The Billionaire's Ballet: A Contemporary Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance (Friends with Benefits) (6 page)

“Yep,” I said. “And I’m buying.”

We scooted between the boxes of decorations and headed out into the sweltering San Antonio summer afternoon. But I was on alert now. Mom had it tough enough. I wasn’t going to let some billionaire’s snotty daughter make her life any harder than it already was.

Chapter 8

Even if Pearl hadn’t announced the upcoming party, I would have known about it the next day. The bustle on the estate increased tenfold. The landscapers unloaded equipment to spruce up the grounds. And new patio furniture arrived and cushions were replaced.

The exterior windows were cleaned and the circle drive power-washed.

These were always the services that came out in the days leading up to one of the big events.

Mother spent a lot of the day sleeping, so I wandered the grounds in distinctly non–New York clothing, digging cutoff shorts and tank tops from the dregs of my closet. They fit differently now. I was leaner and more muscled, yet my hips were wider. I looked like something from a Jessica Simpson music video. But why not? Nobody saw me anyway.

I took long walks. Despite my vow not to sit on the wall, I sometimes did, lying on my back, watching the workers make an already-perfect-looking lawn even more perfect. I laughed out loud when I spotted a man spraying a brown spot in the corner with green paint. How ridiculous!

I told myself I wasn’t watching for Quinn, justifying my watchdog position because I wanted to find Bennett. I needed to thank him for looking after Mother. She would be in a real lurch if he hadn’t been kind enough to keep her on. Even taking ballroom lessons himself.

I admitted my heart warmed at the thought of it, and wondered if he was any good at dance.

But Bennett was seriously scarce. I hadn’t seen him come in last night, and he must have left so early this morning that he beat my sunrise run.

I shifted to lie on my side on the wall. Being up here felt comfortable and familiar. Maybe I was wrong to think I should even try to belong inside the estate. Very few people lived a lifestyle like the Claremonts and most were perfectly happy without it.

And truthfully, I wasn’t sure how happy the people
inside
the wall were. Pearl definitely looked miserable.

Quinn came out to the back patio, and I sat up straight, then realized he might see me and collapsed back down on the wall.

He wore tennis gear and held a racket zipped up in a case. The courts were inside the wall, off in the far left corner from the French doors, beyond the pools and gardens. He headed that direction. He had a little bounce in his step, as though everything was going his way. Despite everything, my heart squeezed.

About that time, the back gate opened and a young woman with a black ponytail hurried across the lawn. She also carried a racket and wore a sunny yellow tennis skirt and tight white shirt.

This must be the tennis pro.

I watched her smooth her skirt and adjust her visor before calling out to Quinn. She seemed to have more on her mind than practice. And why wouldn’t she? It wasn’t every day you got called to live on an estate and train a hunky charming billionaire.

He turned around and smiled at her, hand uplifted in greeting. My stomach dipped as it always had when I watched Quinn with the dozens of women he’d entertained inside the walls. It was seriously silly that I had even imagined that he’d seemed interested during the ride yesterday.

Although he
had
ridden out to find me. In shorts.

Still, the proof was there. Quinn waited while the girl caught up with him. Then he draped his arm around her shoulders.

That didn’t look too professional.

Plus, he was throwing a
party
for her. And no small one, by the looks of it.

She gazed up at him with the usual
oh-how-I-adore-you
look, and I had to stop torturing myself. I lay on my back, eyes on the branches overhead. Eventually I started hearing the distant pong-plink of the ball on the court.

God, I was so stupid.

And now I couldn’t leave. Not with Mom so sick. I would just have to tough out the month. Maybe we could find something else for Mom to do. Choreography. Or studio management. Something that wouldn’t tax her.

Except it was easy for her here. And she had people looking after her.

Damn.

A car door slammed. I couldn’t see the front drive from back here, so I stood up and walked along the top of the wall to the corner, holding on to tree branches as I went.

Bennett had pulled up to the circle and was heading for the front door. I could catch him if I hurried.

I couldn’t wait to call out or I’d miss him, so I shouted, “Bennett!” right as I leaped from the wall, over the hedge, and onto the walkway.

