His Love: A Forbidden Boss Romance

By Cassandra Dee

Kitty’s in New York City on a ballet scholarship. The curvy girl has always loved to dance and performing en pointe is her passion. But when Kitty meets Luke Lyons, the infuriating yet gorgeous CEO of the dance troupe, she finds herself at a crossroads: her art, or this handsome, growly man who demands so much?

Luke Lyons asks a lot from his ballerinas, but the beautiful Kitty catches his eye because she’s not like the others. She’s curvy for one, and full of sass and fire with a sparkle to her eye. Can the boss and the ballerina tame their sizzling attraction, or will they always be at odds with one another?

Kitty’s a small-town girl who finds herself playing with the big boys in New York City, but fortunately, she has Luke Lyons to show her the way. Watch sparks fly between the beautiful ballerina and the masterful CEO as they make gorgeous music together. Always an HEA. You’ll love it, I promise! Xoxo, Cassie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassandra Dee Romance
• Release date: Dec 7, 2019

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Author

1

Kitty

I bent at the barre, stretching out my glutes. Oh goodness, that felt amazing. Somehow this morning I’d woken up a little stiff. My body was like that of a forty-year-old, even though I’m only eighteen.

Oh, I murmured below my breath, bending my head towards the floor. Almost there … almost there … there! Did it! My hand touched the ground, my pinky trailing against the polished wood.

Stretching every day is important because I’m a ballerina. Well, more of an aspiring ballerina, to be honest. I’m part of the junior corps at the New York Academy of Ballet, which is the training grounds for the big leagues: the City Ballet. It’s hard work, but I get to practice with the actual troupe, and we’re understudies for the prima ballerinas. As a result, I go to practice morning, afternoon and night, although I haven’t danced in front of a paying audience yet.

But frankly, there isn’t that much time left. At eighteen, I’m already considered old for this job. Some of my fellow dancers are even younger than me, at sixteen or seventeen years old. I think one girl’s even fifteen, and probably faked her papers somehow. So yeah, I’ve got to really pull out the stops if I want to dance with the prestigious NYC Academy of Ballet, given the youth of my competition. Time’s running out, and my mom’s words rang in my head.

You’ll be fine, she soothed, a worn, wrinkled hand taking mine. You’re really talented, Kitty.

I bit my lip, looking at her as we sat on my twin bed. We were in my childhood room, the one with the pink and white décor, looking out onto our tiny patch of lawn.

I don’t know, Mom, I said doubtfully. Some of these girls have been doing ballet since they were five, and you know I only started three years ago.

Mary clucked.

I know honey, but what was it that Miss Harrison said? You’re a natural? A real talent with an amazing feel for the music? Your teacher couldn’t have said nicer things about you.

I nodded but inside there were still doubts.

I know Mom, but we’re here in Janesville, population one thousand. There isn’t much competition. With Rhonda down the street and Teresa from school as my fellow students, you can’t help but stand out.

My mom laughed merrily because Rhonda and Teresa are great girls. I grew up with them, after all. But Rhonda has two left feet, and I don’t know how she’s stuck with ballet this long. And Teresa? That girl is so tall she’d be better off as an Olympic basketball player.

But hey, this is Janesville, Kansas, and we’re lucky even to have a ballet studio. I’m not sure why Miss Harrison came and started one a couple years back, but I was so excited when it happened. The minute that Open sign appeared in the window, I’d begged my mom for lessons.

Please, I’d pleaded. Mom, you know how much I love dance.

Mary had nodded.

I know sweetheart, I know. But we don’t have that much money left over from your Dad’s life insurance, and I don’t want to leave you with nothing. We have to budget, honey, and ballet lessons are bound to be expensive.

I’d been thirteen then, a sulky, self-absorbed teen, stalking off to my bedroom in a huff before slamming the door. Surely Mary could see how important this was to me. And besides, we were fine. Dad’s insurance had left us with a good amount after he died, and Mom didn’t even have to work. So how bad could it be?

But soon a soft knock sounded on my door.

Kitty, may I come in? came Mary’s voice. Kitty?

I snorted again, still huffy and upset. But fine. We could talk.

Come in! I said sulkily.

The door opened to reveal my mom’s pudgy form, her hair in a graying bun. I feel for Mary, I do really. After my dad died, she fell into a tailspin of depression and sadness. Grandma Nancy had had to live with us for a while to take care of me and make sure food got on the table because Mary couldn’t even get out of bed.

But in the decade since, Mom has recovered. She’s disabled, so she doesn’t work a formal job. Instead, Mary stays home most days, doing some tailoring work for a nearby shop, but really, we’re living off of the proceeds of my dad’s life insurance policy.

Honey, you’re old enough so that we can have an adult conversation, began my mom gently, the bed creaking a little as she sat next to me. I moved Raggedy Ann out of the way, refusing to look at her.

What? I mumbled, staring out the window.

Honey, we didn’t get that much from life insurance, you know that, Mary said gently.

I interrupted.

"But you don’t work! I mean, not really. You just help out with a couple things from the shop. That’s not real working."

My mom nodded.

Your late dad had the foresight to set us up well, she began, eyes tearing up at the thought of her husband. I know they’d been in love, that they were high school sweethearts who never had eyes for anyone else. But the truth is, I had no memories of George. Zero. Zip. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mary that her precious husband was merely a ghost to me. He was my father sure, but he also wasn’t because I couldn’t summon a face, a voice, not anything. He was someone who lived in stories and pictures only, tales of George this and George that.

