Page 21 of Kissing the Debutant
She flipped him off as she turned the key in the ignition. “Well, you don’t need this Lillian. You’ll find someone else. Someone who isn’t me.”
But that was the problem. He didn’t want anyone else. Lillian was perfect for the role he had in mind.
He didn’t have much, but he had a best friend and a family he’d do anything for. They were short on money but never short on the things that were worth so much more. In his video, he would be joy, happiness, love.
And Lillian… Maybe anger didn’t fit her. That wasn’t right. He saw something else in her, something sad.
If he convinced her to say yes, she would embody desperation.
7
Lillian
Her mother really was going to kill her this time. Lillian willed the Uber driver to pick up the pace, despite the rain coming down in a torrent. Her last class of the day ran late, and her Uber driver was held up at the security gate.
Lillian was supposed to meet with the new choreographer her mother had hired, and she’d wanted to get to the studio early enough to warm up first. Now she was barely going to make it on time.
“Finally made it.” The driver flashed her a smile in the rearview mirror. “Next time I’ll know how to handle security at that fancy school of yours.”
“Thanks,” Lillian muttered as she stepped onto the curb outside the Twin Rivers studio on Main Street. She grabbed her bag and slammed the car door, darting into the deluge and ducking under the leaky awning in front of the studio. They were closed to the public on Wednesdays, but she and a few other advanced students were allowed to come in for practice. Lillian wiped the rain streaming into her eyes and banged on the front door.
“Come in, come in, don’t drown out there!” Katrina held the door open for her. “I was just heading out, but it looks like I’m going to have to swim to my car.” Katrina ducked into the downpour with a wave over her shoulder.
“Good luck!” Lillian called behind her, shaking the rain from her hair. The front studio was dark and quiet. She still had time to prepare herself for what was coming. She had no idea who her mother had hired, but she was certain whoever it was would be just like having her mother for a coach. Someone old school who wouldn’t let her step a toe away from her classical training.
Lillian looked down at the puddle forming around her feet and went in search of a towel. The last thing she needed was to look like a drowned rat when the choreographer showed up.
She grabbed a stack of hand towels from the hall closet and rushed in the bathroom to shed her wet school clothes. She emerged a moment later, dressed in a black leotard and white tights with her favorite, well-worn ballet slippers on her feet.
As Lillian towel dried her hair, the sound of music reached her ears from one of the studios down the hall. It wasn’t often she heard contemporary music in a ballet studio. More often than not, the Swan Lake soundtrack played on a loop here. This music was definitely not Swan Lake, and it was way too loud. Marching down the hall, she was about to tell them off when she caught sight of Jack.
Jack dancing.
With his shirt off.
Jack dancingwellwith his shirt off. His ever-present steam mop stood propped in the corner.
Lillian took a step back into the shadows to watch. He moved with the kind of elegant grace that couldn’t be taught. Who knew the janitor was a better dancer than half the students who came here to learn?
He was brilliant. With so much raw talent. Untrained for sure, but he made up for it with his creativity. She’d never seen anyone dance like him with so much joy. He’d created his own style with subtle influences of ballet, hip-hop and even a hint of jazz. She could watch him all night.
“Hello?” An irritable knock sounded at the front desk.
Lillian quickly swept her damp hair up into a perfect bun and went to meet her new teacher. Ducking through the curtain, her shoulders fell when she saw the man leaning against the counter.
“Claude Mallery.” The thin balding French man held his hand out, gazing around the studio with disdain. “My reputation precedes me, I am sure. You are Lillian Preston, yes?” He eyed her from head to toe.
“Yes.” Lillian stood straight with her feet turned out. Her body responded to the situation with muscle memory, despite the churning nerves swarming in her stomach.
Claude’s reputation did indeed precede him. He was one of the best private choreographers in the country, and he was in high demand. She should be honored someone like him wanted to teach her, but his methods were strict and a concern to much of the industry. He was known for teaching only the most talented students, but those students often suffered under his tutelage. Did her mother really think she needed such an extreme disciplinarian?
“Your mother wants you ready to compete by the end of the year.” He began to pace in front of the desk.
“My competition is in a few weeks,” Lillian said in a small voice. “But it’s—" She flinched when Claude’s fist slammed against the counter.
“It is a waste of your time. Your mother wants all new choreography for you to compete for your place among the best companies. Of course, your audition for the American Ballet Company is set, but we will schedule auditions for the Royal Ballet in London and the New York City Ballet among several others. Your auditions are the competitions you should be focused on. Not this Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts nonsense.”
“I know, but—"