His step faltered as he saw me fly through the air.

“Wow,” he said when I was close enough to hear. “You’re like a bird.”

I laughed. “When you have the equivalent of a drill sergeant shouting at you to defy gravity in a tutu, you get good at it.”

He paused by the door, a leather briefcase slung over his shoulder by a long strap. Behind him, one of the staff members drove Bennett’s car to the detached garage.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I said. “About Mom.”

He turned to me then. “Is she all right?”

My gaze dropped to his perfectly shined Italian leather shoes. I saw a lot of shoes like that at fund-raisers for the ballet. “She said you know about her cancer.”

“Yes. Her treatments seem to be going well.” He took a step closer, which had the intended effect. I looked up at him.

His face was etched with concern. A breeze ruffled the brown hair that was a couple shades darker than his brother’s. He wasn’t hunky gorgeous like Quinn. But handsome in a distinguished way.

“Do you intend to keep her here, even though Pearl refuses lessons?”

He exhaled in a rush, as if thinking about his youngest sister was a great trial. “Pearl could use some grace and beauty, but she’s off the rails. I don’t even know how to pull her back.”

“She’ll be eighteen before too long anyway.”

“And come into a lot of money,” Bennett said. “That’s never good.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. I scrambled to pay for my crowded apartment. Thankfully we were given outfits to wear to big events or I’d look like the pauper I was.

Bennett nodded in understanding. “Well, your mother has her place here. She teaches yoga to the staff. I’ve switched her employee budget to our health plan.”

“Very practical of you,” I said. I hadn’t intended any sarcasm, but my tone must have conveyed it, because Bennett stiffened.

He turned back to the door. His tone was harsh when he said, “Don’t worry about Danika. She’s like a part of our family now.” The moment he was sufficiently close to the door, it opened and Adams stepped aside to let him in.

I wanted to say, “And I’m not,” but I had done enough damage already.

Adams nodded at me as he closed the door.

Uggh. Disgust blasted through me as I trudged around the wall back to the guesthouses. They could stay in their stupid estate. Nothing but bitterness and gloom there anyway.

But I felt a niggle of guilt. I had my own preconceived ideas about the Claremonts. And Bennett’s treatment of my mother was proving me wrong.

Chapter 9

By the day of the party, the estate was insane. Despite the early hour, I passed a half-dozen trucks as I left the stable to head to Mother’s house. They were parked haphazardly between the barn and the back gate, florists and caterers and decorators.

The boxes disappeared from the studio. I had peeked inside, unable to help myself, wanting to know what Quinn ordered for his perky little instructor. I half expected tacky tennis ball centerpieces.

But tucked inside sparkly tissue paper were endless strings of beautiful fairy lights. I’d actually gone to the trouble to open one and plug it in. They twinkled softly in slow random pulses, like fireflies. I half wanted to steal one away for my room in New York.

It was going to be a beautiful night. A storm had blown the worst of the heat away yesterday, and we were enjoying a lull in the blistering summer weather. I took Jezebelle out each morning after Bennett was gone but before Quinn bothered to stir. Otherwise I kept to the studio and Mother’s house, with occasional jaunts to downtown and Market Square.

The door squeaked as I entered the house, and I paused, hoping not to wake Mom too early. I couldn’t hear anything, so I chucked my boots by the door and headed to the kitchen for the kale smoothies we’d made the night before.

I drank one with my nose wrinkled. But I had to counteract our cheese enchilada splurges or else I wouldn’t fit in any of the costumes already being prepared for me for the next season.
La Traviata
in ballet looked to be challenging and different. I watched other ballet companies’ interpretations of the opera while Mom slept in the afternoons, when the heat was unbearable.

In fact, I should probably get into the dance studio for an early workout. Riding a horse did engage my core and thighs, but I had a lot more muscles that needed attention. I was accustomed to working out and rehearsing eight to ten hours a day.

