Page 158 of Dance of Devils

37

BROOKLYN

“Wait, what?”

“A ball,” Kir says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to go to a black-tie formal event—on a fuckingWednesday, none the less.

“It’s a fundraiser for…” He frowns, trying to remember. “HIV research.” He frowns again. “No, that’s later this year. This one might be…dolphins?”

I cock my head to the side, shaking it in amazement. “Are you really invited to so manyballsthat you lose track which is which?”

“It’s possible.”

“And you wantmeto go with you tonight?”

He frowns. “Why not?”

I feel my cheeks heat. “I dunno…because I’m not aballtype of girl?”

“And why isthat?” he smirks, adjusting his jacket cuffs. It’s freaking eight in the morning, and the man is already in a suit, looking likesin.

Meanwhile I’m in pj's and a loose ponytail, looking like I just got dragged kicking and screaming out of bed.

“Be…cause?” I shrug.

“Exactly how many balls have you been to, babygirl,” he murmurs.

“None!” I blurt. “That's exactly my point!”

“What would have happened if you’d decided never to try ballet simply because you’d never done it before?”

“Shitty example,” I sigh. “I was fuckingterribleat ballet when I first started.”

“Language,” he growls.

…There’s a chance I deliberately inject swearing into my speech now just to hear him say that.

“But you got better.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, afteryears. But I was terrible the first time, same as I’d suck at going to a ball. Besides,” I shrug, looking down into my coffee again. “I thought we were…you know…”

Kir lifts a brow. “What.”

I sigh. “A secret. I mean…” I trail off, frowning. “Look,Idon’t care about it?—”

“It,” he says with a small smile. “Riddles aren’t exactly my strong suit in the morning?—”

“The age difference!” I blurt. “It doesn’t botherme?—”

“I’mterriblyglad to hear that,” he says dryly.

I giggle, poking his firm stomach. “And it doesn’t bother me what other people would think. Except…”

“…When it comes to work,” he growls, finishing my thought.

I nod glumly. “You know what they’d say. Well, whatsome peoplemight say. I’mme, you’re the super-hot, powerful owner of the ballet company I dance for.” I frown. “They’d say I was sleeping with you to boost my career or whatever.”

He lifts a shoulder. “And then there’s what they’d say aboutme: that I’m merely sleeping with the hot, young,extremelytalented dancer as an ego boost or as part of a midlife crisis.”