Elegance laced her raw edges.
I really liked what I saw today. She was dressed completely different from the shabby attire she’d been wearing when I’d first seen her at her house. The fact her hair was still a bit wet from her shower and pulled back in a ponytail instead of framing her face should have taken away from her beauty, but did the complete opposite. The wild curls had been tamed with some type of band, and yet the sleek style served to emphasize a flawless complexion. If she wore makeup, it had been applied sparingly, but then again, she didn’t need any. Her cheeks were flushed the perfect shade of pink. Long lashes enhanced eyes the color of jade glittering with gold specks.
The baggy pants and shapeless shirt had been replaced with black leggings paired with a white tank top, both clinging to curves that begged to be explored. My eyes were drawn to the sleek toned muscles of her arms and then danced to the cleavage her top not only revealed, but enhanced. There was the hint of a tattoo on her left breast, the tip of a white wing barely visible yet instantly making me want to pull the top over her head and trace every line of whatever image she’d allowed to grace her perfect body. It could be anything with wings flying across her breast, but it made her look exotic, tough, and feminine all at once. A tattoo was normally forbidden in our world as the dancer was expected to play many different roles, some of them quite timeless. It wouldn’t do to have Sleeping Beauty pausing mid-stage with her arms arched above her head in the fifth position and have an audience’s attention drawn from the art of the dance to wonder what art had been inked into the ballerina’s flesh.
Evidently even in her rebellion she had been smart enough to know there would be times when her insurrection would need to be concealed. The girl wasn’t only smart, she was ripped, clearly in shape, and there was a way she carried herself in the theater that showed she was no nonsense.
Clara Simyoneva was, without a doubt, a badass chick. I was intrigued — hell, nearly intoxicated — by this different side of her. But that didn’t mean I was about to let her get away with any shit. I had no tolerance for the drama always surrounding a diva.
I waited for her to move farther into the room, gesturing toward a chair in front of my desk.
She sank down, placing the duffel she’d been carrying at her feet. “Yuri told me to come on in and work out the contract with you.”
“Sorting the last of the paperwork right now.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I mean, thanks for convincing me to audition. I really appreciate it.”
“Convincing or goading?” I asked with a grin, glad to see her lips curl up in response.
“Either one, I suppose,” she said with a little shrug. “Or perhaps both. Regardless, I’m still glad you did.”
Nodding, I gave her credit for her honesty. “You’re welcome. I’m pleased it worked, and I’m also glad you’re here. We really do need you. You’ll be a great asset to the theater, and I think we can be of benefit to you as well.”
Straightening the papers on my desk, I then pushed them across its surface toward her, placing a pen on the top page. Even as she reached for it, I shook my head, which had her hand hovering in midair above the document. “No, never ever sign a contract without first reading every single line. There are shady people out there, and you don’t want to get into some hell hole you can’t climb out of.”
Green eyes lifted to meet mine, and I could see the pain reflected in their depths. Remembering my research into her life, it was easy to imagine her informing me she was extremely familiar with hell. Yet, within the time it took her to blink, the pain disappeared and a resolve took its place.
“Are you saying you run a corrupt company or are dishonest with those who dance for you?”
The question took me aback for a moment, but I supposed I’d stepped right into that line of questioning.
“Not at all. We might be demanding of our dancers, but we pride ourselves on being totally honest.” Reaching down without losing eye contact, I plucked the pen from the top sheet and nodded. “And being principled means I need to know you’ve read every page and understand what the content of the contract entails.” Sitting back, I added, “Would you like something to drink while you read?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, picking up the contract and dropping her eyes to scan the words that would bind her to the Volkov Ballet for the foreseeable future.