1. Cameron

CHAPTER 1

CAMERON

Sunlight pierces my eyelids. I roll away from the offending brightness, hoping I can get back to sleep. I was out late last night and this is the first day in weeks that I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn. I'd rolled out of Emile’s bed after two in the morning. We'd gone back to his place after shmoozing with his rich friends late into the night, and that was after a full performance day. I'd wanted to go straight home or back to his place to celebrate quietly, but it was important for me to tag along to the afterparty. The people want to see his new star, after all.

Emile’s driver took me home, which was awkward. He'd obviously been instructed to wait for me, which meant Emile had planned ahead. I'm still not sure how to feel about it. I know he doesn't like sleeping next to anyone, and I should be grateful I didn't have to find an Uber at that time of night. I am grateful. Either way, the walk of shame is never comfortable.

Groaning, I pull my pillow over my head to muffle out the sounds of Dwayne singing along to Otis Redding in the kitchen, but it doesn't help. I'm awake now. Even if the curtains were suddenly darker and my stepdad magically wasn't a morning person, my body is trained to get up at ridiculous hours. Once I'm up, I'm up.

My mother's voice joins Dwayne's, and I figure I should go up and say hi before she leaves for work. I've been busy with the production, afterparties, and Emile nearly all day every day for weeks. I've only been home to sleep between long days of rehearsals, training, and performances. Letting out a deep sigh, I stumble out of bed and to the bathroom to freshen up. I'd stripped down to my briefs in my sleep, so I pull on a pair of worn cotton shorts before begrudgingly heading upstairs.

My stepfather's house is huge compared to what my mom and I are used to. I resisted moving in here for the longest time, thinking my mom deserved to focus on her happy relationship. She didn't need her adult son cramping her style, nor did she need any reminders of what we left behind when she met Dwayne. Eventually, I gave in. It made sense, and if I'm honest with myself, I want to be around in case things go downhill with this relationship. The basement has a full bathroom and kitchenette, so I've basically got my own apartment. Even better, there's a door to the outside, so I can come and go as I please without disturbing anyone or being disturbed. Dwayne won't let me pay rent, insisting I'm family and family doesn't owe anything. It still puts me on edge. I'm waiting to find out what the catch is. Not that I'm not grateful, I just don't believe anyone's actually that nice without ulterior motives. But Dwayne's basement apartment saves me from having to work three jobs during the off season, which allows me to train harder and audition more. It's because of him I was able to pursue an opportunity and was eventually offered a position in the De Pointe Elite company.

The music gets louder as I ascend the stairs. The door to the basement opens into a hallway just outside the entryway to the kitchen. Normally I'd already be at the gym or the studio at this time of day, so they're not expecting me. It gives me the chance to observe them without being noticed.

Dwayne is holding my mother close, swaying to the music. He's got his arms wrapped around her, eyes squeezed shut, and a goofy smile stretching his already wide mouth. He looks completely blissed out. My mother kisses his cheek and murmurs something that makes him laugh. The sound is deep and jolly. There’s no other way to describe it. Dwayne is a jolly guy, through and through. He's the quintessential dad, down to the jorts, white sneakers, and corny jokes. I wonder all the time why he never had children of his own.

When he opens his eyes again, Dwayne sees me lurking in the open doorway. His grin widens even further, exposing every one of his straight, white teeth. He spins my mother, wrapping his arm around her from behind so she can see me, too. Her cheeks turn pink, but the smile on her face brightens.

Stepping away from her husband, she hustles over to me with her arms wide open. "Cami! I didn't know you were home." She hugs me tight, and the smell of tea and her shampoo sink into the recesses of my brain, relaxing me even more than seeing her candid moment of love.

My mother deserves all the love and happiness in the world after what she went through with my father, and the handful of men she dated after he died. She had bad luck in the love department until the day she met Dwayne Connor. She fell for him hard and fast, and I admit I didn't trust it at first. Hell, I still don't trust it completely. Although every time I walk up on them when they aren't expecting me, they seem happy. It all seems too good to be true. One day they ran into each other—literally bumped right into each other in the hospital cafeteria. Mom splashed hot coffee all over the front of his shirt. Within the week, they’d graduated to a proper coffee date. Not six months later, Dwayne whisked her away on a weekend trip to the mountains. She'd come home from that trip with a ring on her finger and the news that we were moving into Dwayne's fancy gated community.

