He took her hand and led her to the far side of the room. ‘We’re going to do the steps I just taught you, for the whole length of the room,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded.
‘Here we go. Slow, slow, quick-quick; slow, slow, quickquick.’ He talked her through the steps.
And it felt as if she were floating.
She’d never, ever experienced anything like this. And when he guided her effortlessly round the corners and danced her all the way back down the room again …
‘Wow,’ she said when the song ended. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do that.’
At the beginning of their lesson, he’d had his doubts, too. But she’d worked hard. Made the effort. And, from the look of wonder in her eyes, he was pretty sure that she’d just got what he loved about ballroom dancing. OK, it was tiny, as far as breakthroughs went, but it was a start. Part of him wanted to pick her up and spin her round. But the sensible side of him remained in control. Just.
‘Told you so,’ he said laconically.
‘Smugness,’ she said, ‘is not a good look on you, Mr Flynn.’
It was the first time she’d really answered him back—teasing, confident, and incredibly sweet. Liam couldn’t help responding to the glint in her eyes: he smiled at her.
Polly stared at Liam in surprise. It was the first time she’d seen him really smile. A genuine, full-wattage smile that left her knees temporarily weak.
And it flustered her so much that she tripped at the first step of the next song.
‘Concentrate, Polly,’ he said, the smile gone again. ‘We’ll keep going until you can do this without having to think about the steps or which leg’s which.’
And he meant it. They didn’t stop for the next hour.
Then he allowed them a brief break for a late breakfast of a bacon sandwich and a coffee in the café round the corner. Polly spilled the tomato ketchup everywhere, but Liam didn’t comment. He just ushered her back to the studio afterwards and made her go through the steps over and over again.
By the end of the session, she wasn’t having to think any more about which was her left and which was her right, when to go forward and when to go back.
‘We’ll stop there for today,’ he said at the end of the song.
‘Uh-huh.’ Polly didn’t trust herself to say any more. Just in case her disappointment at his lack of praise showed.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight sharp. I’ll send you a list of songs this evening. Listen to them, pick the ones you like best and we’ll use them in training.’
‘OK.’
She was at the door when he said, ‘And, Polly?’
She turned to face him, expecting another order.
‘Well done.’
It took a moment to sink in, and then Polly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him or throttle him. The man was infuriating.
But he’d actually praised her. And, given that he’d told her she’d have to earn it, it meant a lot more than the ‘you were marvellous, darling’ she was used to hearing in her old job. Not that she’d risk another ‘told you so’ by admitting that.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
LIAM thought about ignoring the phone later that evening, but the caller display showed that it was his PA. He’d better answer, in case she needed tomorrow off or something. ‘Yes, Mand. What can I do for you?’
‘Are you online?’ Amanda asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘There’s something I think you need to see. I’m not spreading gossip,’ Amanda added swiftly. ‘Just … look, Polly Anna’s nice. My kids love her on Monday Mash-up. She’s not the sort who whines about breaking a nail or flounces about in a huff—she just gets on with things and does her job with a smile, whatever they throw at her. And, believe you me, they throw some really tough stuff at her.’
‘I’d already worked that one out for myself, Mand,’ Liam said.
‘Go easy on her, that’s all. She’s having a hard time right now. I mean, I know you’ve had a hard time, too, thanks to the accident and Bianca, but—’
‘I have to teach Polly to dance,’ Liam cut in, not wanting to discuss his ex-wife. ‘And you saw the video clips.’ Polly definitely wasn’t afraid of working hard, but her coordination was an issue that could hold them back on the show.
‘She’s a sweetie, Liam.’
Hmm. If his PA was batting Polly’s corner like this, there was a fair chance that a lot of the women who watched Ballroom Glitz would be supporting Polly, too. For similar reasons. ‘OK.’
‘I’ve emailed you the link. Read the story, but don’t tell her you know about it.’ Amanda blew out a breath. ‘I could punch that Harry, I really could.’
Harry? Who was Harry? ‘Right. I’ll see you in the morning,’ Liam said. ‘Polly’s going to be in the studio with me from eight.’
‘OK. It’ll be nice to meet her. See you tomorrow.’
Liam flicked into his email program, followed the link Amanda had sent him to a story on Celebrity Life magazine, and read the gossip-page story in silence.
Now he knew why Polly had cut her hair short. And why she had that super-bright smile. And why she’d flinched when he’d mentioned dancing at a wedding: because her engagement to Harry, the producer of her show, had just been broken. Very, very publicly.
Thanks to Bianca, he knew what it felt like to be dumped in the full glare of the public eye. Celebrity Life had scooped Bianca’s plans before she could tell him that she was leaving him for someone else—a man who could still dance and help her win a World Championship trophy, at the point when everyone had thought that Liam’s career was over.
And he’d hated every single one of the pitying smiles that people had given him afterwards. Every single one of the platitudes mouthed at him. They hadn’t had a clue how he’d felt. How hurt and angry and resentful. And how relieved, in a weird way: because being brave for Bianca’s sake and pretending that he felt just fine had become so, so wearing.
He’d bet it was just the same for Polly. A mixture of misery and anger and all kinds of unwelcome emotions. So, no, he wouldn’t tell her that he knew about the break-up. He’d spare her the pity party.
But he wasn’t going to go easy on her, either. That wouldn’t be doing her any favours; she needed to work hard if she was going to stay in the competition. And staying in the competition, he thought, might just be better for her confidence and her self-esteem than anything else right now.
Polly was outside the dance studio at five to eight the next morning. When she rang the intercom, Liam buzzed her in.
‘So, did you like any of the songs I sent you?’
‘Yes. But they’re a bit—well, old-fashioned. The kind of thing my grandparents would listen to.’
‘You’d be surprised at how popular they are among people in their twenties. They’re easy to dance to.’ He shrugged. ‘I have a friend who’s a wedding DJ and he sends people to me to choreograph their first dance. Sometimes they have a song in mind; if they don’t, that’s the list I usually send them.’