Page 76 of The Lies Between Lovers

Feliks shoved the drawer closed when he couldn’t find what he wanted in that one, and moved on to yet another one. Like when she first entered the space, he didn’t give her his attention beyond a muttered, “Yes, kind of.”

Oh, well.

If only Vera cared at this point.

She did care right up until the moment she entered The Swan House that morning to let Feliks know she wouldn’t be able to teach her class—her infection wasn’t any better, and she’d settled on the fact she needed to see the doctor—but first she went to the studio. Only to drop off a duffel bag of extra things she might need when she did get back to work, except there wasn’t a studio to go to.

Well, there was.

It was just destroyed.

“I’ll kill her,” he said under his breath, still digging in the drawer and flipping through files.

“I thought you said they were fixing the water leak downstairs,” she said, not even bothering to hide the thinly veiled accusation in her tone.

An almost sardonic laugh that came back from Feliks had Vera stiffening on the spot. He sounded like her question was ridiculous and not like he’d spent several weeks lying to her about the current state of the studio downstairs and why she wasn’t needed at work. There had been something heavy that settled deep in her stomach when she found the studio doors still barricaded with caution tape that was half ripped off. Not that she paid the tape any mind before going beyond the doors to see why it was still hanging in the first place.

Oh, she certainly learned why.

The entire studio stunk like musty water the second she shoved open the doors. There had been a water leak—that much had been clear by the buckets she found catching what drips remained falling from a pipe in the ceiling. A good portion of the wall where the pipe came down had been ripped open to expose the water lines. Without a single light on in the studio—the switches hadn’t worked for her when she had tried—she still had full view and understanding of the damage.

And the fact that Feliks lied.

“I asked you a question! You could at least answer me.”

It was only her raised voice that finally seemed to drag Feliks away from searching his row of cabinets on the far wall of his office. She’d noticed when she first came in that the space looked different—the gray filing cabinets had been replaced for sleek, tall black ones that appeared to conserve more space than the others had. The center carpet had been replaced with another she didn’t recognize, and even his desk was reorganized so the things on top weren’t in the same place they used to be.

Placing both of his hands on the open drawer, Feliks’ head fell lower than his shoulders. He shook his head back and forth, and another low laugh started to echo from the man. The longer he laughed, the angrier Vera became at his behavior. Not that it was anything new for Feliks.

“What is funny?” she snapped.

Feliks swung around on her, then. “A little early, aren’t you? You’re not scheduled to come in until this afternoon.”

Vera’s brow raised. “What does that matter?”

This was her goddamn place of work, even if she had given him a deadline for the end of her employment. It wasn’t unusual for Vera to hang around the ballet house—well, before.

“Well, you’d think if you were coming to my office to make a scene,” Feliks muttered, “then you might give a guy a heads up first. I don’t know, a phone call?”

“Why because you’re so busy?” she returned, gesturing at the empty office. She hoped her sarcasm landed like a slap to his face.

Actually, the entire place felt the same way his office did. Lonely, cold, and without any real soul. She hadn’t seen anyone except the one girl running the reception desk at the entrance. There was always a ballerina or two around—instructors getting something prepared or chatting in the corridors.

Someone.

But she saw practically no one.

“When is the studio going to be fixed?” Vera asked. “Has someone called the parents and guardians of the kids to—”

“When I get around to it.”

Vera blinked at that reply. “You told me it was being fixed! That it would be done by today. The walls and ceiling are practically rotted out, Feliks. How long has it been down there dripping like that?”

There hadn’t even been industrial fans in the studio to try and keep the hardwood floors dry. No doubt, that would just add more cost to the repairs at the end of the day.

Feliks scrubbed a palm down his jaw, but she could see the tension in his arm muscles at the action. All the way up to his elbows where he’d rolled the sleeves of his silk button-down shirt, his arm clenched and trembled.

“You’re fired,” he uttered.