"My principal dancer! You were beautiful last night," she whispers in my ear. "Absolutely breathtaking."

Breathtaking. That's the word he used.

Dom. He’s the other reason I've been avoiding spending time at home. He’s been here a lot since opening night. Since those fathomless onyx eyes bore into me. I could feel his dark gaze like it was a tangible thing. I keep getting flashes of him watching me, of his big hand wrapping around mine. My skin erupts in goosebumps just thinking about it. The way he stared at me was… strange. Bordering on creepy. Though I have to admit he was sexy as hell, and I might have spent more than a passing glance wondering what was underneath his ill-fitting suit. Emile must have noticed, too, because he spent a little too long trash-talking him as we were walking away, and then again later in the evening.

Domenick Connor looks and smells like trouble. I wonder if he tastes like it, too.

"Cami?"

I flinch out of my errant thoughts and smile apologetically at my mom. "Sorry. I didn't get much sleep. What were you saying?"

"I was asking what you're up to today. I'm assuming you have the day off?"

"Mm-hmm. I was planning on sleeping in and then lying around on the couch all day, taking several naps, and gorging on junk food until I puke."

Dwayne snorts and hands me a cup of tea. It's perfect, of course. Spicy chai with honey and the tiniest splash of non-dairy creamer, exactly how I like it. I have to force myself not to scowl at him for being so damn perfect.

He must catch my narrowed eyes, despite my attempt to school my features, because he chuckles and shakes his head.

"What?"

"Have you ever been lazy a day in your life?" he asks me pointedly.

"Yes."

He crosses his arms, forcing his biceps to bulge and stretch the arms of his dark red Connor Bros Gym t-shirt. "When?"

My mom answers for me. "He got COVID about a year before I met you. He slept past sunrise two days in a row and even skipped doing yoga on one of the days."

Dwayne gasps. "He did not!" he exclaims dramatically.

I'm pretty sure I can see brain matter from the position of my eyeballs in the back of my head right now.

"So, what are you really doing today?" My mother asks again. "I have to go in to work for a while, but I'll be off early. Do you think you'll be around for dinner?"

How can I say no to the hopeful look in her eyes? A couple hours of playing happy family won't hurt me.

"Dinner sounds great. I'll probably go to the studio for a short workout, and then stop by the center to give them my schedule."

I've been teaching classes at our local community arts center for almost five years. It doesn't pay much, but they're flexible and work around my performance schedule. I love teaching, especially young kids, and I've desperately held onto it even with my grueling schedule. It’s something I'm not sure I'll be able to hold on to for much longer now that I've been promoted to principal dancer in De Pointe Elite .

If I've learned anything from this most recent tour, it's that being at the top comes with a lot more responsibilities than just putting on a good show on stage. I also have to put on a good show at the afterparties and events, and in some ways, that performance is even more important.

On Emile Alistar’s arm, I have to make both him and the company look good. I have to be the perfect trophy. A pretty thing that smiles and accepts compliments graciously but doesn't have an opinion or thoughts of my own.

"Why don't we break out the grill tonight?” Dwayne suggests. “Maybe do s'mores over the fire pit when it gets chilly?"

The indulgent look on my mother's face would make me gag if she wasn't so genuinely happy. "That sounds perfect. Cami, what do you think?"

"Sounds great," I agree, both looking forward to it and not.

"You should invite your guy to join us," Dwayne says jovially as he zips the lunch box he's been packing. "We've barely had a chance to get to know the man that's been keeping you so busy."

"Yes! Cameron, invite him, please. He seems so nice. And so handsome," she coos.

"Mom, stoooop ," I whine like a moody teenager. "I promise I'll invite him if you promise not to embarrass me in front of my boss ."

"Scandalous," she says under her breath, waggling her eyebrows at Dwayne.

Yeah. I'm not letting Emile anywhere near these people.

