Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I turn toward him. “So the students who apply for this academy, they’re all advanced?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “Typically, these kids are homeschooled. The arts are their life, some might say job. They spend five to eight hours a day in a studio for years, hoping to get into schools like this one.” He motions to the DeLuca Elite Dance Academy trophy case, set up just off to the side of the stage.
A small frown forms before I can stop it, and his eyes narrow curiously.
“What is it?” he wonders, whirling the liquid in his glass and taking a small sniff.
“I…well, I guess I just assumed they were applying for scholarships so they could be afforded the opportunity to be classically trained.”
He stares off to the side a moment, considering and coming to the correct conclusion. “Because we’re raising money for scholarships.”
I nod but quickly rush out, “I’m not saying everyone who is raised that way, where their days work the way you mentioned, can automatically afford a prestigious school, which I assume this is.”
“I understand, and to be fair, I would say most of these families can afford the school’s tuition. The students are, admittedly, children of busy, working parents, retired professionals, or just wealthy families all around. A good 20 percent are probably even clients of ours.” He’s thoughtful for a moment before facing me, a small smile on his face. “I bet you would have some great ideas that could really help expand the reach your grandfather has.”
I withdraw a bit, the idea that Grant’s company could possibly benefit from what I could potentially offer always one that makes me nervous. Mostly because I’m just not so sure that’s true. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” he says, so certain that I can’t help but look his way. His smile is soft as he says, “You bring something new and different to the table that R.L. doesn’t have, Paige.”
I smile at my lap. “I appreciate that, but I’d be lying if I said I agreed.”
Prescott smiles softly before glancing over my shoulder, then down at his shiny watch. “Looks like the place is clearing out.” He tips his head, studying me a moment. “I live alone with no one to talk to but my doorman and he’s a grumpy old man.” I laugh lightly, and Prescott’s lips curve higher. “I’d rather not go home to the quiet if I don’t have to, so if you’re up for it, we could stop for a drink before I take you back to your dorm?”
My rejection is at the tip of my tongue when he adds, “You can ask me for all the dirt on your grandpa, if you’d like.”
“Is there dirt to be discussed?” My brows jump excitedly.
He chuckles, adjusting the buttons on his suit jacket as he stands. “Of course not.”
I shake my head, staring at him a moment.
It would be nice to have someone on the inside of my grandfather’s life. Maybe there are some things he can help me understand to try to make all of this a little easier.
The weight of my failing studio has been twice as heavy lately, and Prescott’s offer only looks all the better for it. And it’s like he said: It’s still early, and one drink won’t hurt.
So when Prescott offers me his hand, I take it.
Chase
It’s just one night. Just a casual thing. It doesn’t mean anything.
I repeat the words like a mantra, gripping on to them like they might actually save me here. Like they may keep me from doing something stupid.
I know better. I know what happens when I sit back and pretend something doesn’t matter—when I let myself believe that if I don’t touch it, don’t claim it, I can’t lose it.
But that’s a lie.
Because I’ve lost before.
I’ve stood right where I am now, convincing myself I didn’t care, that it wasn’t worth the risk—only to wake up and realize I let something slip away that I’ll never get back. I know the feeling of regret. I know the taste of it, bitter on my tongue, the way it rots in my gut, a slow, creeping sickness that never really goes away.
But what I know of the acidic emotion was never like this.
I thought I’d felt the heaviest of regret, but nothing has ever sunk its teeth into me like this. Nothing has ever made me feel like my whole fucking chest is caving in at the thought of someone else taking what should be mine. Because this isn’t just some mistake I can look back on and feel guilty about.
This isn’t just a girl I should have treated better or a friend I shouldn’t have let down.
This is her.
And I can’t lose her.
But do I even have her to lose? I haven’t said anything. Haven’t made it clear. Maybe she’s just been waiting for me to do something, and I didn’t. Maybe that’s why she said yes.