Page 8 of The Virgin's Dance
“We’ve discussed this before, Genie, when you weren’t high. We both know it’s over. It has been for years. Maybe, it should never have even started.”
Genie ignored him. “We never tried for children because of your career, and so now, I think it’s time.”
Oh God, she reallywason one of her diatribes. Pilot rubbed his face.How am I going to get her out of my apartment without her losing her shit on me—again?
“Genie, I have a meeting I have to get to. Go home, sober up, and you’ll realize the nonsense you’re talking. We’re divorced. No children. Not from me.”
He took her shoulders and steered her out of the apartment, feeling how bony and frail her body felt. “Goodbye, Genie.” The last he saw of her, her mouth was flapping uselessly, like a goldfish as she blinked in astonishment at her speedy banishment.
He shut the door quickly and leaned back against it. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her—he was more afraid of the repercussions if she attacked him again. He was three times her weight and size—if he fought back and hurt her, he knew which side the police would come down on and it wouldn’t be his. Plus, her family had connections. The Ratcliffe-Morgans were old money, not the ‘nouveau riche’ of men like his father, a self-made billionaire, and during their marriage, Eugenie had made it very cleared that his money was inferior. She hated that he made no attempt to battle the prenup, that he wasn’t interested in money at all. It gave her one less thing to hold over him.
Now, his buzz from earlier destroyed, Pilot grabbed his bag and dug out the Polaroids, wanting to get back some of the excitement he had felt. He flicked through the photographs and found the ones of Boh. A warmth replaced the anxiety in his stomach. He snagged his phone from his jacket and sent her a message.
Really excited to be working with you, Boh. Pilot.
He hadn’t expected her to reply so quickly and when he saw her message, he smiled.
You too! I’ve just been on the Internet to research some stuff—you are the king of Pinterest! Looking forward to starting work. B.
Sweet. Pilot glanced at the clock. Just after six p.m. He hesitated for a moment then typed in another message.Have you eaten yet?
Not yet, I just got out of rehearsal.
Pilot drew in a deep breath. Was this inappropriate? Ah, to hell with it.
Feel like grabbing a burger and getting started?
He counted the second before she replied.Sounds good. Where should I meet you?
Pilot couldn’t help the victorious “Yes” that escaped his lips.
Chapter Six
“The seasons.”
“Been done.”
“Um … the elements?”
“Also done.”
“Dang it.” Boh shoved another bite of burger into her mouth and screwed up her face. Pilot grinned at her, a blob of mustard on the side of his own mouth. Without thinking, she reached over and swept it off with her finger. Immediately getting that it was a very intimate thing to do to someone she didn’t know, she flushed, but Pilot just smiled and thanked her.
To cover her embarrassment, she made a joke of it. “I did contemplate leaving it there and letting you walk out of here, but I thought it was too early in our working relationship to do that.”
Pilot laughed—God, his smile was intoxicating. “Well, I’m glad you thought so … because now I can tell you about the ketchup on your cheek.”
Boh’s eyes widened, and she scrubbed furiously at both of her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. She checked but there was no ketchup on the fabric. Pilot gave her his best cheesy grin.
“Kidding.”
Boh giggled. Over the last hour, she had learned that Pilot had the same goofy sense of humor that she did, and although she had been nervous when they first met up, now she was having a great time. They’d talked about the project and now Pilot had his notebook out in front of him.
“I thought we could just spitball ideas until we come up with a theme,” he’d said after they’d ordered their food. They were at Bubby’s on Hudson Street, and Boh was eating the most sublime burger she’d ever tasted, a mid-rare burger with fries. She’d skipped lunch—well, she’d been forced to skip lunch when Kristof made her make up for missing so much of his class—and now she was ravenous.
It didn’t hurt that her view was so pleasant. Pilot, dressed in a dark navy sweater, his hair wild about his head, a dark five-o-clock shadow on his handsome face, was talking about themes and they were trying to think of something original.
“How about a ballerina in urban decay settings?”
