This Billionaire's Dancer: This Billionaire, #26

By Rachel Foster

Willson is a successful billionaire whose production company is top notch. He's just pitched an idea for a dating show called Second Chance. He's excited about it until his assistant Tim encourages him to be on it. The only problem is he's falling for his daughter Drew's dance teacher Lola.Lola is a successful dancer whose professional dance career ended after an unfortunate incident with her ex-boyfriend Dirk. Now she's busy teaching the next generation how to be great dancers, but she's falling for her student Drew's dad. Her wall is still built up from her failed relationship with Dirk and she struggles to trust again. Will Willson be able to earn her trust?

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215985960

Book preview

This Billionaire's Dancer

Rachel Foster

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Foster

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. Wilson

2. Lola

3. Wilson

4. Lola

Chapter 5- Wilson

Chapter 6- Lola

5. Wilson

6. Lola

7. Wilson

8. Lola

9. Wilson

10. Lola

11. Wilson

12. Lola

13. Wilson

14. Lola

15. Wilson

16. Lola

17. Wilson

18. Lola

19. Wilson

20. Lola

21. Wilson

22. Lola

23. Wilson

24. Lola

25. Wilson

26. Lola

27. Wilson

28. Lola

29. Wilson

30. Lola

31. Wilson

32. Lola

33. Wilson

34. Lola

35. Wilson

36. Lola

37. Wilson

Epilogue – Lola

1

Wilson

I

knew something was wrong as soon as my phone buzzed, and I saw who was calling. My parents didn’t contact me these days unless they were having issues. I held the phone in my hand and stared at it, contemplating not even answering, pretending I had been unavailable from the start. I had enough to worry about without playing referee between Mom and Dad.

Dainty little footsteps approached. I looked up into the sweetest, most angelic face, all delicate snub features framed with the palest of blonde hair.

Daddy, the little angel said, aren’t you going to answer your phone? It’s in your hand.

I put a smile on my face for her. She was damn near the only reason I smiled anymore, at least for real. I often had to pretend in other situations but with her, the smiles were real, even when I had to force them to come. You’re right, Drew. It is. How silly your Daddy is.

Drew frowned at me with a suspicion far too mature for her seven years of age. We’d all had to grow up quite a bit in the past few years, though.

I lifted my phone to my ear. Hey.

Willy, Mom greeted me, using that nickname I hated that only she could get away with. Would you mind coming over here? Your father and I have something we need to talk to you about.

My already-raised guard lifted even higher. I held my breath as my nerves pinged around like crazy in my veins. As commonplace as this very situation was, this was an unsettling variation. Usually they requested my opinion on something, a thinly veiled excuse to have me listen to them argue and pick the victor. The last time they wanted to sit me down and talk to me was... A few years ago.

And before that, when I made known my plans to go to college and become a TV producer.

Basically, there wasn’t even a chance that this could be good. At least when they asked for my opinion on a matter, there was a possibility of that matter being what color curtains looked better.

Willy? Mom pressed. Are you still there? This damn device hasn’t failed again, has it?

I’m here, Mom, I said, my voice dry and thin. Any chance you could forewarn me what this is about?

Well, why don’t you just come on down and we’ll talk about it? Are you going to bring Drew?

I can’t leave her home alone.

I always love seeing my granddaughter, Mom sighed. I’ll lay out some cookies and milk.

I looked out the window at the moody sky. Sunset was only an hour away and it would be Drew’s bedtime soon after. It was much too late to be plying her with cookies. Then again, if this were as bad as I thought it would be, a little sweetness couldn’t hurt.

Fine, I said. I stood up, resting my hand on Drew’s soft hair. We’ll be there in five. Get out the cookies.

Of course. See you soon. Drive safe!

I hung up and looked down at Drew. My heart clenched in my chest. So young, so used to pain already.

Drew peered up at me. What is it, Daddy? Where are we going?

I stroked her hair. She was so small that my hand was bigger than her head. Grandma and Grandpa want to talk to me about something. Go get your shoes, princess.

Drew smiled. Will I get cookies? I heard you say cookies.

I had to smile at her infectious enthusiasm. Yes, Grandma’s going to have cookies for us. Now go get your shoes.

Okay! She scampered off, running with her arms in front of her as if she could see the cookies in her future and nearly grasp them.

I followed slower despite my much-bigger stride, dread weighing me down. I pushed my feet into my own shoes and grabbed my keys from the basket on the back of the door. Drew finished tying her laces and hopped up to take my hand. I led her out into the oppressive humidity and heat that defined Florida. A layer of clammy sweat broke out over my whole body and I saw Drew suffering the same fate as I helped her into her car seat. It was only the beginning of summer, which meant the weather was bound to grow even hotter and more humid. It was nigh unbearable.

