Chapter 2 #2
Justin’s stomach roiled. The other man involved?
The guy who started the fight, Peter should have said.
A fight that Justin had never sought. All he’d wanted to do the other night was have a drink with his colleagues.
Just like, when he was a kid, all he’d wanted to do was take ballet classes.
The fight had come to him. But the video made it look like Justin had started it.
“However, your behavior has created a significant problem for the company,” Peter went on.
It wouldn’t have been a significant problem if the woman sitting three feet to his right hadn’t made sure everyone with an internet connection had seen the video, Justin thought.
But he sat in silence and let Peter finish his grim soliloquy.
If his boss was about to kick him off the New York tour, Justin would rather he rip the Band-Aid off fast.
“You know how strongly I feel about creating a culture of respect in this company, and in the ballet world at large. I spent my entire dancing career witnessing what happens when a company values talent over respect, and I know what kind of a message it sends when a leader turns a blind eye to bad behavior from their senior dancers—especially the men.”
Justin knew, too. He thought about the stories that leaked out of New York Ballet under its former artistic director, Heather’s old boss, who didn’t care if his male dancers did drugs and trashed hotel rooms on tour on Saturday night, as long as they showed up and danced a perfect Apollo on Sunday afternoon.
“We’re getting a lot of calls from the press about this incident.”
Justin shot a glance over at Ivy Page. Was she here to interview him?
Did Peter want him to tell his side of the story to Poison Ivy, to bare his soul to a journalist and the rest of the world to make all the inconvenient press coverage go away?
Fat chance. Even if he was willing to talk to a journalist about what happened the other night, he was never, ever going to tell Ivy Page about it.
“The membership department is also starting to hear from subscribers who want to know if this is the kind of behavior we accept from our dancers. There are rumblings about a campaign to press people to cancel their subscriptions unless we take action.”
Justin’s stomach clenched. No ballet company could afford to piss off its subscribers; without regular, reliable ticket sales, ANB would be screwed.
Peter was silent for a moment, regarding Justin thoughtfully.
Justin willed himself not to shift in discomfort again.
His boss had a penchant for zero-tolerance policies—everyone in the company remembered how seriously he’d taken Pas de Don’t—and Justin braced himself for whatever hammer Peter was about to drop.
“However, I’ve known you since you joined the company, and as far as I’m aware, this is the first time you’ve done something like this.
It does not seem to be in keeping with your character, or part of a pattern of behavior.
And I am aware that having a video of this incident circulating on the internet must be quite distressing for you. ”
Justin swallowed and nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy cross her arms, as if in discomfort. Good. She should feel uncomfortable, he thought, as hope gave a tiny flicker in his gut. Perhaps Peter had called her here for an apology, instead of an interview?
“You are a valuable member of this company, and I would like to take you on tour to New York City with us next month,” Peter said, and Justin exhaled fully for what felt like the first time since he’d entered the room. “Under a few conditions. That’s where Ms. Page comes in.”
Justin nodded. “Good. She’s going to issue some kind of a retraction? Take the video down?” Not that it would make much of a difference at this point; there were copies of it all over social media. Still, it was the principle of the thing.
“Not exactly,” Peter said.
“Why not? Can’t she tell her readers that she’s decided it wasn’t newsworthy, and that she regrets publishing it, and that in future she’ll only write stories that are actually stories, like a real journalist?”
In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Ivy Page cock her head, as though she didn’t appreciate being talked about as though she weren’t in the room. Or perhaps she didn’t appreciate what he was saying about her work. Well, too bad, Justin thought. He wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true.
“Ms. Page won’t be publishing any more stories about you in the Morning Sun,” Peter said, his tone part quelling, and part reassuring.
