Page 3 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

After eating half of the candy bar, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. Believe it or not, Vera has claimed to smell chocolate on my breath before. She tore up everything in my room until she found two Halloween-sized Kit-Kat bars, and then raged at me for twenty minutes about how stupid I was. She asked why I would eat garbage that would make me too fat to be on stage as a professional dancer.

At dinner, our cook has prepared a kale salad with warm quinoa, feta, tomatoes, Kalamata olives, and chicken. It is dressed in a lemon and olive-oil dressing. It is very good, so I clear my plate, then reach for the bowl, helping myself to a second portion.

Vera glares at me.

“A second plate?” she asks.

“I’ll work out tonight,” I say.

I eat the whole second plateful, another small revolt. Vera watches, her face twisted into a look of disgust, as if I have eaten an entire large pizza, rather than a second helping of superfood salad.

As promised, I dress for the gym after I eat. There is a nice on-site gym in our building, and I am generally allowed to go there without supervision. It has become, as a result, one of my favorite places. With the second helping of food and the half candy bar in my stomach, I do feel a little guilty. I think of the way my body will be scrutinized at the ballet and imagine the look of disappointment Ana will swear if my ribs do not protrude enough or my thighs jiggle in the slightest.

I follow a punishing workout plan that takes me an hour to get through, and even though I am ready to throw up by the end, I still feel jittery. I slip my building keycard into my sports bra and sneak out the front door of the building for a run.

It is full dark and late enough that traffic is light. I run through our neighborhood, a hodge-podge of mixed-use buildings including towers full of expensive apartments, chic restaurants, high-end clothing shops, and office buildings. Most are well lit, and I take a path that I have run several other times. I have only been out for about twenty minutes when a full-body chill goes through my body. With it, the feeling that I am being followed. I look over my shoulders and see black SUV creeping along behind me.

Gritting my teeth, I pick up the pace, turning down an alley and sprinting through to the next street. As I make the turn, the SUV comes around the corner, driving past me, then stopping.

My father’s two goons, Alexei and Roman, both get out of the vehicle. Roman comes from the driver’s side and stands at the back end of the truck, his expression imploring. Alexei, cruel sliver of a smile on his face, opens the back door and then cracks his knuckles.

“Tvoy otets rasstroitsya, kogda ya skazhu yemu, chto ty brodsh' zdes' v temnote,” Alexei says in Russian, baring his teeth in a menacing smile.

“Your father will be upset when I tell him you are out here whoring around in the dark.”

I laugh. “Since when does running include whoring? I’mexercising, you prick.”

Roman, always the more respectful of the two, interjects. “Come on, kid. Let’s just get you back home before Vera blows a gasket.”

“You see? That’s the problem, though. I amnota kid. I am an adult and I should be able to go for a run if I want to.”

“You should be,” he says, nodding, “But that is a matter between your father and you. For now, we are doing our jobs.”

“Well, you’re fired,” I say, not for the first time.

Alexei, massive with broad shoulders and biceps the size of footballs, rolls his eyes and steps forward, grabbing my arm hard enough that I know it will leave a mark. I yelp, causing Roman to step closer.

“Stop being a dick, Alexei. And Galina, just get in the car so we can get you home safely.”

“Fuck off, both of you. I’m an adult, not a child.”

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose, playing exasperated older brother to his feral dog of a partner. “You are your father’s daughter and as such, you are risking your safety by running alone in the middle of the night.”

I struggle against Alexei’s grip, only causing him to hold me tighter.

“It’s hardly the middle of the night,” I snarl, managing to pull free.

I start to run away, but Alexei is quick for as big as he is, and he catches me easily. This time, his strong arms lock around my waist as he half-drags, half-carries me toward the SUV. A man is running down the street, seemingly just out for his evening exercise like me, and I seize the opportunity, screaming for help as I kick and writhe in Alexei’s grip.

“Shut up!” he hisses. “Stop being a brat!”

“Fuck you!” I yell. “Let me go!”

The man picks up his pace, gets closer and then slows down, hands in the air as he approaches us as he would a hurt animal.

“These men are trying to abduct me!” I yell. “Help!”

The man, his face and hair mostly obscured by a dark hoodie, says, “Hey, fellas, let’s let the lady go, yeah?”

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