Emile isn't in the studio when I get there and doesn't make an appearance by the time I've finished my workout nearly three hours later. I send him a text, deciding to invite him after all. I have a hard time imagining the Emile Alistar at a backyard barbecue, but I would like my family to meet him. He's important to me. Since the day I auditioned for him, he's changed my life in so many ways, all for the better.

I spent all my days bettering my craft by working out, practicing, and teaching—eating, breathing and living ballet, but I wasn't doing much to better myself as a person. I'd been a working as a go-go dancer in a club most nights. It was decent money, and the job was fun. So was all the attention I got from hot guys. Crisp bills tucked into my G-string were usually accompanied by a lingering touch. It sometimes led to a hand job in a dark corner of the club, or to getting on my knees in an open bathroom stall. Several nights a week I woke up in a stranger's bed, only to rush out before dawn to start my day. I didn't think anything of it.

Did I aspire for a better life, where my mother and I weren't struggling to pay the utilities because our asshole of a landlord wouldn't get the pipes fixed and our water bill was sky high? Of course. But there were two things that were guaranteed to get me out of my head: dance and sex.

I lived a double life. And I didn't hate it.

Not until I met Emile.

The night we met, I spotted him leaning against the bar, watching me with rapt attention. He wanted me, and I like being wanted.

On weeknights, when the club wasn’t super busy, the various dancers would sometimes take over the music and perform on the small stage that extended into the middle of the club floor. We could pick a song and perform a dance for the crowd and our fellow performers. Most of the guys turned it into a striptease, which was always fun. Of course, I had to be extra. With the lights dimmed and a spotlight trained on me, I'd strike a pose in the middle of the stage and do what I do best. Dance.

I never planned out the choreography, I'd just pick a song and let the music move me. It'd often be a blend of my formal ballet training and more contemporary dance moves, set to a slow, sexy, popular song. I would usually wear a pair of dance leggings and a crop top, the same clothes I typically worked out and rehearsed in. But that night, I took one look at the way the handsome man with slicked back white-blond hair and a three-piece suit was watching me, and I stripped down to my nude dance belt.

I had no idea who he was. Of course, I'd heard about the unique contemporary dance company that had been making waves across the Atlanta theater scene. I'd been with my much smaller dance company for several years, and I dreamed of branching outside of the status quo of yearly Nutcracker and Romeo and Juliet performances. I wanted my life's passion with a touch of thrill. I worked harder, trained more, and strived to be good enough to audition, because I knew it would be a onetime opportunity.

If I'd known the owner of the very company I'd been dreaming of working for was the man watching me with hooded eyes and rapt attention, would I have been as brazen? Would I have stripped down, greased myself up with baby oil, and danced to a suggestive song by The Weeknd?

Maybe.

It’s possible I never thought I was good enough to truly make it. And my general response to inadequacy was to overcompensate by making myself desirable to whatever man I set my sights on.It was sheer luck that Emile caught my eye on that particular night.

When Emile found me in the staff changing room backstage, I pretended not to be surprised to see him. Instead, I kept my back to him, bending over a sink to wet a towel to clean myself up with. In the mirror, I could see his eyes on my ass. And that familiar thrill of being desired made my heart beat faster.

"Did you want to buy me a drink before or after?" I asked bluntly.

Emile cocked his head and brought his eyes up to meet mine. The steely blue pierced me, and I felt my typically iron-clad confidence plummet. I could tell by his disappointed expression that he was judging me and found me wanting.

Then again, I could also tell he wanted me. And a man like that probably wanted more of a chase. With his good looks and obvious wealth, he probably had men and women alike throwing themselves at him left and right.

Not wanting him to sense my weakness, I shrugged casually and pulled on a pair of bike shorts and a cropped t-shirt. "Your loss, sweetheart." I managed to hold back my self-satisfied grin when he grabbed my arm as I walked past.

"Are you always this forward?" he asked, looking me up and down.

"Pretty much."

"Does it make you feel good about yourself?"

Not really. But I wasn't about to tell him that. He was getting a little high and mighty for my taste. I didn't mind being treated like a sex doll on occasion, but I never allowed anyone to disrespect me.

