Kitty’s an aspiring ballerina. Will the innocent girl find love in the arms of the dashing CEO, or will he leave her bent and broken at the barre?
I bent over, stretching out my glutes. Oh goodness, that felt amazing. Somehow this morning I’d woken up a little stiff. My body was like that of a forty-year-old, even though I’m only eighteen.
“Oh,” I murmured below my breath, bending my head towards the floor. Almost there … almost there … there! Did it! My hand touched the ground, my pinky trailing against the polished wood.
Stretching every day is important because I’m a ballerina. Well, more of an aspiring ballerina, to be honest. I’m part of the junior corps at the New York Academy of Ballet, which is the training grounds for the big leagues: the City Ballet. It’s hard work, but I get to practice with the actual troupe, and we’re understudies for the prima ballerinas. As a result, I go to practice morning, afternoon and night, although I haven’t danced in front of a paying audience yet.
But frankly, there isn’t that much time left. At eighteen, I’m already considered “old” for this job. Some of my fellow dancers are even younger than me, at sixteen or seventeen years old. I think one girl’s even fifteen, and probably faked her papers somehow. So yeah, I’ve got to really pull out the stops if I want to dance with the prestigious NYC Academy of Ballet, given the youth of my competition. Time’s running out, and my mom’s words rang in my head.
“You’ll be fine,” she soothed, a worn, wrinkled hand taking mine. “You’re really talented, Kitty.”
I bit my lip, looking at her as we sat on my twin bed. We were in my childhood room, the one with the pink and white décor, looking out onto our tiny patch of lawn.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I said doubtfully. “Some of these girls have been doing ballet since they were five, and you know I only started three years ago.”
Mary clucked.
“I know honey, but what was it that Miss Harrison said? You’re a natural? A real talent with an amazing feel for the music? Your teacher couldn’t have said nicer things about you.”
I nodded but inside there were still doubts.
“I know Mom, but we’re here in Janesville, population one thousand. There isn’t much competition. With Rhonda down the street and Teresa from school as my fellow students, you can’t help but stand out.”
My mom laughed merrily because Rhonda and Teresa are great girls. I grew up with them, after all. But Rhonda has two left feet, and I don’t know how she’s stuck with ballet this long. And Teresa? That girl is so tall she’d be better off as an Olympic basketball player.
But hey, this is Janesville, Kansas, and we’re lucky even to have a ballet studio. I’m not sure why Miss Harrison came and started one a couple years back, but I was so excited when it happened. The minute that “Open” sign appeared in the window, I’d begged my mom for lessons.
“Please,” I’d pleaded. “Mom, you know how much I love dance.”
Mary had nodded.
“I know sweetheart, I know. But we don’t have that much money left over from your Dad’s life insurance, and I don’t want to leave you with nothing. We have to budget, honey, and ballet lessons are bound to be expensive.”
I’d been thirteen then, a sulky, self-absorbed teen, stalking off to my bedroom in a huff before slamming the door. Surely Mary could see how important this was to me. And besides, we were fine. Dad’s insurance had left us with a good amount after he died, and Mom didn’t even have to work. So how bad could it be?
But soon a soft knock sounded on my door.
“Kitty, may I come in?” came Mary’s voice. “Kitty?”
I snorted again, still huffy and upset. But fine. We could talk.
“Come in!” I said sulkily.
The door opened to reveal my mom’s pudgy form, her hair in a graying bun. I feel for Mary, I do really. After my dad died, she fell into a tailspin of depression and sadness. Grandma Nancy had had to live with us for a while to take care of me and make sure food got on the table because Mary couldn’t even get out of bed.
But in the decade since, Mom has recovered. She’s disabled, so she doesn’t work a formal job. Instead, Mary stays home most days, doing some tailoring work for a nearby shop, but really, we’re living off of the proceeds of my dad’s life insurance policy.
“Honey, you’re old enough so that we can have an adult conversation,” began my mom gently, the bed creaking a little as she sat next to me. I moved Raggedy Ann out of the way, refusing to look at her.
“What?” I mumbled, staring out the window.
“Honey, we didn’t get that much from life insurance, you know that,” Mary said gently.
I interrupted.
“But you don’t work! I mean, not really. You just help out with a couple things from the shop. That’s not real working.”
My mom nodded.