“Oh,” Justin said. That was a bit drastic. “I mean, I don’t think she should have been fired over this, but if you think she deserves it…”
On the couch, Ivy made a sound, a small, annoyed exhale, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“As it happens, I do not think Ms. Page deserved to be fired over her story,” Peter nodded at the woman in question, “and she wasn’t. But she was laid off on Friday, along with the rest of the arts team at the Morning Sun. A true loss for the paper. But quite a gain for ANB.”
Justin looked at his boss, that sense of dread descending again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that as of yesterday, Ms. Page works for us. She’s our new publicity associate.
It will be her job to make sure that the press is focused on our dancing and not on our extracurricular behavior, and we’re lucky to have her.
Please, Justin, welcome your newest colleague to Australian National Ballet. ”
Ivy watched as the color drained out of Justin’s cheeks, making his pale brown stubble seem darker than it had when he walked in.
He turned towards her, facing her properly for the first time since he’d entered the room, and stared, his mouth open in confused surprise, and his forehead crumpled in horror.
Ivy forced herself to meet his gaze, staring unflinchingly into his horrified hazel eyes, and pulled her mouth into a pleasant, toothless smile that she hoped conveyed confidence and competence in the face of his obvious displeasure.
She didn’t feel confident or competent, not with one of the company’s principal dancers looking at her like that.
But she hadn’t felt like she knew what she was doing the first time she’d gone to a press conference or a press screening, and she’d made it through, even though she kept waiting for someone to notice that she was an imposter and throw her out of the room.
Still, the way Justin was glaring at her right now, he clearly wouldn’t mind tossing her right out of Peter’s window and into Sydney Harbour.
The way he’d just talked about her, like her work was worthless—like it wasn’t newsworthy—had momentarily cut through her first-day jitters and made irritation flare low in her stomach.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, still staring at her.
Ivy frowned. “Are you… talking to me?”
“No,” he growled, “please, safely assume that I’m never, ever talking to you.”
At least he said “please,” Ivy thought, despite herself. She was about to reply when Justin turned to face Peter.
“You can’t be serious. Why would you do this?”
Peter raised his eyebrows and gave an elegant little shrug. “Why wouldn’t I do this? Ms. Page has been covering the company for years, she’s a gifted writer, and she was suddenly available. She’ll be an excellent asset to us.”
“Yeah, she has been covering the company for years,” Justin said hotly, apparently back to talking about Ivy like she wasn’t here. “Let’s not forget what she wrote about me in that very first review after you promoted me to principal.”
Ivy cocked her head, perplexed. What had she written? Whatever it was, she’d written it too long ago to remember.
“Justin, it’s never a good idea to pay too much attention to reviews, you know that I—”
“She called me nothing but a pretty face and a freakish pair of feet,” Justin interrupted with a snarl.
Ivy bit her lip, no doubt ruining the lipstick she’d picked out to match her dress on her first day on the job.
She didn’t remember writing that. And in her defense, Justin did have exceptional feet for ballet, the kind girls in her class had dreamed of having.
High arches, and toes that pointed in a tight, perfect curve and made his lines gorgeous as a result.
She and Em had both spent hours of their young lives poring over dancewear catalogues and envying feet just like that, and they’d strapped their feet into foot stretchers that resembled medieval torture devices in hopes of replicating what Justin was apparently born with.
And as for his face, well, it was very pretty.
He had sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, and to complete the Hollywood heartthrob trifecta, he had a strong nose that was ever-so-slightly off center, as though he’d broken it as a kid and it hadn’t quite healed right.
And then there were his eyes, a mottled mixture of green and brown and blue and gold, striking even when he had them narrowed in her direction.
He had a few days’ worth of light brown stubble and his thick, wavy blond hair was damp from class around his temples.
His cheeks were pink—whether from exertion or emotion, she couldn’t tell.
“Justin, may I remind you why we need to hire a new public relations associate in the first place?” Peter was saying.
Ivy shifted against the couch and willed herself to stop thinking about Justin Winters’ pretty face.
“It’s because you started a fight in a pub last week and now most of Sydney knows about it. ”