"I know exactly how to make myself feel good," I said in a suggestive tone. "Don't you worry about that."

He followed me out to the bar, where I was automatically handed my drink of choice.I winked at Mike in thanks and turned towards the stage to watch another dancer climbing a pole. Purposefully ignoring Emile watching me, I focused on my coworker’s performance and drained my drink. He ordered me a second round, plus one for himself. His eyes flashed in confusion when he took a sip.

"This is just club soda," he said flatly.

"Yeah? And?" Mike and Alex, the club bartenders, were probably the only people that realized I rarely drank.There was a good reason for it, but that was none of his business.

I released an exasperated huff when he didn't say anything, simply staring back at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.

"You might look at me and see nothing but a low rent, talentless twink shaking his ass to pay the bills, but I have a life outside of this. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"You have formal training," he said. My hackles already up, it took me a moment to realize that it was a statement, and not an expression of surprise.

"Yes," I said, a little haughtily. I was getting bored with the game and it felt good to have the upper hand for a moment. Not that the moment lasted long.

"Why work here ? Why act the way you do?"

I snorted and pointed to my cropped t-shirt that said " Daddy Issues ." He looked unimpressed.

Rolling my eyes, I set down my drink and waved goodnight to Mike. "I work hard. I play hard. And it’s none of your goddamn business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date."

"A date?"

"Well, I’m not really into the judgmental type, and the night is young." I pulled out my phone, making sure he could see me opening the hookup app and scrolling through my messages.I wasn’t hurting for options.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

I nearly laughed out loud. "You're not seriously asking me on a date, are you?” Lowering my phone, I gave him a pointed glare. “I don't have time for dating, or games, or people that want to put me down to make themselves feel superior. All I’m looking for is a quick fuck and a good night's sleep so I can wake up at five a.m. to rehearse before my first job. Rinse and repeat, until I catch my break."

"You're not my type," he sneered.

His tone made my insides churn with anger. What the actual fuck was his problem?

"Excuse me?"

He ignored my indignant stare and slipped an embossed card over my phone screen.

"If you're not too busy being a low rent, talentless twink, I'll see you at nine A.M. sharp."

Emile Dupree Alistar

De Pointe Elite Dance Company

The bottom of my stomach dropped out, and my heart rate rapidly accelerated.

"You're serious?"

"Always. What remains to be seen is how serious you are. I don't accept anyone but the best and I don't give second chances."

Things happened quickly after that.I nailed my audition, but my official invitation to join the company came with caveats. I had to quit my job dancing at the club, despite the contract being an unpaid internship. And I was expected to "maintain a semblance of discretion and dignity" when it came to my “lifestyle” outside the company.

Training started right away, and the schedule left little room for anything other than training, workouts, rehearsals, and performances. Since I was rarely home, I agreed to move in with Dwayne to offset losing two out of three of my income streams. I kept my part-time job teaching at the community center because I love it too much to give it up. Most of those classes run during the off season, so I think I can make it work.

Now that I'm rising to principal dancer, I'll get a raise, though I haven't pushed to ask when that's happening. I haven’t had to worry about money much. Emile pretty much pays for everything when we’re together, and I don’t have to pay rent.

Emile took a personal interest in my training and choreography. We spent so much time together in the beginning that we grew close and eventually, one thing led to another. It’s about so much more than sex, though. I appreciate how hard he drives me towards perfection, and I'll never be able to thank him enough for the opportunity he's given me.

I know what the other dancers think of me. When I was called up to take Heath's place as principal on the last production, I saw the looks they gave me. There is no doubt in my mind that they think I slept my way to the top, but I know I earned this position on hard work and talent alone.

It only took the opening night performance to convince Marissa, my stage partner, that I deserved my spot. And with every rehearsal and performance since, she's done her best to help me prove to the others that I didn't get here from my knees. I train harder and practice longer than anyone else, and I keep striving for better. More.

Perfection.

"Your fouetté was sloppy there."

Emile’s voice startles me. I wasn't paying attention, lost in my thoughts and letting my body naturally move to the music.