“Your late dad had the foresight to set us up well,” she began, eyes tearing up at the thought of her husband. I know they’d been in love, that they were high school sweethearts who never had eyes for anyone else. But the truth is, I had no memories of George. Zero. Zip. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mary that her precious husband was merely a ghost to me. He was my father sure, but he also wasn’t because I couldn’t summon a face, a voice, not anything. He was someone who lived in stories and pictures only, tales of “George this” and “George that.”
And like she could hear his name, Mary took a big breath and tried again.
“Like I said, Kitty, your father had the foresight to buy insurance. But have you ever heard of something called the stock market?”
I nodded.
“It’s where you buy stocks, right? Why, what does that have to do with us?”
Mary took another deep breath, her eyes tearing again.
“Honestly, I don’t know that much about the stock market myself. You know I’m not good with financial things. But from what our accountant tells me, we were invested in the market and things haven’t been going so well. We don’t have much anymore. In fact, we’re almost down to almost nothing.”
I shook my head, confused.
“How is that possible? How could that happen? I thought Daddy left us plenty!”
Mary gulped again, one slow tear trickling down her cheek.
“He did honey, but I guess I trusted the wrong people. You know I put the money with a financial adviser that I found on the web. They had such a fancy website that I was impressed. Plus, there were so many colorful graphics, and the customer representative was very nice when I called.”
I gasped.
“Ma, you used an on-line financial adviser? With no references?”
“Well, there were testimonials on their website,” she said sadly. “There were so many reviews that gave them five stars and I thought that was enough.”
I groaned inside, shaking my head. Even at thirteen, I had more common sense than Mary. Because there are so many scams on the web: you can buy Facebook likes, you can pay people to review your product, and you can even get fake customers who live in India.
But my mom is living in the past, and besides, she’s innocent. Mary grew up in the time of typewriters before there was a world wide web, so in some sense, you couldn’t blame her.
“How much did we lose?” I asked, voice trembling. “How much do we have left?”
Mary swallowed heavily, her spotted hand gently covering mine.
“We have enough for another year,” she said in quiet voice. “We can survive for that long.”
“Another year or what?” I cried, gesturing helplessly. “And then what happens?”
Mary shook her head.
“I don’t know honey. We’ll have to move, certainly, so that we can find a cheaper place to live. We’ll have to economize, and we even might have to give up eating meat because it’s expensive. Would that be okay? I know you’re almost vegetarian already, Kitty.”
I goggled at her. This was way worse than what I expected. Even my thirteen year-old brain recognized big trouble on the horizon.
“We won’t have enough money for food?” I asked quietly, my hands twisting in the bedsheets. “Really?”
“No, I didn’t say that!” rushed Mary, her face flushing. “I just said that we need to eat more cheaply, maybe by giving up meat. Maybe we’ll go on a fun vegan diet, you know, beans, rice, and no animal products. How does that sound?”
My mouth remained closed even as I stared at her, dumbfounded. First, because clearly my mom had no idea what she was talking about. Veganism can be really expensive with all the special items you have to buy to maintain a balanced diet. There’s special tofu, special supplements, and a host of vitamins to make sure you don’t wither away.
And second, a vegan diet sounded bad. I don’t want to eat like a rabbit. I don’t want to eat truckloads of salad and beans to stay alive. I appreciate veggies, but all the time, non-stop? Not my cup of tea.
So yeah, ballet lessons were definitely out of the question given our dire financial circumstances, and slow tears began to roll down my cheeks. I was thirteen, remember, and this seemed like the end of the world.
“I’m sorry honey!” cried my mom, leaning in for a hug and cuddling me close. “I’m sorry, we’ll figure it out, I promise! I’ve already asked for more work from the shop. I’m sure they could use the help.”
I remained stiff in her arms, my heart sinking. Because there was no way Mary could support us with her part-time job. Even if she went full-time, which wasn’t an option, her hourly rate just wasn’t high enough to make a living. So we really were up shit creek, and ballet lessons were out of the question.
But miraculously, things took a turn. The stock market swung wildly upwards for no apparent reason, and this time, I made sure Mary got her hands on the money.
“Put it in a bank account,” I commanded, eyes serious. “Really Mom, we can’t go through another scare. It’s not cool.”
“Oh of course, of course!” she babbled, waving her hands wildly. “I already put it in our local bank.”
I frowned.
“No Ma, put it in a real bank, not that weird investment club that Mr. James has going downtown. That’s not a real bank, and he’s doing something bizarre. Put it in a national chain, one that we know won’t disappear overnight.”
