Page 13 of Dancing on Air

He chuckled and helped her stand up. “It’s okay.” His cell phone rang. “See you around, Cora,” he said before heading back down the hallway as he answered his mother’s call.

“Wyatt, darling. Are you done for the day?” his mother purred into the phone.

He glanced over his shoulder at Cora, who was watching him, and answered, “Sure.”

“Good, then you can make it for dinner and tell me all about this year’s prospects,” his mother replied.

At one point, her mother had filled Julie King’s office. Before that, she’d been the one in the spotlight. However, shortly after he’d been born, she’d stopped dancing and had started choreographing along with his father, who had also retired from the stage.

Max came from a very long line of dancers. Six generations of them. The fact that he hadn’t taken center stage in five years was a huge disappointment to both of his parents. They believed he still had several years to be in the spotlight instead of behind the curtain.

But he needed to follow his heart. What he was working on now would be proof that he was on the right track. But he still had so much to do before it was ready.

“Not tonight,” he answered his mother quickly.

“Your father and I won’t take no for an answer. It’s been over a week since we’ve seen you. We have a few… details to go over.”

He held in a groan, knowing that there was no way to get around his parents when they set their minds to something. If he went, it would be another week before they called him again and he needed the time to himself.

“Eight?” he said suddenly.

“Seven thirty,” his mother countered. “Wear a tie,” she said before hanging up.

At a quarter to eight that evening, he walked into his parents’ brownstone home, minus the tie. The bouquet of flowers in his hands would have to make up for his lack of formality.

When he saw the young blonde woman sitting across from his parents in their living room, however, he wished he’d skipped the flowers.

“Evening,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Oh, there he is now.” His mother stood up and walked over to air-kiss each of his cheeks.

Elizabeth Sharpe was still a beauty and as graceful as she’d ever been, even though her face was now filled with age lines. She topped out at only five-foot-five, yet somehow always got the respect she demanded from everyone in the room.

Max’s father didn’t even move to stand up, so Max walked over and shook his father’s hand.

Gerald Sharpe was as sleek as ever. He reminded Max of a classic male actor from the black-and-white movies that always played on television. Minus the cigarette or cigar hanging from his mouth, his father could have easily been a heartthrob back in the day.

His mother took the flowers from him and buried her face in the petals.

“Lovely,” she said, glancing over towards the blonde. “Oh, Wyatt, you remember Chloe Kincaid?”

“Sure,” he said easily as he walked over and poured himself a drink at his parents’ bar area. “How is Paris?” he asked Chloe, remembering that she’d moved there a little over a year ago.

“It’s simply wonderful. Although I’ve missed home terribly. I’ve decided to return to the city,” Chloe said with a smile. Her eyes ran over him, and he saw the attraction in them.

He didn’t have time. Nor did he care to have a fling with a spoiled brat, as he remembered Chloe being. It was the main reason she’d been kicked out of the BAC in the first place. All the tantrums she’d thrown. Shattering a few mirrors.

Now, it appeared that she couldn’t cut it in Paris. Chloe was a moderately good dancer at best who had used her family wealth to get her into some of the top dance schools and shows. She was never a lead because no one was that desperate for her parents’ money. If the show bombed because the lead dancer couldn’t hold her own or threw tantrums, her parents’ donations wouldn’t cover the losses of their damaged reputation.

He sat next to his father and took a large sip of the amber liquid he’d just poured himself, knowing he’d need it to get through the night.

By the time their salad was served by his parents’ kitchen staff, his headache was in full bloom. The base of his skull felt like it was on fire. His parents tended to do that to him. Add in the additional constant complaints from Chloe, and he was sure his head was going to explode soon.

It took all his willpower to remain seated through the entire meal.

The woman was obviously flirting with him and, from the sounds of it, his parents were on board with the match.

They even tried several times to get him to include her in his plans. They knew he was writing a ballet. His first. After all, he’d requested the family company back him when it was ready. His parents had yet to commit to anything.