Page 36 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“Vera is my nanny from when I was a child. I wish she would go away.”

Isabelle snorts. “You have a nanny at twenty-one; no wonder you’re so sheltered. Time to spread those wings, young chicken.”

“Chicken?” I ask, making a face. “I am not a chicken.”

She shrugs.

We talk and paint our nails, and it feels so odd to just be hanging out with a friend in my bedroom. It has been many, many years since I have had such an experience. Like, since I was a child.

Eventually, we decide it is late enough to get ready to go out. Isabelle picked out my dress, a short, tight one in shimmery blue that dips low in the back. I wear black heels with it, a small black crossbody purse completing the outfit. I am not really a jewelry person, but I do let Isabelle adorn my fishtail-braided hair with a barrette in the shape of a butterfly.

It is ten o’clock when we emerge from my room. Alexei, half-asleep on the couch, comments that he thought maybe we had changed our minds about going out. He stands, leering at Isabelle in a way that makes me want to kick him in the balls. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she walks past.

We all head down in the elevator, Alexei telling us he’ll pull the car from the garage around to the front.

“Stay in the lobby,” he instructs as Isabelle and I step out.

I give him a belligerent salute, then flip him off as the elevator door closes. When I turn, Vasily is walking in through the front doors.

He is sweaty and dressed in his running clothes, air pods in his ears. He looks me up and down, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me in partying clothes.

“Gigi,” he says, the name thick on his tongue in a way that makes heat pool between my legs.

I just keep walking. If I stop, I will cry, and I do not want to cry in front of him again. He made his choice to end things. He told me he could not think of how to make things work.

I do feel like a hypocrite, going out dancing with a friend as if I am free to do such things. I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. But he noticed me – all of me. And he felt something; I saw it in the way his eyes darkened, in the tone of his voice.

I can feel his eyes on me as we wait by the door. When Alexei pulls up, Isabelle bounds outside, but I turn around and meet his gaze. I cannot bring myself to say his name, but I let myself look at him. I let myself feel the ache.

“Have a good night,” he says, pushing the elevator button. I wait until he steps inside before heading out to the car.

Inside, Isabelle slaps my bare leg before fanning herself. “Whoo! Was it hot in there or is it just me?”

Alexei’s eyes dart to mine in the rearview mirror and I look at Isabelle only to give a small shake of the head. I will not cry. I will not show any emotion in front of Alexei, who would love nothing more than to go beat in Vasily’s skull, to finish the job he started in the alleyway just weeks ago.

Isabelle texts me from inches away:Was that the guy you were seeing?

Gigi:Yes

Isabelle:You could cut that sexual tension with a knife

Isabelle:And why didn’t you tell me how hot he was?

Gigi:It does not matter

Gigi:He did not want me

Isabelle:I would dare to disagree

Isabelle:He looked like he might pick you up and carry you straight to his apartment

Gigi:I did not say he did not find me attractive

Gigi:But he seems unwilling to figure out how to make things work

Isabelle:Bummer

Isabelle:There’s clearly something between you two still

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