Page 35 of Doctor's Baby: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

But Mrs. Winthrop’s clearly got it out for me, so screw honor.

Studio C is small and rarely ever used. Right now, it’s serving as a storage room for the leftover props from last year’s Christmas show. It’s silent in here save for the low rumble of the ventilation system. There’s a thin layer of dust over everything, and there’s a serious lack of natural lighting. The fluorescent lights above our heads take a second to flicker on.

“Talk,” I say firmly. I’m in no mood to make pleasantries.

“Don’t take that tone with me, slut.”

I’ve never punched a person in the face before.

There’s a first time for everything.

“Seriously? Shaming a woman because she’s sexually liberal? Okay, boomer.”

Mrs. Winthrop grinds her teeth but remains surprisingly composed. The fact that she’s actually pretty calm is probably the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. I’d much rather see her screaming her head off than be this calculated and cool. She’s got something up her sleeve. I just don’t know what.

“I don’t want you anywhere near Nathanial ever again.”

“Excuse me?”

“What, are you deaf? Stay away from my son. It’s bad enough he’s slumming it with the help.”

I want to punch her. I want to punch her so bad.

“Where the hell do you get off calling me the help?”

“You’re not good enough for my boy. That’s clear to see.”

I clench my hands into tight fists. “What? Because I’m Asian? Because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth? Because I was raised by a single mother? Did you put your ass on as a hat today, or is this just your natural, beaming personality?”

Mrs. Winthrop has the balls to nonchalantly check beneath her fingernails. I’m fairly certain she’ll find chunks of my skin under there.

“Enough,” she grumbles. “I don’t have to listen to a thing you say. You’re the reason my son is dead. If anybody’s going to apologize, it’s going to be you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” I stress every syllable.

“If Nathanial hadn’t been so infatuated with you, he never would have snuck out on that date. Had he not done that, Jacob wouldn’t have gone out to try and pick him up. As I see it, you’re the root of all evil.”

“Look, I’m sorry for your loss. I really am. What happened to Jacob—”

“Don’t you fucking say his name! You don’t get that right.”

I put my hands up in an attempt to get her to calm down. “What happened was unfortunate. But it was an accident. I don’t see you blaming the drunk driver here.”

“He got ten years behind bars for vehicular manslaughter. You, on the other hand, are here. Alive and breathing. And now you’re trying to crawl your way back into Nathanial’s life? What are your intentions? What do you want from him? His money? His success?”

“I don’t want anything from him.”

“Bullshit. That’s fucking bullshit.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. This isn’t getting us anywhere.

“If you have something to say, say it,” I demand. “The sooner I don’t have to see your racist, classist face, the better.”

“We finally agree on something, then.” Mrs. Winthrop raises her head, puffs out her chest. If she weren’t so illogically pissed off at me, I might have found her inspiring. She exudes power and confidence in the very way she holds herself.

“Get on with it,” I say.

“Stay away from Nathanial. Don’t talk to him, don’t see him, don’t call him, don’t text him. Don’t WeChat, or whatever it is you kids do nowadays.”

I place my hands on my hips, unwavering. “And why on earth should I listen to you?”

“Do you know of the New York International La Croix competition?”

My heart sinks into my chest like lead, splashes stomach acid up and around to leave a bitter taste on my tongue. La Croix is probably one of the biggest international dance competitions in the world. Ballet hopefuls of all ages compete for the chance to impress judges and recruiters alike. Those who successfully place often receive dance scholarships or company placements as prizes. The who’s who of ballet attend, so those who embarrass themselves on stage can kiss their chance at a proper dance career goodbye.

“Yes,” I mutter quietly. “Why?”

“I happen to be a former judge. I know a lot of people on the panel, many of whom are in charge of ballet companies.”

“So what?”

“So what?” she echoes, derisive. “One word from me, and I’ll see to it that you’re barred from every company from New York to California. Maybe even Australia, Britain, and France too. Russia—that’s another story. Don’t have as many friends over there. I hope you like the cold weather.”

I’m at a loss for words.

I always knew Delilah Winthrop was well connected. She’s a socialite, a prominent figure in everything to do with Haven. She’s got a section of the library named after her, for goodness sake. I just didn’t think a woman of her standing would use her connections to fight dirty like this.

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