“Naw, we’re not going to bother anyone,” I grunted. “It’s fine.”
And lifting one of the larger weights in a massive palm, I squatted.
“See baby,” I demonstrated, holding my arm out stiffly. “See, it’s the downward action that gets you. Releasing after a pump can actually be harder than the pump itself, it’s all about control and a smooth flow.”
I figured I was talking over the brunette’s head, but Kitty smiled easily.
“Oh I know Luke,” she said breezily. “I come to the gym too, you know.”
I blinked. What the fuck? Ballerinas are in great shape because they’re athletes with incredible stamina, but most of the girls don’t work out because they don’t want to get bulky. They don’t want to ruin the slim-line figure that fasting and hard work and discipline have created.
Reading my mind, Kitty shrugged.
“I have to work out a lot,” she said, a little too careless. “I have to come because I’ve got junk in the trunk, and it’s got to be toned and firm, I can’t have it jiggling everywhere.”
Realization dawned in my brain. Of course. That’s what I love about my girl. Because Kitty’s curvy for a dancer, but it looks fantastic. This was a female who was athletic with luscious, thick thighs, strong calves and a toned rump. Kitty works hard for her body, and I appreciated it all the more.
“I know, sweet thing,” I grunted, eyeing that figure hungrily. The brunette was dressed in a pink sports bra and tiny shorts that showed off her physique. Shit, it did more than that. The female was flaunting it right in front of my face, making me ravenous in public.
But there were words to say, and I was determined to get them out.
“You look good, baby girl,” I grunted. “The work at the gym’s paid off. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. In fact, have you thought about putting on more weight? Like twenty pounds or so?”
Kitty shook her head, smiling at me exasperatedly.
“Luke, are you crazy? Of course not. I can’t put on twenty pounds, they’d kick me out of the troupe. I’m already big enough as is, Miss Lane is always telling me to eat less, or at least switch to nutrition shakes instead of meals. I can’t, Luke, it’s impossible.”
I frowned. What the fuck? Nutrition shakes, like Ensure for old people? That shit tasted disgusting as fuck, and smelled like garbage most times.
“I’m going to talk with Miss Lane,” I ground out. “No dancer should be on meal replacement drinks, especially not one as young as you.”
Kitty colored, speaking quickly.
“No it’s not that,” she corrected, stumbling over the words. “Miss Lane was making a suggestion, it’s not a requirement.”
But I could tell that the female was just saying that. Miss Lane had made derogatory comments about my girl’s body and I was going to set that bitch straight. I was going to put her in her place because it was one of the benefits of being CEO.
“No,” I drawled. “That chick is off the reservation, and I’m going to talk to her about it,” I threw out casually. “Along with some other things.”
Kitty colored.
“Like my solo last night?”
My chest practically expanded with pride.
“Absolutely your solo,” I ground out. “You were fucking amazing honey, absolutely dazzling as the Red Queen.”
I wasn’t just saying that. My girl is a brilliant dancer and Kitty colored.
“It was amazing wasn’t it?” she whispered. “I never felt so moved by the music, the melody took over my limbs, I was on another plane. Thank you for giving me the chance, Luke,” she colored. “I know you put in a good word for me.”
I grinned.
“It wasn’t just a good word, honey, you deserved it,” I said.
And what I was saying was true. Because Kitty was up there, she was definitely part of the elite with her expressiveness, the detail with which she performed every move, the obvious delight she took from dance. I’d greased the wheels, sure, but the girl had done it herself. After all, you can put a dog on stage, but you can’t make it perform unless it’s got that special something within.
So I grinned again.
“It’s all you, sweetheart,” I ground out.
Kitty colored.
“But I know you had something to do with it.”
My huge shoulders shrugged.
“So what? That’s what the boss does. We find underutilized talent and make suggestions. Something wrong with that?” my eyebrow quirked.
Kitty bit her lip.
“No, not at all, I just don’t want the other dancers to talk, that’s all,” she said softly.
Aw fuck. The other dancers. One of the things I hate about ballet troupes is that it’s like a fucking coop of chickens sometimes. With this much estrogen and this much competition, the females can be vicious, biting each other with sharp beaks, pecking each other’s eyes out.
“Why, someone say something to you?” I said casually, voice smooth. Of course, I was going to pound that fucker into the ground if Kitty had been treated badly. Or more accurately, I was going to fire them, their dreams of stardom in the big city gone kaput.