“Oh of course!” said Mary, airily this time. “Don’t be such a worrywart Kitty. I don’t need a thirteen year-old looking over my shoulder.”
I snorted under my breath, but there was nothing I could do. After all, I was still a minor and the money wasn’t in my name, not technically. But hopefully this time, Mary would be a little wiser.
Besides, now I was at Miss Harrison’s dance school, and the lessons were going amazingly well. Even though I’ve never done ballet in my life, the steps were like magic and the music moved my soul. I loved every part of it, rising to the challenge.
“Higher, higher!” Miss Harrison would call. “Lift your leg straight up, like a string’s pulling it from the ceiling.”
I arched backwards while raising my toe, and evidently, that was the right thing to do because Miss Harrison applauded wildly.
“Bravo Kitty! Beautiful, girls, look at Kitty. Isn’t that the perfect arch?”
Even with my head almost touching the ground, I flushed. Because compliments have always made me embarrassed, and now was no exception. But I love ballet. I love the passion of the dance and how it takes me away from things like high school and money problems. As a result, the compliment made me flush happily.
So when the scholarship to NYC Academy of Dance came through, it was a dream come true.
“Oh my god!” I squealed, running into the kitchen where Mary sat in front of her sewing machine, hemming a pair of men’s pants. “Oh my god, I got it, I got it!”
I’d received a two-year apprenticeship with the corps. It was a starting position that would pay for all room and board while giving me the opportunity to train with the most elite instructors.
Mary hugged me, pulling pins out of her mouth.
“Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you,” she said in a low voice. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
“Then Ma, why are you crying?” I asked. “It’s going to be awesome.”
She raised one withered hand to stroke my cheek, tilting that gray-haired head.
“My baby girl is growing up, that’s all,” she said softly. “You’re flying the nest. But it’s time,” she said to herself sternly. “You’re seventeen now, and this was always going to happen. You’re talented Kitty, and I’m so proud of you.”
I threw myself into her arms then, burying my face in her shoulder.
“You’ll be fine here, Mom. And I’ll call, okay? We can always talk on the phone, and there’s the internet too. We can video chat. Doesn’t that sound cool?”
I didn’t think Mary was going to be able to figure out how to use the camera on her phone, but maybe, just maybe, she could figure out WhatsApp or FaceTime.
“Video calls do sound wonderful,” she said softly, murmuring into my hair. “Seeing your pretty face on camera will be amazing. And I want you to have a good time in the big city. I want you to knock the socks off all those big-city folks because you’re good enough, Kitty. They’ll adore you, the same way I do.”
I’d sniffled then, sad to leave my mom. But again, the scholarship was like a gift from the heavens, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to see the bright lights of the big city, to train with the best instructors, to work with the best ballerinas and to be spun around by the most talented male dancers.
Except that I’ve been in NYC for three months now, and it hasn’t exactly worked out according to plan. I practice with the corps for sure. I’m surrounded by dancers day in and day out, but it hasn’t been easy. A lot of the other girls are really competitive and mean, and their words are like daggers coated in honey.
My heart dropped when the queen bee of the group, Megan, strolled into the studio early one morning. It was just the two of us so far, and bowing my head once more in a stretch, I tried not to look at her, focusing on the floor.
But no such luck. Immediately, Megan dropped her bag in the corner and turned to face me.
“Kitty, did you put on weight?” she asked, voice as sweet as sugar. “Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”
In answer, I tilted forwards even more, hiding my face. Because the truth is that I’ve always struggled with being heavy. Ballet dancers are supposed to be whip thin, but I’m on the curvy side. I’ve got real tits, a real ass, and thighs that are strong and sensuous, and not the gristle and bone that a lot of professional dancers have.
I gritted my teeth where Megan couldn’t see.
“No, I haven’t,” I replied in a low voice. “I’m the same as always.”
But Megan couldn’t be deterred.
“Really?” she asked in an arch voice. “There’s definitely some jiggle there. Have you been eating cheeseburgers again?”
My face flamed as I stared blindly at the floor, fighting the urge to hit her, or cry. God, why did people in New York City have to be so mean? Why did this girl have to be so awful? Why did we have to be the only ones in the studio this early in the morning, warming up? I cursed, eyes flooding with hot tears, but made myself keep it together.