"Oh. Hi," I say breathlessly. "I didn't see you there."

"What are you doing?" His accent sometimes makes him come off judgmental. I've learned to tamp down the defensiveness I felt the first night we met.

"Just playing around." I turn off my music, then grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face before walking over to kiss his cheek. "What are you doing here on your day off?" I ask, smiling. I'd told him I'd be here today, not wanting to skip a day of workouts, even on our rare days off. So I assume he's here to see me.

"Do you really think you have time for new choreography? Especially with your extracurricular pastimes?"

That's what he calls my teaching job. He thinks it's beneath me to teach small children from underprivileged neighborhoods. I’ve told him how much I love it, and he'll understand when he sees for himself. I’m always trying to get him to visit a class or come to a recital so he can see what's so important and special about these kids, and he’ll get to see where I got my start as a dancer.

"What's got you so grumpy today?"

"Heath," he says flatly, with an air of annoyance. "He's suing me for wrongful termination."

"On what grounds? He's the one that didn't show up to the opening performance that he was supposed to be the lead for."

Emile hums noncommittally. "He's accusing me of harassment and creating a hostile work environment."

"I'd say it was the other way around," I remark, placing my hands on his shoulders. As usual, he seems unaffected, outside of being annoyed. My display of affection is more for me than for him.

Heath hated me, even more so once Emile made me his understudy. He often accused me of trying to take his spot as principal through my relationship with our producer. But I’ve only ever been professional. It was never me that pursued the relationship, not after I figured out who he was and got the chance to audition. And certainly not after I got my foot in the door. It was only after everyone already thought we were sleeping together that I broke down and allowed anything to happen. Why fight it? Emile had given me so much, and other than being the best dancer I could be for him, how else could I show my gratitude?

"He was jealous."

I smile up at him and lean in for a kiss, but Emile steps away. My frown is replaced by confusion when he takes me by the wrist and pulls me to his office. He leans back against the frosted glass once the door is closed and unzips his grey dress pants. I'm still reeling from the change in attitude and worried about the location he chose for this. Our bodies cast a clear silhouette against the frosted glass. If anyone walks by, they’ll easily guess what is happening in here. Still, I sink to my knees when he pushes my shoulders down.

"Heath was jealous because he knew you are a star," he says, holding my face to look up at him. I open my mouth the way I know he wants me to, and he guides himself inside. "You are my star."

Emile uses my mouth, groaning when I hollow out my cheeks to suck him harder. His orgasm builds fast, and part of me is glad for it, so there's less chance of getting caught.

I push my hand into my leggings to adjust and stroke myself, but he taps my shoulder.

"Don't," he croaks. "You'll make a mess."

Emile is particular about his spaces. The floors in his office and home are carpeted in hand-tufted, plush wool. It would be embarrassing for both of us to ask the cleaners to get rid of cum stains. I pull my hand out of my pants, but still stroke myself through the tight fabric of my leggings as Emile finishes in my mouth.

I swallow it all down, standing to kiss along his jaw. He pulls away reflexively. "I don't like that," he snaps.

“I wasn’t going to kiss you on the mouth,” I say with a light laugh. I press my lips to his neck. My hand rubs along my bulge, content to come in my pants since I'll be heading to the shower after this, anyway.

"Ugh, Cameron, you're getting sweat on my linen shirt. It will wrinkle."

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say, putting a little space between us. It breaks me from my fog of lust.

Emile skirts around me, zipping himself away before rounding his desk and taking the seat there.

"Thank you, Cameron. I'm feeling much better now."

Okay…

Feeling dismissed, I will my erection to go down. Now isn't the time. He's under so much stress. Maybe later tonight, we can?—

"Oh, before I go. Did you get my text about dinner tonight?"

"Yes. I will see what I can do."

My chest fills with a warm, hopeful feeling. "That'd be great. I'll text you the address."

When I walk out of his office, Emile’s secretary is rounding the corner with a young woman I don't recognize. A new dancer, maybe? Belinda gives me a tight, unimpressed smile and the young woman looks anywhere but at me, her cheeks deep red.

The warm happiness in my chest fizzles out.

Great. Just what I need.