I pondered showering off the horse smell before going to the studio or just letting the sweat build up. I settled on a quick rinse-off and headed out in a pale pink leotard with only the wispiest hint of a skirt. I tucked my toe shoes under my arm and ran lightly across the suffering grass, brown tipped and dry. Unlike its sister lawn inside the wall, where sprinklers kept everything lush and green through the heat, this grass was withering beneath the unrelenting sun.

I refused to draw any conclusions about my own life from this and insisted on holding on to the light feeling I often had in the mornings, particularly after a ride. I leaped over a low wall that bordered the path from the back gate to the dance studio.

No one had gifted me with keys to any of the buildings, but the studio had an entrance code, and I bent to tap that in. The door popped open with a satisfying click.

I breathed in the smell of the space. Floor polish. Window cleaner that kept the mirrors bright and shiny. Just a hint of a musty smell from the stacked mats. It had all changed so little from my childhood.

I kicked off the Crocs I was wearing over my ballet slippers and dropped the toe shoes on the floor. Instead of loading up any of my mother’s classical CDs, I plugged in my phone and queued up some Nine Inch Nails. I wanted something edgy and dark as I warmed up.

The last ballet and the next one were both classics, but a recent production with my company had been a modern one set to a throbbing soundtrack. I had auditioned for a soloist position, and my ability to match the intensity of the music with less traditional movements was probably what got me a spot.

After twenty minutes at the barre, I began to do leaps to get warm. The room around me blurred and fell away entirely as I focused on the dance. I had not had the opportunity to join the most prestigious dance companies, as they had their own schools where you began your lessons as early as age six.

But I was trained well, and there were other opportunities for dancers if you were willing to take chances. My troupe was new but well funded, so far. I was learning a lot. It was a good fit for me since I had divorced myself from the ambitions of other ballerinas. I was okay with coasting.

“Came Back Haunted” came on and this was a perfect song for spins. I twisted and turned, feeling the rush of air against my face. I was the wind, a turbulent cyclone. Everything disappeared into my vortex. My mother’s head scarves. Quinn and his tennis pro. Bennett’s closed front door. Pearl’s sneer. The cars. The grass. The wall. The wall. The wall.

The song ended. The playlist was over, so silence fell. I breathed rapidly, sucking air into my lungs. I had pushed hard.

Then I heard a sound. A clap. Then another. A series of them.

I turned to the door.

Quinn stood there, perfect in pressed khaki shorts and a crisp white shirt. He held a bouquet of flowers as wide around as a drum. His arms pinned them against his chest to free his hands to clap.

Now my chest was so tight, I couldn’t breathe at all. I wanted to ask how long he had been there, how much he had seen, but I couldn’t get in enough air to speak.

“Stunning,” he said. “Just breathtaking.”

My face flushed at the compliment. I’d heard these things a thousand times over from strangers, patrons, fans. But not Quinn.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to New York to see you,” Quinn said. “Clearly I’ve missed out on something wonderful. I will remedy that.”

My chest relaxed just enough to let me take in a normal breath. “Thank you,” I said.

He came forward and extended the flowers. “These were always for you, but after that dance, they seem inadequate.”

I couldn’t imagine a bouquet this size being inadequate for anything. There must have been one hundred blooms in the bunch, tied together with multiple strings and wrapped in tissue and ribbon.

“They are beautiful,” I said.

“They pale next to you,” Quinn said. He was super close now. His shirt brushed the flowers, which I held to my chest.

We were separated only by a bouquet.

The scent of the blooms filled the space between us, fresh and sharp and achingly sweet.

“Why did you come with flowers?” I asked.

“I wanted to set some things right,” he said. “The way I didn’t write you. How I greeted you in front of the house when you arrived. And whatever I did wrong on our ride. I know I fumbled something. I’ll probably do that a lot.” His eyes were earnest, hazel and intense. He reached out a hand and lightly grazed my bare arm just below the shoulder.

Everything inside me blazed. It all mixed together. The dance, the dizziness, the intoxicating smell of flowers, and the man I’d always loved.

I had stared at those lips of his a thousand times over, since I was old enough to know about kisses and that I wanted him to do it. And I stared now, only moving back to his eyes when he shifted even closer, almost crushing the bouquet.

“Quinn, I—”