Dance with the Billionaire (22 page)

My heart’s pounding louder than the drums in a DMX song as I nervously head down the upper corridor at Eldridge, my heartbeat getting even louder as I tiptoe
right past
Maurice Ryman’s office. A few doors down, I reach the room I’m looking for: Madame Lyon’s. I scan the placard with her office hours printed on it, and luckily she should be inside.

I knock, breathing a sigh of relief when I hear her elegant voice call, “Come in!” a moment later.

“Julia,” she says when she sees me. “Please, take a seat.”

I sit down, balling my hands in my lap, heart still beating as I hope to God that she believes what I’m about to tell her.

“So, what can I do for you?” she says, her face full of concern. “You didn’t make classes all last week. I was about to email you. Is everything okay?”

“Not really ...” I begin, taking a deep breath.

Here goes nothing ...

But, as I begin to speak, telling her all about Maurice’s ‘private tutorials’ and his increasingly inappropriate behavior, I’m relieved that when I finally steal a nervous glance up at her towards the end of my story, her face remains compassionate, like she totally believes what I’m saying.

When I’m finished, she sighs and shakes her head, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m afraid I’m not surprised about Maurice and his behavior,” she begins. “He’s already on his final warning for inappropriate relationships with students. I’m so glad you had the courage to say something before things went too far. All too often, the young people here feel like the teachers are gods, that they are in a position of power, and don’t feel able to say anything. I’m glad you stood up for yourself, Julia. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you, Madame Lyon,” I say, full of relief. “So ... what happens now?”

“Well,” she says, “You certainly won’t be having any more classes with him, I can assure you of that. But you can return to the rest of your studies as normal. Don’t worry, Julia. I will make sure your remaining time here is comfortable. I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at this school.”

“But I can’t get his words out of my head,” I sigh. “He called me a talentless whore. Do I really even deserve a place here?”

“Oh Julia,” Madame Lyon says sternly. “I expected more from you! I won’t have any more of that foolish talk. You’re one of my best students. I was there when you auditioned too, remember? And I know that Maurice has a tendency to make it seem like he calls all the shots around here, but it’s simply not true. The buck does
not
stop with him. Even if he thought you were talentless, he’d have to get past me before he could dismiss you, and I can assure you that that would never happen. Therefore I expect you to stay in this school and work hard. Okay?”

At this, her stern expression gives way to a smile.

“Okay,” I reply, standing up to leave her office. “Thank you.”

And as I walk back down the corridor, I keep my head held high and my back straight as I pass Maurice’s office, knowing that nothing he can do can harm me now. 

§

And then something happens which catches me completely off-guard. I’m walking out of the front doors to the school, to head across the campus, when I see someone sitting on the edge of the fountain and I feel all the air knocked out of my lungs. It’s Dylan. Dressed as always in a sharp black suit. Only this time, he’s accessorized it with the biggest bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen.

“Julia,” he calls the moment he sees me, loud enough to turn the heads of everyone passing by.

But I pretend I haven’t seen him, turning away and walking as fast as I can in the opposite direction. I can hear him running up behind me, and sure enough a moment later he’s by my side, keeping pace.

“Julia, stop, please,” he insists. “I
need
you to talk to me. I’ve been going crazy without you. Please just listen to what I have to say ...”

But instead I keep on walking.

“I’m through doing
anything
for you,” I say. “The deal’s off, remember? You don’t own me anymore, Dylan.”

“I don’t want to own you,” he replies, his voice urgent, blazing with emotion. “Please, just slow down a little and
talk
to me ...”

But instead of slowing down, I break out into a run, just wanting to be as far away from that asshole as I possibly can. I kind of suspect he might be chasing after me, but I don’t turn around to look. I just run and run and run, until my breath is ragged and I have to stop, hands on knees, unsure where I even
am
anymore.

I cautiously look all around me, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

§

A few hours later, I’m sitting in a café, using their free Wi-Fi, fruitlessly scanning Craigslist on my phone, hunting for a cheap apartment, when my search is interrupted by a message, popping up on the screen. My heart lurches. It’s from Dylan:

I’m sorry. I mean it. Please call me.

Without even thinking, I open contacts, find his number, then hit delete.

It’s over, Dylan
.
Leave me alone ...

I turn my attention back to Craigslist, knowing that I need to find a new place and
quick
. I’ve already called up my ex-landlord, but unsurprisingly my old place has long been rented out again. I’m gonna have to book into a hotel for tonight, I figure, and after checking my mobile banking app, I work out that I can afford to spend a few more weeks apartment-hunting, as long as I find somewhere super cheap soon.