“No, I haven’t eaten a cheeseburger since last week in the cafeteria, thank you very much,” I said in a low voice, standing to look her in the eye. “And besides, it wasn’t a cheeseburger because you know the cafeteria doesn’t serve stuff like that. It was a turkey burger made from lean meat, and it was very healthy.”
Megan sniggered, her eyes going up and down my body like it was a garbage dump.
“Well it must have been the cheese then,” she giggled nastily. “I swear I saw you chowing down on a burger oozing with cheddar, and that shit’s full of fat. Real ballet dancers don’t eat dairy,” she said with a huff, spinning on her heel.
At that moment, other dancers began entering the studio, chatting and talking, interrupting us. Of course, Megan was all smiles, greeting our seniors.
“Hi Anna! Hi Rebecca!” she called to the prima ballerinas. “Hi … oh!” came her gasp.
I didn’t want to look because there were tears in my eyes still and I fought to make them stay down. I didn’t want anyone to know how Megan had just body-shamed me, and how ugly and disgusting she made me feel. So swallowing thickly, I made myself take a deep breath. I wasn’t going to be a loser. I was here to make the most of the big city, and Megan wasn’t going to win.
But when I looked up, I too gasped because standing there was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Thick black hair dropped over penetrating blue eyes, topped with a strong square jaw and straight nose. But it was the man’s physique that made my mouth go dry. He wore a black suit, but the loose fabric couldn’t hide the body of a former dancer, perfectly balanced and symmetrical. This awesome specimen was toned and athletic, with muscled thighs and strong arms, perfect for lifting girls in the air.
Trust Megan to know power when she saw it because she moved towards the man like a magnet drawn to a pole.
“Hi!” she simpered, throwing that blonde hair back flirtatiously. “Hi, you’re Mr. Lyons, right? You’re the CEO of NYC Academy?”
Oh shit, this was Mr. Lyons? The Luke Lyons? Every ballet troupe is artistic, sure, but at the same time, it’s a corporation just like any other. There are bills to pay, with employees, human resources, accounting and publicity. The wheels have to turn for the business to run, and Mr. Lyons is in charge of it all.
But he’s right for the job because once upon a time, Luke Lyons was a dancer himself. But he got injured and quit ballet, turning to Wall Street instead. That savvy mind and sharp instincts made a fortune in finance within a couple years, and the man is rolling in it now. But the alpha’s first love was always ballet, and eventually he came back to dance, assuming the helm of CEO.
So yeah, he was technically our boss. Or more accurately, he’s our boss’s boss’s boss’s boss, a guy so high up in the sky that we couldn’t even see.
But Megan was having none of that. She skipped over and shot the billionaire a flirtatious smile.
“Hi,” she breathed. “Mr. Lyons, it’s such a pleasure to have you here this morning. Are you going to observe our practice?”
The big man took in that lithe, svelte form with neutral blue eyes.
“Sure am,” he rumbled, voice low and sexy. “I always check out the new dancers. I’m here to see the girls who just joined.”
Megan giggled, and it was a little crazy-sounding if you asked me.
“Oh that’s me!” she simpered, raising one hand. “I’m part of the new class! We started about three months ago.”
The dark man nodded, face still impassive.
“We had a couple girls join,” he rumbled, surveying the studio. “So I’m excited to see you guys perform.”
My heart began pumping. Oh my god, he was here to watch us especially? Me, Megan, Tracey and Carrie? Oh my god, oh my god, I had to do well. I absolutely had to make a good impression in front of the boss.
And at that very moment, Miss Lane clapped her hands.
“Girls, girls! Since Mr. Lyons is here to observe, let’s not keep him waiting alright? Let’s bring our newest dancers out to perform. Come on ladies!”
Heart pumping furiously, I stepped towards the center of the studio along with Megan and the others. Oh god, we were going to be dancing in front of everyone: prima ballerinas, senior staff, and most of all, him. This dark man had me so pumped, excited and trembling inside that I could barely focus. I took my place next to the others, us four girls in a line. My heart beat crazily, almost bursting from my chest.
And then the music began to play. Like all dancers, I can feel sounds in my bones, the music does something to me that’s hard to describe. It lifts me, it soothes me, and it brings me to life in a way that’s electric and yet gentle at once. As the strains of the piano began, I let it take me away.
My knees bent in a soft plié, arms raised over my head in a graceful arch. The girls next to me were doing the exact same steps, but they melted into a haze as I threw myself into the routine. Slowly, my arms came down and then I burst into a series of pirouettes, each one faster than the last, head whipping around once, twice, and then three times, always fixed on the same point across the room.
