She opened her mouth to sing along when the doorbell sounded. Picking up the remote, she turned down the volume, set down her wine, stood and walked over to greet the pizza man. No need to primp for him; she was sure he’d seen worse than her faded jeans, black T-shirt and hair in a ponytail. However, upon opening the door, cash in hand, the faint smile froze on her lips as her eyes encountered a smiling Damien.
“Mr. Johnson,” she gasped.
“Hello, Natasha,” he said.
“This is a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.”
“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t process why the head of the ballet company would come to her door. No one got a job by having the boss come to the door.
“Is this any way to treat someone bringing good news?” He walked past her, inviting himself in.
“Good news?” Her eyes widened expectantly as she closed the door.
He glanced around the room that was a reflection of her personality—white carpet, pale tan-and-white furniture. She had hoped her design was elegant, yet cool.
He cocked his ear, listening. “I like your choice in music.”
“Mr. Johnson…”
“Damien,” he smilingly corrected. “This is a nice apartment for a struggling ballerina.”
Her shoulders stiffened visibly. “Thanks.”
He frowned at her frosty tone. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She shook her head, sighed and then decided to be blunt. “My father’s a famous artist who owns a string of galleries, so technically I’m rich, but that doesn’t mean I’m not completely dedicated to dancing.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” he readily agreed. “Your financial status has no bearing on your talent—and you are talented.”
His simple, honest words overwhelmed her until all she could manage was, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He removed his jacket and folded it over one arm. “Now to the reason for my visit. I came to offer you the part.”
Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. A brilliant smile lit up her face. She didn’t know how it happened, but the next thing she knew, her body was pressed against his, her arms wound tightly around his neck while his rested lightly on her waist.
“Thank you!”
“I take it you’re happy.” He laughed at her exuberance.
Suddenly she realized the inappropriateness of her actions and self-consciously removed her arms from his neck and stepped back. Even though he was smiling at her, she was embarrassed. Lord, what he must think of her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No apologies necessary, Natasha.” He smiled. “It’s nice to know you really want the part.”
“I do, very much.”
“So—” his smile turned teasing “—I guess you’re accepting my offer.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he even have to ask that question?
“Of course I…”
Her voice trailed off as the doorbell sounded again. She excused herself to open it, but this time first looked through the peephole, revealing the pizza deliveryman.
“Hi.” The man pulled a medium box from his red carrier. “That’ll be $15.70.”
“Hello.” She briefly smiled, and held out the cash. Before the deliveryman could take the money, Damien had handed the man a twenty-dollar bill, took the pizza, thanked him then closed the door without collecting his change.
“You didn’t have to buy my pizza.”
“I did if I wanted to share it with you.” He sat down on the sofa, placing the box, which he quickly opened, onto the coffee table.
“Damien…” She walked over and deliberately sat akimbo on the immaculate white carpet beside the glass table.
“Yes?” He smiled as he sniffed appreciatively at the loaded pizza. “How do you stay so small eating like this?”
“I’m blessed with a high metabolism, and I just felt like indulging myself tonight.”
She fought to suppress a smile. He looked as happy as a little child on Christmas morning. His unexpected silliness was making her feel the same way—that and the knowledge that she was going to dance the lead in his ballet.
“Mmm.” He picked off a mushroom and plopped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as if he were sampling a rare delicacy. “Lucky for me.”
“Would you like some wine?” she asked with a laugh, unable to resist any longer.
“Love some.” He tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of the sofa.
She stood to retrieve another glass and the wine bottle from the bar before pouring him a drink. Walking back to where he sat, she handed him the glass, resuming her seat on the floor in front of the sofa.
She picked up a slice of pizza and took a tiny bite, too excited to eat. Damien Johnson was in her home, and he was offering her the part of a lifetime; she was going to dance Juliet!
Suddenly, he took her hand, pulling her up onto the sofa beside him. She started to protest but decided against it.
“Tell me about yourself, Natasha.”
“There’s little to tell.” She swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t breathe when he was this close to her.
“I doubt that.” He took another drink of his wine. “How long have you been dancing?”
“Since I was five.”
“You were brilliant in Swan Lake.”
“Thanks.” She sipped her wine. “I’m surprised you could pick me out of the ensemble.”
“You danced the lead in a matinee performance,” he reminded.
“How do you know that?”
“I was in the audience. Your performance was the reason you received an invitation to my tryouts.”
“I only danced the lead in one performance when the lead was sick. It’s lucky you picked that showing to attend.”
He smiled. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I asked Ted Levy—” he dropped the name of her ex-director “—to let you dance that performance so I could see you onstage before an audience.”
She nearly choked on her wine. “You what?”
He chuckled. “You heard me.”
“I wish I had known I was auditioning.”
“Why? You would have been too nervous had you known my intentions. My way was better.”
She supposed he was right. Anyway, what did it matter now? Everything had worked out for the best.
“I tried out for the lead in that ballet and a lot of others.”
“You didn’t get it,” he softly finished for her.
“No.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No…yes.” She paused and continued, “I don’t want to sound conceited…”
“You don’t.” He touched her cheek tenderly.