Page 13 of Barre Fight
She raised her head to meet his eyes. He was still glowering at her, but she forced herself to speak. To keep moving forward. “It’s not. So you don’t need to worry about me writing anything hurtful anymore. Now my job is here, and it’s to help you and the company.”
His frown deepened. “I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Fine, I don’twantyour help. This will all blow over on its own.”
Ivy wanted to scream. Maybe freelance journalism wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe she should try it for a few months. Or maybe she could call a temp agency. Or get a job scraping bird shit off the Harbour Bridge.
Justin turned away from her and took a few steps towards the door of the locker room, and Ivy moved without thinking. She scurried forward, ducked around him, and threw her back against the door, blocking his escape route.
He looked down at her, and for a moment his eyes went wide with surprise. Then they narrowed with dislike and distrust again. She was becoming awfully familiar with that expression. Something told her that by the time the company took off for New York, she’d be able to sketch it from memory.
“It’ll blow over a lot faster if we actually do something about it. So I don’t care if you don’t want my help. You have it. I suggest you take it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He breathed out hard through his nose, and took a step towards her, like he wanted to push the door open and let her topple backwards, but she refused to let him intimidate her. She would not fail at this job. He didn’t have to like her for her to do it well.
“I don’t forgive you for that review,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
“I’m getting that sense,” she said. She lifted her chin, hoping that despite her inferior height, she looked as stubborn and determined as he did.
“And I don’t forgive you for posting that video.”
“I picked up on that, too.”
“And I don’t want to work with you,” Justin said, raising a hand and placing it on the door. He didn’t push it open, but his body crowded hers, close enough that she could smell the blend of his spicy, woodsy deodorant and the sweat it hadn’t prevented.
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear. But do you want to go to New York or not?”
For a moment, he said nothing. He stared down at her, jaw clenched. “I want to go wherever you aren’t, and right now, that’s the men’s locker room. Unless you plan on following me in there as well.” He raised his eyebrows, as if daring her to do it.
Something about that look snapped what was left of her frayed self-control. Justin Winters didn’t like her, fine. He didn’t forgive her,fine. But he wasn’t going to ruin this for her. And if he thought she was going to back down just because he was angry and stubborn and stupid enough to risk his own career just so he could ruin hers, he had sorely misjudged her.
“Do you want to go to New York or not?” she repeated. “Because if you do, you need to work with me. You don’t have to forgive me and you don’t have to like me, but you won’t stop me from doing my job. So I can do my job the easy way, or I can do it the hard way. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have no choice but to follow you everywhere. I will be in every class and at every rehearsal, I will shadow you in every physio session and on every coffee break. And yes, if I have to, I will follow you into the locker room. Otherwise, you’re going to be off the tour, and I’m going to be out of a job.”
Justin licked his lips, then shifted his weight backwards to put a few more inches of space between them. He dropped his arm gracefully to his side, then put his hand on his hip and surveyed her. Thoughtfully, she hoped. As if realizing that she meant business, and there was no point resisting her. She stood up a bit straighter against the door. Had that little speech… worked? Had she convinced him?
Justin smiled for the first time since he’d entered Peter’s office earlier that morning. It was a roguish, mischievous smile, made all the more charming by the crinkles around his eyes and the dimple in his right cheek. Ivy had seen that smile from herpress seat at the Opera House, of course, but up close it was something else entirely. She blinked a few times, and felt her cheeks go warm.
“The easy way or the hard way, huh?” Justin asked. He tilted his head to the side, like he was weighing his options, like he was getting ready to give in.
Ivy swallowed, then nodded, hoping she looked confident and gracious in victory. “Those are your choices.”
Justin’s smile suddenly dropped. The dimples vanished, the mischief evaporated, and his gaze went hard again. “Well then, I choose the hard way.”
And then he shouldered past her and pushed the door open, leaving her to almost topple over into the hallway.
Ivy stared as he disappeared through the swinging door, standing rooted to the spot as it settled closed. The man was impossible. He seemed determined to hate her no matter what she said or did. Didn’t he realize that she was trying to help him? Did he really think he could magically make this media storm blow over, or change the narrative without her help? Ivy gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t shout any of this at the door he’d slammed in her face. She couldn’t lose her cool like that at work.
But she couldn’t let him thwart her like this, either. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it whether he liked it or not. Even if she had to do it the hard way.
Chapter Three
Justin had to give Ivy credit. She’d threatened to follow him everywhere, and she was making good on that threat. When he arrived for company class on Wednesday morning, there she was, perched on a chair at the front of the room, a pen in her hand and a notepad on her lap. She looked up and smiled as he entered the studio, her eyes a little puffy behind her glasses, but her expression one of stubborn cheerfulness.
Justin replied with a scowl and walked past her, choosing a spot at the barre along the back wall, as far away from her as he could get. He preferred to dance closer to the front of the room. In fact, he’d been taking barre up there for years, because the sightlines to the mirror were better, and it was closer to the door, which meant more of a breeze in the heat of summer—but he’d suffer a little if it meant being far away from Ivy.
Class began, and Justin steadfastly kept his eyes off Ivy. He had enough to concentrate on: Peter’s barres were notoriously difficult on a good day, and with the tour just a few weeks away, he was upping the ante to make sure that the company was as fit and as technically strong as possible. He could feel Ivy watchinghim, though. Every so often she would jot something down on her notepad or uncross and recross her legs and pull the snug fabric of her dress down over her knees, and Justin couldn’t help but flick his eyes towards her.
