Prima - Alta Hensley Page 0,45
touch her hand resting on my desk, her sandwich forgotten. As soon as our skin connected, I got bolts of desire once more. It was so powerful my cock jerked, and, as I watched her nipples pucker and push against the tank top she was wearing, I knew she felt it as well. I gave her fingers a squeeze.
“Look at me.” When jade eyes met mine, I knew something was going on in her life. Something bad, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it was. “Is there anything I can help with? Is it the media stuff? Is it getting too much for you, because I can speak to someone and have them rearrange some of the interviews if you need a break.”
“No, no, it isn’t that.” She sighed deeply again. “Although that stuff isn’t much fun, I know it’s essential. Part of my contract and—”
“And you’re worried about what penalties I might extract if you skip a few questions?” I teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.
She shook her head again. “No, it’s not that. I probably shouldn’t admit it, but I seem to remember being perhaps a bit too willing to pay your price,” she said, giving me a far too fleeting smile. When I chuckled, she lifted her sandwich and took another bite to perhaps hide the fact her cheeks were pinkening.
Finishing mine, I pulled a twist of parchment paper out of the lunch sack and opened it, exposing not one, but two cookies. “Oatmeal with raisins or devil’s food?”
Her head snapped up, and any spot of color on her cheeks had disappeared. There was a look in eyes riveted on the dark-chocolate cookie in my right hand that had nothing to do with the struggle to make her choice of dessert. It was almost as if I’d asked if she wanted to choose between Heaven and Hell. Sliding the cookies back into their sleeve, I set them down and stood. Walking around the desk, I didn’t speak until I’d scooped her up and taken her seat with her on my lap.
“Okay, enough. What the hell is going on, and don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing or that you’re fine. You are about as far from fine as I’ve ever seen,” I said, plucking the half-eaten sandwich from her fingers and tossing it on my desk. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to hide behind anything even if it was just a slice of rye.
It took a moment, but she finally said, “It’s my babushka. She… she’s not doing very well.”
I often forgot Clara had a Russian heritage as she had no discernible accent. It was only when she spoke the language I remembered. I also remembered Baker telling me one of the unknown good things Clara had been doing for years was taking care of her ailing grandmother. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said as I could clearly see the sorrow in her eyes. “If you need any time off or anything, then tell me and I’ll get it taken care of. I can work the rehearsal schedule around you. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” She gave me another soft smile but said, “She actually has an appointment to determine if she’d be suitable to participate in a trial for a new arthritis drug. I can’t stop worrying they’ll find some reason to deny her entry into the program. She needs relief even though she keeps stating she’s fine. Every day I see her moving a bit slower.” She paused and said, “Thank you again for hooking me up with the list of caregivers. It took a few of them, but we finally found one whom I trust and who doesn’t cave under Baba’s nonsense. I would love to attend every appointment with her, but I know I need to keep up with rehearsals. The performance might have gone well, but Yuri keeps reminding me I’m still not up to my best physical shape.”
“Yuri would say that regardless,” I said. “He’s not a man to ever offer much praise or allow anybody any slack, so if you really feel you need to take your grandmother—”
“No, it’s fine. Judy, our nurse, can take her, and besides, your brother is right. I’m getting close, but I’m not ready to pirouette across any Broadway stage yet.”
Broadway.
There was more than one theater with the designation of Broadway. One right around the corner from the Volkov Ballet, in fact, and while Clara hadn’t specified which one,