Yet the wind that blew was so tantalizingly cool, the glorious contrast more than enough reason to stay. The wind came in from the ocean, the ocean whose temperatures lagged months behind due to its vastness. Warm in winter and cold in summer, the ocean was the real reason anyone ever moved to this state.

I finished buckling Drew in and shut her door. Another blissful gust of wind skimmed by as I made my way around to my own seat. I turned on the air-conditioning and backed carefully out of the driveway.

My parents lived only a few minutes away, hardly enough time for the AC to work its way down from air like a baking oven to that which filtered from an open fridge. Drew pouted as I swung her down to the yellowing grass lawn; as soon as her feet touched the grass, she recalled the cookies awaiting her and raced off with a smile as bright as, and far more pleasant than, the sun.

I followed slower and let myself in the front door without knocking. I scanned the living room, noting Dad’s favorite armchair was empty.

Wilson? Dad called. He had the husky voice of a former smoker. He’d stopped when Drew was born, but the lifetime that came before had left its mark.

No, I yelled back, I’m a burglar come to rob your finery.

Drew disappeared into the kitchen and I heard a feminine grunt as she accosted her grandmother. Grammy, she said, what’s fine-rey?

Oh, nothing we have, Mom said. Her voice dissolved into wet kissing sounds. Drew squealed and giggled and made her escape, her feet pounding from kitchen tile to dining room carpet. It was Dad’s turn to grunt as she tossed herself in his lap. I made my way around the living room and into the dining area in time to see her rolling around in his arms like an excited puppy -one cookie in hand and another protruding from her mouth. I shook my head, love for her swelling in my chest.

When I was younger, much younger, I had the same misguided fantasies as any teenage boy. I had thought love was a sweet and gentle thing. And it had sweet and gentle parts, for sure, but being a boyfriend, fiancé, husband, and father taught me otherwise, that love was a fierce and dangerous thing that burned white-hot. Love was a mother bear protecting its cubs, snarling and roaring, gnashing teeth and dagger-claws. Love was a rampage, an instinct to fight.

It hurt. But it hurt so good I would never ever trade it for anything else.

Mom came into the dining room and sat down at the table, opposite from my Dad. I sat next to her because Drew had already taken over the remaining seat; I hoped no one present would take my position as choosing a side.

Cookie? Mom asked, pushing the full platter to me. They weren’t homemade. She wasn’t a good cook and was an even worse baker. They were sandwich cookies and chocolate-chip, removed from the packaging and placed in decorative layers.

I picked up one of the cookies and held onto it. Someone want to tell me what this is all about? I asked.

The happiness of the moment dissolved.

Dad looked at Mom, and Mom glared back at him, both of them challenging the other to be the first to speak.

Guys, I demanded. My muscles were all pulled taut, stretching to breaking point by the tension in the air.

Mom sighed and reached to me, taking the hand not currently crushing a chocolate-chip cookie to death. You’ve probably figured it out already, Willy. Your father and I are going to get a divorce.

I barked out a laugh. Very funny.

Dad looked at me, then turned his head away and watched Drew get messier by the second.

They aren’t joking.

I felt the blood drain from my face. The world flashed a brief gray, as if reality were a picture being edited and someone had turned on the Sketch filter. No.

Mom sighed and lowered her head, her gray-streaked hair dangling against her cheeks. I’m afraid it’s the truth.

What...

I couldn’t breathe.

We’ve tried everything, Mom said. She shot a glare in Dad’s direction. Some of us, at least. We’re not happy. It’s time to take the leap.

Grampy, Drew said. What’s divorce?

Drew, I said quickly.

Dad talked over me, though it clearly wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t even looking at me, or her, or at anyone. Divorce is when parents aren’t together anymore.

That’s enough! I yelled.

Mom stared up at me. Willy?

I had gotten to my feet without being aware of it. I gripped the edge of the dining table, hard enough to hurt my fingers. I can’t believe you two. My voice was tight, a hiss from between clenched teeth. I seriously can’t believe you. What a way to set a good example for my daughter. I had hoped that she’d have experience with a normal family dynamic, but you ruined all of that the second that word crossed your minds.

Wilson! Dad said, staring at me. Sit down!

I’m not having my daughter exposed to this. I went around the table and grabbed her into my arms. She was so light, like a feather, and so very innocent. That ferocious love surged inside me, almost identical to rage. I would not let her innocence be spoiled. It had taken so long for her to be able to be a normal child again. Damn anyone who harmed her, intentionally or not.

Wait, Willy!

Son, sit down. Drew can go watch cartoons in the living room.

No. I pulled her head to my shoulder. I’m leaving.

They continued yelling for me the whole way as I made my way out with Drew. I snatched her shoes up off the floor and just carried her barefoot, not wanting to be in that poisonous house for another second.

