Page 87 of Secrets in Love
“Thanks,” I grunted, accepting the coffee I was never in a million years going to drink. Today was not the day I felt like being roofied. “I’m fine. Never been better. Where is Jody?”
“You didn’t know? Oh…um…please don’t be upset, but she’s sick, with the same virus as Kim I suspect. She messaged me an hour ago, asking me to take her class and promising that she would call you.”
“Well, she didn’t.” Without taking my eyes off Christian, I sat the possible liquefied poison on the desk and pulled out my phone. “Oh…wait, she did. She called three times and sent two messages. My phone was on silent. Bloody Nate.”
Christian stood and stalked around the desk. “You’re still with him, then? With Nate, I mean?”
Staring at my feet, I tried to ignore Christian and head to the studio, but he placed himself in the middle of the hallway, blocking my escape.I sighed, swallowed the panic-chuck rising in my throat, and raised my head.
“My…situationwith Nate isn’t any of your business.”
“I think it is my business, because this place”—he waved his hands around the air like a stupid fucking magician—“is my business and because I care about my employees. I’m worried, Evie. He seemed like an aggressive kind of guy. Are you boyfriend and girlfriend? Talking long-term? Are you in love?”
“I’m not sure whereyouget off calling anyone aggressive, but I can assure you heisnot, and Iamnot in lo—” I paused. “—not answering questions you have no right to ask. A rehab stint, coffee, and a friendly, ‘Good morning,’ don’t earn you anything.”
With all the arrogance in the world, he turned and rested his back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, it’s not serious, then?”
“How did you deduce that from a polite, mind-your-own-bloody-business statement?”
“Well, you referred to him as a situation. And to me, if you were in love, you’d be screaming it from the rooftops. Especially when you know how jealous it would make me.”
“Snort! Why the hell would you be jealous? I’m just a childish, dancing wannabe, remember? There are a million of us out there.”
Shame colored Christian’s face as he winced, pushed off the wall, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Evie. I know my behavior was abhorrent, but I was in a dark place and lashing out at anyone close to me. It’s not an excuse, but please don’t doubt my affection toward you. I genuinely liked—still like you. You’re a beautiful, special person. I want you to be happy.”
“Well, then, you have nothing to worry about because I am happy and will remain so—with or without a man in my life.” My words were for myself as much as for the man before me.
Chilly, autumn air brushed against the backs of my legs as the front door slid open, and our tiny dancers began to fill the foyer. As usual, I had more to say, so I pulled Christian closer by the arm, and I quickly whispered, “Look, I understand you’ve been going through a rough time lately, and I’m willing to forget the past and move on if you are. Everybody deserves a second chance. Let’s just be professional, do our jobs, and get today over with.” I stuck my hand out to shake on it. “Deal?”
Mr. Smooth held and pressed it to his lips instead. “Deal.”
I can’t believe I ever fancied this douche.
“Ooohhhh,” Cole, Iris’s little, loud friend, appeared at my hip. “He kissed you! How romantic.” Half a dozen kids and some immature parents joined in too. I was embarrassed as all hell. Christian seemed to relish the attention.
“If you liked that, guys, you’ll love this. I’m going to make you all a deal. If you behave yourself and work really hard today, Miss Evie and I will do a dance for you at the end of class. And we all know dancing is more romantic than a silly kiss on the hand.”
“Christian,” I spat through gritted teeth, “I’m not dancing with you.”
“Ahh, don’t be a stick in the mud. You want to move on and work together, don’t you? What displays a united team more than the Adagio from the Sugar Plum grand pas de deux?” Selecting what he and the kids knew was my favorite-ever piece, and saying it loud enough for all to hear, meant they were too bloody excited for me to say no.
“Fine,oneshort section,and that’s it. And only if everyone remembers all their positions, and I don’t have to repeat myself once.” That should have all but guaranteed I wouldn’t have to dance with former HotBoss…TepidBoss. Kim and Jody had often described their Sunday class, which consisted of juniors from ages six to twelve, asLordoftheFliesmeetsTheHobbit.
Thirty minutes into the fifty-minute class, I started to feel ill. Not only had bloody Christian shown frequent glimpses of the patient, kind, and gentle man I first met, which made staying pissed off at him almost impossible, but the cute little arseholes I was depending on had actually been listening to everything we said and hadn’t set a foot wrong. Positions were perfect, held for a bizarrely long time, and general behavior was exemplary. Jody and Kim were either full of shit, or someone—AKA TepidBoss—shot them up with a magic potion when I wasn’t looking. Even though my soon-to-be partner had been on his best behavior, having his meaty paws all over me was still undesirable, and by the forty-five-minute mark, I was panicking and seriously contemplating pushing my mini-Baryshnikov’s over, so they’d lose balance.
Had I been bestowed with Finn’s or Nate’s disposition, the whole scenario could’ve been taken as a positive—as a demonstration of my superior instructor skills and how professional I could be when working with someone who only weeks ago had terrified me. But being the grumpy to their sunshine, I chose to take it as further evidence that the universe hated me and loved royally screwing me over. A fact that was confirmed when, minutes later, Christian appeared with a tutu and tiara and exclaiming, “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
Nate
The minute Fluffy Sexy Legs left, I took matters into my own hands…and for once,matterswasn’t code for cock.
It was Sunday in New York, but Monday at home, and though still painfully early, I shot an email off to the estate agent I’d been dealing with for the last few days. He was a friend from school, and I’d been hounding him relentlessly.
To: Brendan Salmon
Subject:Come the fuck on.
Hey, Brendan,