And like she could hear his name, Mary took a big breath and tried again.

Like I said, Kitty, your father had the foresight to buy insurance. But have you ever heard of something called the stock market?

I nodded.

It’s where you buy stocks, right? Why, what does that have to do with us?

Mary took another deep breath, her eyes tearing again.

Honestly, I don’t know that much about the stock market myself. You know I’m not good with financial things. But from what our accountant tells me, we were invested in the market and things haven’t been going so well. We don’t have much anymore. In fact, we’re almost down to almost nothing.

I shook my head, confused.

How is that possible? How could that happen? I thought Daddy left us plenty!

Mary gulped again, one slow tear trickling down her cheek.

He did honey, but I guess I trusted the wrong people. You know I put the money with a financial adviser that I found on the web. They had such a fancy website that I was impressed. Plus, there were so many colorful graphics, and the customer representative was very nice when I called.

I gasped.

Ma, you used an on-line financial adviser? With no references?

Well, there were testimonials on their website, she said sadly. There were so many reviews that gave them five stars and I thought that was enough.

I groaned inside, shaking my head. Even at thirteen, I had more common sense than Mary. Because there are so many scams on the web: you can buy Facebook likes, you can pay people to review your product, and you can even get fake customers who live in India.

But my mom is living in the past, and besides, she’s innocent. Mary grew up in the time of typewriters before there was a world wide web, so in some sense, you couldn’t blame her.

How much did we lose? I asked, voice trembling. How much do we have left?

Mary swallowed heavily, her spotted hand gently covering mine.

We have enough for another year, she said in quiet voice. We can survive for that long.

Another year or what? I cried, gesturing helplessly. And then what happens?

Mary shook her head.

I don’t know honey. We’ll have to move, certainly, so that we can find a cheaper place to live. We’ll have to economize, and we even might have to give up eating meat because it’s expensive. Would that be okay? I know you’re almost vegetarian already, Kitty.

I goggled at her. This was way worse than what I expected. Even my thirteen year-old brain recognized big trouble on the horizon.

"We won’t have enough money for food? I asked quietly, my hands twisting in the bedsheets. Really?"

No, I didn’t say that! rushed Mary, her face flushing. I just said that we need to eat more cheaply, maybe by giving up meat. Maybe we’ll go on a fun vegan diet, you know, beans, rice, and no animal products. How does that sound?

My mouth remained closed even as I stared at her, dumbfounded. First, because clearly my mom had no idea what she was talking about. Veganism can be really expensive with all the special items you have to buy to maintain a balanced diet. There’s special tofu, special supplements, and a host of vitamins to make sure you don’t wither away.

And second, a vegan diet sounded bad. I don’t want to eat like a rabbit. I don’t want to eat truckloads of salad and beans to stay alive. I appreciate veggies, but all the time, non-stop? Not my cup of tea.

So yeah, ballet lessons were definitely out of the question given our dire financial circumstances, and slow tears began to roll down my cheeks. I was thirteen, remember, and this seemed like the end of the world.

I’m sorry honey! cried my mom, leaning in for a hug and cuddling me close. I’m sorry, we’ll figure it out, I promise! I’ve already asked for more work from the shop. I’m sure they could use the help.

I remained stiff in her arms, my heart sinking. Because there was no way Mary could support us with her part-time job. Even if she went full-time, which wasn’t an option, her hourly rate just wasn’t high enough to make a living. So we really were up shit creek, and ballet lessons were out of the question.

But miraculously, things took a turn. The stock market swung wildly upwards for no apparent reason, and this time, I made sure Mary got her hands on the money.

Put it in a bank account, I commanded, eyes serious. Really Mom, we can’t go through another scare. It’s not cool.

Oh of course, of course! she babbled, waving her hands wildly. I already put it in our local bank.

I frowned.

"No Ma, put it in a real bank, not that weird investment club that Mr. James has going downtown. That’s not a real bank, and he’s doing something bizarre. Put it in a national chain, one that we know won’t disappear overnight."

Oh of course! said Mary, airily this time. Don’t be such a worrywart Kitty. I don’t need a thirteen year-old looking over my shoulder.

I snorted under my breath, but there was nothing I could do. After all, I was still a minor and the money wasn’t in my name, not technically. But hopefully this time, Mary would be a little wiser.

Besides, now I was at Miss Harrison’s dance school, and the lessons were going amazingly well. Even though I’ve never done ballet in my life, the steps were like magic and the music moved my soul. I loved every part of it, rising to the challenge.

Higher, higher! Miss Harrison would call. Lift your leg straight up, like a string’s pulling it from the ceiling.

I arched backwards while raising my toe, and evidently, that was the right thing to do because Miss Harrison applauded wildly.

Bravo Kitty! Beautiful, girls, look at Kitty. Isn’t that the perfect arch?

Even with my head almost touching the ground, I flushed. Because compliments have always made me embarrassed, and now was no exception. But I love ballet. I love the passion of the dance and how it takes me away from things like high school and money problems. As a result, the compliment made me flush happily.

So when the scholarship to NYC Academy of Dance came through, it was a dream come true.

Oh my god! I squealed, running into the kitchen where Mary sat in front of her sewing machine, hemming a pair of men’s pants. Oh my god, I got it, I got it!

I’d received a two-year apprenticeship with the corps. It was a starting position