As my feet stepped and scissored, a certain person added even more vibrancy to my dance. It was Luke Lyons. Those penetrating blue eyes traveled over in every inch of my body, from my curved toes to the tips of my fingers. They scalded my soul, missing nothing, and made me reach for the heavens, and then past the heavens and to the stars themselves.
Because the alpha’s a true master. Luke knows dance better than most professionals; the billionaire’s never left the art behind even though he wears a suit most days now. His gaze ravished me, urging me higher and higher, our souls touching as I danced, prancing and pirouetting, each gesture, each move meant just for him. It was as if there were only two of us in the studio, all else melting into a haze of nothingness.
And suddenly, it was over. The music stopped with one last chord, and we four girls stood once more in a line, our feet poised in first position, breasts heaving with exertion. Applause burst out.
“Bravo! Bravo!” came the cheer of the crowd. “Well done!”
I blushed prettily, bowing my head. Oh god, had that really just happened? Had I completely lost my mind, dancing for the eyes of Luke Lyons? Had I thrown myself into the music, imbuing each movement with my heart and soul while wearing my emotions on my sleeve? Oh god, I’d probably humiliated myself in some unknown way.
Because after the applause died, I snapped out of my dream state, and the world was oddly normal. People stood in small groups chatting and laughing, while a couple dancers warmed up at the barre.
And as for Mr. Lyons, it was like he didn’t even know me. When I raised my head to steal a glance, he was turned in profile, chatting with one of the prima ballerinas, smiling at something she said. Had it been my imagination? Had the electric shocks running between us been pure illusion, nothing but a teen girl’s dreams?
Unfortunately, probably so because Luke didn’t bother to come over and talk. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge any of the junior troupe who’d just put on a show. He merely chatted with the senior dancers, touching base with Miss Lane before moving to the door, that big body massive and imposing. Oh god. My heart dropped to the floor. I really was a nobody. I thought there was a connection, but clearly that was nonsense.
Why would there be something? the voice in my head scolded. You’re an eighteen year-old newbie. You think he’s never seen one of you before? Get real. Girls come to NYC every year with hopes of making it big. You’re nothing special, Kitty.
I swallowed heavily, hanging my head. That was true - it wasn’t like I was a superstar or anything. I just happened to be the star of the day. Forget that. I was one of the stars of the day because there were four of us dancing in sync, and I’d been part of the group. So yeah, it had all been my imagination.
Swallowing heavily, slowly I changed my shoes, putting on a different pair of slippers as Miss Lane called us to order once more.
“One, two, three, one, two, three,” she chanted, leading the dancers through warm-ups as the piano plunked away. My muscles did all the motions, blood circulating normally, but my head was in the clouds. Because despite my best efforts, I couldn’t focus. Luke Lyons’s face kept reappearing in front of my eyes, distracting me from what I loved most in the world.
Kitty, came the voice in my head. You have to stop this. You can’t let a man hold you back from your dreams. You have to focus, focus, focus. You have a scholarship and it’s not going to last forever.
Right. So I pushed the distractions out of the way and danced, putting my all into the practice session.
But when we finally stopped for a break, I was never so grateful. Retreating into a corner, I grabbed my water bottle, taking a sip as Miss Lane walked over. Oh god, what was she going to say? That I’d acted really weird during this morning’s performance? That my warm-up moves were off, my body disconnected from my head? Ballet teachers don’t hesitate to chew you out, even if it’s in front of the crowd. Cowering inside, I waited for the hail of words to descend.
But instead, Miss Lane’s expression was curiously neutral, her voice detached.
“Kitty,” she murmured. “Mr. Lyons has asked to see you in his office this afternoon.”
I stared at her blankly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. Mr. Lyons has specifically requested a meeting with you. Three p.m.,” she said blandly. “I trust you know where his office is? Don’t be late.”
And with that, the woman glided away, leaving me dumbfounded. Why would the billionaire want to see me? Why would he want to talk with a girl who’d just joined his troupe not three months ago? I was nothing. I was less than a dust mite, just a shadow in the wings.
But then again, maybe he had felt it. Maybe it hadn’t been my imagination. Those blue eyes had seared my body, touching everywhere while caressing my belly, my nipples, and that sweet space between my thighs. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Lyons had felt the magic … and suddenly, I couldn’t wait to find out.
To be continued …
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