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At first, I deny they did, but she raises a dark, perfectly arched brow. I huff a laugh. “I know I shouldn’t, but I have… issues.”
“Sweetheart, we all do, but that doesn’t mean you should let them talk about you like that. You should go in there and tell them to kiss your ass,” she says as she lifts her bag a little higher on her shoulder.
“I want to, but I freeze. The thought of confrontation makes me physically sick. I-uh… I have avoidant personality disorder and chronic anxiety.” I slap my hand over my mouth as my eyes bug. I’ve never said it out loud to anyone, yet it just spilled from my lips to this girl I barely know.
“And no filter, it seems,” she giggles.
I press my palms to my heated cheeks. “Usually, I’m a vault. I didn’t mean to just say all of that.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have one at all which I’m sure you heard.”
“H-how do you know the guy she’s talking about bankrupted her dad?”
“I overheard her say the other day.” Her eyes soften along with her smile. “We should grab coffee sometime.”
“Oh no. You don’t have to do that.” My hand flips through the air, trying to seem casual. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people you’d rather spend your time with.”
Her hazel eyes trace my face. The scrutinizing gaze makes me shift from foot to foot. “Of course, I don’t have to. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. So, it’s settled. We will get coffee, make small talk, and become great friends.”
And suddenly I realize I would like that. I love Lily and Ashleigh,but it would be nice to have someone to talk to who understands my passion. “That would be nice,” I admit. “I don’t have a lot of friends.”
A long, slender finger taps against her chin as she clucks her tongue, and her hazel eyes narrow on me. “No. That’s not true. You’re just the type of person who has no clue how many people love her.”
Okay. Shereallydoesn’t have a filter. Maybe she’s Lily’s long-lost twin. “I hope we can become friends,” I concede.
Her lips pull back, revealing an insanely gorgeous smile. “Sleepovers and everything before you know it.”
“Who’s sleeping over where?” His deep voice penetrates through to my bones, and an involuntary shudder rips through me.
Poppy’s eyes snap up, turning to saucers when she sees the man behind me. Her mouth unhinges for a moment before she looks back at me. “This-uh… This the rumored stepbrother?” She mock whispers from the corner of her mouth. “Is he like six-four or five, medium brown hair, dark brown eyes, and wears a Versace suit that was probably sewn directly to his body?” I jerk my head once. “Then fuck those messy bitches, because, girl, I’d climb him like a fucking tree.”
“What messy bitches?” he rumbles, his voice deep and warning, as if he’s preparing to go to war.
And I remember everything they said. Hurt, anger, and a multitude of other emotions that aren’t rational or logical clench my heart like a vice. I spin to face him. “Did you buy this place? Is it yours?”
“Thought you weren’t confrontational,” Poppy snickers behind me, but I ignore her, giving all my attention to the man in front of me.
He tilts his head while shoving his hands into his pockets androcking on his Tom Ford loafers. “Yes,” so casually leaves his mouth as if doesn’t change everything for me.
All of Miss Dumond’s praise and encouragement meant nothing. She just didn’t want to bite the hand that fed her.
I always said—knew—I wasn’t good enough, but for a minute I let myself believe it. I let myself get lost in the high of the music video. The job I only got because of Graham.
God, how arrogant of me.
With a jerky nod, I shoulder past him. My head stays high as I take long strides through the short hallway, refusing to let anyone see me break, even if all I want to do is crawl into the earth and die from shame and embarrassment.
I hear my name called, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Getting out of here—back to the sanctuary of my apartment where I can curl into a ball is my only goal.
The bellowing gets louder. Angier. And closer.
When I reach the lobby, I’m spun by my elbow. His fierce gaze locks on mine. Fury, fear, and frustration war in the dark depths. “Why the hell are you upset?”
Again, illogical. But how can he not understand why I would be angry to find out he owns the dance studio? That I’m only here because he bought my way in. He claims to know me so well, but why doesn’t he understand this?
Graham’s hand comes up as if to brush away my tears, but I step back, not wanting him to touch me. If he touches me, I’ll crack.
But it only makes his jaw clench tightly. The thin cord of his restraint is taut. “Don’t do that.” His warning is low, for my ears only, but the way it rips through my body is visceral. “Do not pull away from me.”