I tucked her into her seat, drove around the block until we were out of sight of the house. My vision blurred, hot tears pressing for release. I twisted the steering wheel, parking on the side of the neighborhood street -and, from the bump of contact, on the edge of someone’s lawn. I didn’t care. The tears came in full. I leaned my head on the wheel and cried. Droplets streaked down the rough gray leather surface like so much rain, collecting in a puddle on my lap.

Something very soft touched my shoulder. Daddy, a sweet voice whispered, why are you sad?

I jerked my head up and swiped at my face with my fists, knuckling the tears away. Drew hovered at my shoulder; her youthful face made ten times older by worry. And children worried wholeheartedly, every single time.

I sat up and leaned my head back and tried to breathe deeper. My lungs shivered, my chest hitching. I swallowed hard and kept breathing. Through it all, Drew showed impossible patience, her hand rubbing my shoulder and her eyes locked on my face.

Gradually, I managed to regain control. I pulled Drew up into the front seat with me and wrapped my arms around her. I’m sad because something’s happening that I don’t want to happen.

Daddy, I don’t understand. What’s divorce?

I sighed softly. It wouldn’t do any good to shelter her, not when she was coming to me for answers to burning questions. She’d resent me for it. Well, princess, a divorce is when married people don’t want to be married anymore. Grandma and Grandpa don’t want to be married anymore.

But haven’t they been married since I was born? Drew asked, with all her child’s innocence.

I cuddled her closer to me. Since I was born.

Wow, she murmured.

Wow is right. After all that time, how does someone decide they’re simply done?

Grandma and Grandpa will go live in different houses and they probably won’t see each other very much.

Drew made a little sound under her breath. Does this mean we can’t see them anymore?

Oh, baby, of course you can see them. They will always be your Grammy and Grampy no matter what. Following this, Drew would probably receive even more attention from them than normal. She was the bright spark in all our lives, and they would want her around to soak in some of that cheer.

Drew lifted her head. It’s okay, Daddy. At least you’ll still have both of them. You’ll have your mommy and daddy no matter what.

I just hugged her tighter. Children could seem cruel because of their honesty and lack of filter, but Drew wasn’t referring to her own lack of a complete set of parents. She was comforting me in the only way she knew how.

Why don’t we go out for some ice cream? I said. And you can stay up late tonight and watch some cartoons?

Okay! she chirped brightly; the sorrow of the moment forgotten.

No, more like pushed aside. It would never be fully forgotten.

2

Lola

"W

iggle time!" I called out to the room.

A dozen little girls and three little boys, all between the ages of five and ten, stopped what they were doing and began to flail their arms and legs. They giggled and toppled over into each other as they lost their balance in the process of expending extra energy.

I wiggled my own arms around and one of my legs, smiling at how silly it felt. I stopped after a couple seconds but let the kids go at it for another minute more. They had so much more excess energy than a near-thirty-year-old adult woman.

When the wiggling started to slow down, the participants losing their enthusiasm for the event, I clapped my hands three times, loud and slow. The sound echoed around the wide dance studio. My little dancers came to a stop and clustered around me. They all knew those three claps meant I wanted their attention.

Did everyone get their wiggles out?

I still got some, said a little boy. Mikey. Nine years old. Not my best student out of this class, but a jokester with a sweet temperament who always made things interesting. Not my best student, but for sure one of my favorites.

Mikey put his arm up in the air and wiggled it around. See? he called, making the others giggle.

I smiled. Well, then you can be my volunteer.

Okay! He paused and looked skeptical. What for?

I clapped my hands just once, the signal for everyone to get in their positions. Everyone scampered off, forming several lines with a few feet of space between each child at their front and back, and also at their sides. Any closer and someone was bound to bump into someone else and cause a domino chain reaction.

Mikey started to head off to get in line. I put my hand on his shoulder to keep him with me. He smiled up at me from under tousled brown bangs. I smiled back. He was the cutest thing in his pale blue leotard.

When everyone had gotten into place, I said, Okay, dancers! Remember that we’ve been working on our footing. We want to know where we are when we’re dancing so we don’t bump into each other, or the wall. Watch me for a moment. Mikey, can you go stand over by the mirror?

Once Mikey was out of the danger zone, I started to dance, using far more complex moves than I had taught any of the kids in this class. I spun and kicked one leg out, landed on the other foot and spun back several times in reverse before gracefully sliding one foot in front of the other into a proper end stance. I brought my hands together in front of my stomach and smiled at my amazed audience.

Miss Lola, you’re amazing! Mikey called, and everyone else agreed, piping up their little voices in praise.

I smiled. Did you see that I never looked at the ground? I never stopped to check where I was going. Everything I do, every move I make, is controlled. All my steps are the same length. I know exactly how big a circle around me I need when I spin. And that all starts with knowing where your feet are. You might think it’s easy, but sometimes they can get away from you!

