Page 90 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

Then I look at my messages from Ariana, and I make a choice. I start texting Yasmin.

ME: On my way to an off-site meeting

ME: Hold all calls

ME: And maybe hide the crystals

22

DANCING WITH DISASTER (AND OTHER PR NIGHTMARES)

ARIANA

Seven o'clock finds me in Madame Rousseau's studio, going through the waltz steps alone while I wait for Connor. The late April rain creates ever-shifting patterns on the hardwood floor, like even the weather is practicing its choreography.

Like everything in my life lately, the simple move-step-glide that once felt impossible now comes naturally. Four weeks of lessons have changed more than just my footwork.

They've changed everything.

"Your frame is perfect."

I catch Connor's reflection in the mirror as he enters, suit jacket already off, sleeves rolled up in that way that makes it hard to concentrate.

"Liar." But I'm fighting a smile. "Pretty sure Madame would say I'm still too tense."

"Madame says everyone is too tense." He moves closer, and my pulse does a slow roll. “You have come a very long way from 'caffeinated penguin,’ to be fair.”

"One time. She called me that one time."

"Three times, actually." His hands settle on my waist, turning me to face him. “Personally, I found it charming."

"You found my complete lack of grace charming?"

"I found your determination charming." His thumb traces circles on my hip. "Still do."

I should step back. Should remember why I asked him here. Should definitely not be noticing how good he smells or how his eyes darken when I sway closer.

"Connor..."

"Dance with me?"

I hesitate. "We should talk."

"After." He pulls me into frame. "One dance first."

And because I'm weak—because I want these last few moments before I ruin everything—I let him lead me into the waltz.

We move together like we've been doing this forever, like our bodies know a truth our minds haven't caught up to yet. His hand is warm on my back, his steps sure, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You're over-thinking right now,” he murmurs.

"So are you."

"What gave me away?"

"That little crease." I touch the spot between his brows. "The one that shows up when you're trying to solve a problem."

His smile is soft. "Maybe you're my favorite problem."

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