Just then, my search is interrupted by
another
text message:

I need to speak to you. I’m sorry Julia. And believe me, I’m not going to give up on you. Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.

I want to scream. I want to text him back to leave me alone. But instead I just delete the text conversation – so that I won’t have any way to reply to him.

I return to apartment hunting, and the rental gods must have rewarded me for ignoring Dylan, because I see a brand new listing:

Urgent. Affordable apartment in Bushwick, to let IMMEDIATELY.

A phone call later, and I’m on my way to Bushwick to check it out. I’m feeling really positive about all the changes I’m making in my life, all the steps forward.

But even so, I have a feeling that this isn’t the last time I’ll hear from Dylan Campbell ...

I was right. It
wasn’t
the last time I heard from him. In fact, he became a constant presence in my life. I knew that he couldn’t stand losing, and he was trying everything in his power to get me back. After the incident with the flowers, I really did expect him to show up at the school again. I was prepared for that. I was even prepared for yet more flowers and gifts, and sure enough three dozen red roses were delivered to my apartment (although it
did
make me wonder how he’d even found my new address),
along with a note that read:

Julia,

I’m so sorry. You don’t know how much you mean to me. I need you in my life. It’s killing me knowing that I hurt you. I have to see you again
.
Please forgive me.

Dylan

But what I
wasn’t
prepared for was checking my bank balance online the next morning to find I was in credit, to the tune of $500,000.

At first I assumed it must be some kind of mistake. I’d heard of things like that happening before – banks crediting the wrong account, that sort of thing. But of course, this was no mistake.

I scanned the screen and sure enough, the payment was from one Dylan Campbell.

I felt my blood boil.
How dare he. I told him he couldn’t buy me. That I wasn’t for sale.

But he wasn’t listening. Maybe that’s how you do it in his world; you throw money around until you get what you want. But not in mine. This is
not
how people do things. This is not how normal people behave.

I was about to call my bank and get them to transfer the money back to Dylan, when I hit on a better idea ...

And when I got to school a little later that day, there he was, waiting for me on the steps with
another
huge bunch of flowers.

If he thinks I’m going to come running up to him
and thank him for his generous gift this morning, he’d better think again.

Instead, I just marched straight past him.

He didn’t try to bar my way. He just said, “Good morning, Julia,” and let me pass.

When I got home that afternoon, I threw myself down on the bed of my tiny new apartment in Bushwick, exhausted by a day of working out, dancing and stretching, and started looking through the day’s mail.

In amongst all the usual takeout flyers and other junk mail for previous tenants, there was a heavy, thick, cream-colored envelope. I had no idea what was inside, but it was addressed to me and I was curious, so I tore it open.

Dear Miss Tate,
the letter inside read,
thank you for becoming a patron of the New York Ballet. Your kind support will help us to keep up our world-class standards. We are delighted to offer you
two free tickets to the opening night of all our productions, including an invitation to our champagne reception and a chance to meet the company.

I certainly didn’t apply to become a patron of the New York Ballet. But I knew exactly who’d put my name down.

Well done, Dylan Campbell
, I thought,
for the latest smooth move in your playbook. This is without a doubt the most amazing gift I have ever received. It’s completely incredible; the kind of thing a girl like me can only dream about.

And of course Dylan knew that, didn’t he? This gift was so thoughtful, so perfect for me, that he obviously knew how hard it was gonna be for me to turn it down.

The next morning, he was back in his now regular spot, waiting by the fountain with another outlandishly enormous bunch of flowers.

The other students had started to notice him by now, too. They were giggling and pointing at him. He looked so out of place. And I sailed right past him.

“Good morning, Dylan,” I said, not even looking him in the eye, as I hurried past, studiously avoiding his gaze, holding my head high, my arms crossed protectively over my chest.

When I got to class, as we were warming up, I overheard a conversation between two girls as they stretched.

“What’s the deal with that guy?” one of them asked.

“What guy?” her friend replied.

“You know,” the first girl continued, “the suit by the fountain with the massive bunch of flowers? He’s been there for the past three days, just
waiting
.”

“Oh my God! That guy! Who’s he waiting for? He just stands there. I wish it was for me. He’s
seriously
gorgeous. You can just tell he’s
built
under that suit. And those flowers don’t look cheap, either ... Whoever he is waiting for is one lucky girl.”

You have no idea
, I thought, smiling privately to myself.

§

Natalia
: I’m so sorry we’ve been fighting.

Julia
: Me too. How are you?

Natalia
: Let’s meet up and talk about it. Please?

Julia
: OMG. I’m so glad you said that! :)
 
I was about to text you the exact same thing. Where do you want to meet? x

Natalia
: Mike’s bar at 7. See you soon xx