A few of the older students rewarded me with giggles. The younger ones also laughed, though they only did because others laughing meant something funny had happened and they should join in.

I motioned to Mikey to get him back at me. I held his hands. "We’re going to walk back and forth like this, facing each other. Pay attention to where you’re putting your feet but don’t look down. Let yourself feel where I’m going so we don’t run into each other."

Mikey looked down at his feet and spoke sternly. You two behave.

I laughed and tugged on his hands, walking backwards slowly. Mikey walked with me, stepping on my feet. Careful, I said.

He started to look down but caught himself. His steps grew shorter, slower. I changed direction and he bumped into my stomach and stumbled to back up. I made my movements far more pronounced than was normal and slowed even further. After a few more transitions, something clicked. Mikey began to correlate my motions with his motions. He started to adjust his body to mimic mine. He still scuffed my feet with his on occasion, but he had become suddenly more aware of him and me.

I stopped and turned to the rest of the class. Did you see that? Let’s give Mikey some claps for being my assistant.

Mikey puffed out his thin chest and took the applause. I patted his back and sent him into one of the lines. We’re going to start with moving around a little. When I say walk forward, walk forward. If I say turn left, you turn left. Try not to bump into anyone. Keep your chin up!

I quickly discovered some of my students didn’t know left from right and we all had a quick lesson on that. I had them walk around until they all started to get bored, and then I had everyone pair up and walk like I’d done with Mikey.

I may as well have said, Let’s pretend to be bumper cars. Chaos ensued. Children blindly stumbled around, knocking into other pairs, and falling to the cushy mat floor. I saw a couple of the older students grasp the concept, but their efforts were interrupted by collisions outside of their control. Some kids gave up on the activity entirely and just spun in circles until they were too dizzy to stand.

I stood back and let the chaos ensue since we were at the end of class time anyway. And an old instructor of mine, a Russian great-grandmother with a bad attitude and a thick accent, had told me that failures make better teachers than successes. As gruff and impossible as she had been, I owed all my own successes to her teachings. She had never been wrong, either. The kids had to knock into each other a bit before they learned how not to do so.

The clock struck the end of the hour. I opened the door to my studio and let the parents filter in. The parents were even more varied than the children. There were some who only put their children in lessons to get an hour to themselves. Others did it because their kid wanted it. And a few were very determined that their child would be a dancer, in the same way some parents hoped their kids grew up to be football players or doctors.

I never confirmed or denied the prospects of dancing as a possible career. It was a very personal choice with a lot of cons, perhaps even more cons than pros. Passion and love was what made up for the downfalls and no overbearing mother should be encouraged to force her child to feel such things.

And anyway, no one in this class had that spark, that natural talent that instructors dreamed of finding. Not a single child in all my classes did, and that was fine with me. My own spark hadn’t gotten me anywhere.

Once I navigated the gauntlet of parental intrigue, I slipped into my office and changed out of my leotard and tights into a loose skirt and tank-style top with flower appliques on the bosom. I turned off all the lights behind me and locked the door. Just before shutting it and heading out, I looked back at the studio space and sighed. The room was very large, with plenty of space for dancing, with high ceilings and mirror panes all along one wall. The space suddenly struck me as cavernous in its emptiness, and very lonely.

My knee ached.

I shut the door and head into the parking lot. My studio was in a strip mall, next to an instrument’s store, a gym, an army recruiter’s office, and a few restaurants and a café. The lot was never empty, clustered with cars at all hours. I kept a sharp lookout on my surroundings. I knew exactly the sort of target I seemed to potential burglars. A short, slim woman who sometimes limped when she was tired, crossing a parking lot just before dusk? I would have been very naïve not to pay attention.

Nothing had ever happened before, and tonight was no different. I got to my car without incident and turned it on. A warm yellow light lit up the interior. I turned on the AC and let it run for a little while, cooling me off from my brief walk through the terrible humidity. I pulled out my phone to check my messages and saw one from my best friend, Fiona.

You’re still coming to the festival, right?

I sent back an affirmative and started driving. I moved to Florida nearly a decade ago with my family, shortly after graduating high school. The state’s fondness for hosting most of its yearly events in the heat of summer never ceased to astound me. Having fun was so much more difficult when walking felt like swimming, the air was so thick and oppressive.

At least this festival took place at night, not far from the ocean, offering a modicum of tolerability.

I heard the festival long before I came to the parking area, music thumping loud across the sky like peals of thunder. People were everywhere, carrying drippy ice cream comes and cotton candy and balloons. Twisting, looping, spinning carnival rides flashed bright lights against the dusky purple sky. Screams and shrieks of