor, one of the most promising dancers I’ve seen in a long time. Obviously, you have issues dancing Odette, but your Odile… It’s frankly one of the best Odile’s I’ve seen in a while.”

I grip my handbag tightly and the leather crinkles under my nails.

Issues dancing Odette. That’s the understatement of the century—I’m afraid I’ll never be able to master the role of the white swan. How can I perform a role that’s the epitome of innocence and grace, of the sanctity of love?

“I’d like to keep you on, but only if you’ll respect me as your artistic director. I can’t afford to have any disruptions like at our first meeting. There’s too much at stake for both ABTC and for Bank of Columbia,” he concludes and settles back in his seat.

I breathe a sigh of relief at the distance.

“Your nephew’s company.”

He grabs the fountain pen on his desk and twirls it in his fingers. I stare at the ruby on it instead of looking at him. It glints like blood in the cold daylight.

He replies, “It’s my family’s company. My mother started it and Charles has done a wonderful job so far.” Something in his voice gives me pause, but when I look at him, he’s smiling warmly. He obviously loves his family. That is something I can identify with. Unease still prickles me, a background noise that seems louder in the presence of this man, but I feel more comforted right now.A monster won’t love his family, right?

“I’d like to reiterate, I don’t know what you went through in the past, but I have nothing to do with it. I haven’t met you before ABTC.” His fingers still—his pen poised in his grasp. “Do we have a problem with each other, Taylor? Or are you okay with working under me?”

A quiet intensity radiates from him as he waits for my response.

My skin itches again, and I fight the impulse to scratch at it or to run home and take a scalding hot shower.

One second drags to two, then to three, but Sir Ian doesn’t waver. He calmly sits there, a serene smile on his face, as he patiently waits for me to answer him.

He hasn’t made any inappropriate remarks. He hasn’t even tried to touch me. He’s been professional and even…kind.

It can’t be him all those years ago.

But why does it feel so real? Why is my gut telling me this man isn’t all he appears to be?

But you have no evidence. No basis in reality, Taylor. Even you aren’t sure. Don’t sabotage yourself.

I knot the straps of my tote around my fingers and pull, relishing the lash of pain as the leather digs into my hand. The pain grounds me. The pain tells me everything is under my control.

“I don’t have a problem, sir.”

Sir Ian nods and stands. I follow suit. He motions to the door. The meeting is over. “Enjoy the rest of your evening and I’ll see you Monday for practice.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

My feet carry me as fast as I can out of the office and I collapse against the door after I shut it, my legs trembling, sweat rolling down my back.

I hope I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter 14

After my meeting withSir Ian, I spend an hour working out and practicing in the rooftop studio, needing to do something with the nervous energy flooding my insides. By the time I leave ABTC, the sun dips low in the late afternoon sky, finally releasing the world from the suffocating heat on this early June day.

I take a few steps down before turning around to admire the building. Sinewy shadows thrash with the muted orange rays against the facade of the historical structure, which sticks out amid the modern skyscrapers with its baroque exterior of wraparound wrought iron gates and stained glass windows.

I remember dragging Mom here on our magical days and sitting on the steps, watching willowy dancers—the girls graceful like swans, the boys refined—stride through those double doors. Mom would tell me the acceptance rate was less than one percent. Only the best of the best may walk in these lauded halls.

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