Page 44 of Dance of Devils
I won’t lie. Part of me rather enjoys the look of fury that spreads over her face.
“I got acallback,” she says tightly through clenched teeth.
I lift a shoulder. “As did Lin Xiuya, Camille Blanchet, and Allegra Vitale. Allfantasticdancers.”
Brooklyn bristles.
“You’re shooting for themoon,” I say tersely. “And I’d like to see you dance.”
“Why.”
My brows shoot up at her sharp reply before they settle again.
“Because I said so.”
“Because you’re friends with Ivan Yelchin.”
She’s smart, I’ll give her that.
“No. Because you need guidance if you want to have a shot at that position, with or without my friend being the artistic director.” My eyes narrow. “And for what it’s worth, Ivan isabovepetty favoritism.”
Brooklyn inhales sharply, stiffening as I take another step toward her.
“As amI,” I growl.
She chews on her lip as she eyes me. “You want me to dance?”
“I want to not repeat myself.”
What the fuck am I doing? On no level is this something I should be indulging in. Encouraging this insane dream of hers to go to Moscow is just cruel.
She won’t be going. Nor will Lin Xiuya, Camille Blanchet, or Allegra Vitale.
Inessa Moskovic will, as part of my deal with Dimitri.
So why the fuck am I humoring this girl? Probably for the same fucked up reason I can’t get her out of my goddamn head. Why I can’t resist this…pullingsensation dragging me closer to her, especially now, alone together in the studio.
Brooklyn intrigues me. So do her secrets, and her very obvious lies.
It’s like she’s daring me to discover them. Challenging me to throw the lies in her face and drag out every one of her dark little secrets.
Without waiting for an answer, I turn and march across the room toward the piano and the sound system. I shrug off my jacket, setting it carefully on top of the Steinway before I deftly roll my sleeves over my forearms to the elbow. When I glance back at her, Brooklyn is looking at me curiously.
“I assume you’re familiar with the Gamzatti Temple variation fromLa Bayadere?”
The curiosity deepens around her eyes, but she nods. “I could do it in my sleep.”
“No one’s asking for that. Not yet, anyway. From the top.”
I turn to the sound system, locate the track on the iPad plugged into it, and glance back at her.
“Ready?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Sure,” she says casually.
So cocky.
It’s…not an unattractive trait in her.
