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Next, she’d be buffing the damn floor, no doubt. Anything to keep her mind off of Henry. She was done with him. He was a mistake she wasn’t going to make again.
“Soph?”
She spun, startled at the sound of Darren’s voice behind her, and cried out as she spilled the box of tie-on taps across the wood floor. “Damn it, Darren, you scared me half to death!”
Darren’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back against the wall, arms locked behind him. He studied her face for a minute, evidence of her crying still apparent in her swollen eyes, before dropping his gaze to the hand that clutched at the cane. His wide mouth thinned into a white line. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Her fingers tightened on the cane’s carved metal grip. She lowered herself to the ground, gritting her teeth to keep from hissing in pain, and focused on sweeping the children’s taps together in an attempt to avoid Darren’s concerned gaze. How did he know there was anything going on? The man had an uncanny knack for ferreting out her troubles. “You’re in early.”
“Sophie. Look at me.” His voice was grim, nothing at all like his usual teasing tone.
“What?”
His brows were knit together over his eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Henry Medina? Because I’m worried.”
Sophie jerked in surprise. “Nothing. What, are you psychic now?”
“No, I’m not psychic. I just know how to read.”
Confusion swept over Sophie. “Excuse me?”
Darren held out a copy of a newspaper. The Post. Sophie swallowed. The headline blazing across the top of the page seemed innocuous enough.
“Nice Piece of Real Estate!” it shouted.
But below that was a picture of Henry. And her. She instantly recognized the scene. It was in the lobby of Henry’s building yesterday morning, while they were still in the elevator. He was touching her cheek, head slightly bent as if he was about to kiss her while he handed her an envelope. In a small inset was a second picture of just her as she flung the envelope at the closed elevator door.
“Billionaire CEO attempting to acquire a new piece of property?” was insulting enough. But beside the inset, the paper speculated whether or not “Henry Medina’s lovely companion was a high-end escort.” Heat flushed her cheeks and fresh tears pricked her eyes. She looked up into Darren’s concerned face.
“At least they think I’m high-end,” she choked out. Then she burst into tears.
Chapter Nine
Reporters had gathered outside of Sophie’s dance studio, their cameras held aloft in the hopes of getting a good shot of Henry Media’s “high-end escort.” Sophie slouched lower in her chair at the front desk, trying to remain unseen.
Darren set down the phone gently, jaw tight. “That’s the last of them. Classes are all cancelled.”
They’d spent the entire morning phoning students and telling them not to come to the studio until further notice. “No one else will show up and get caught in that mob.”
It had already happened twice that morning, the first reporter arriving mere minutes behind Darren. Sophie had barely processed the horrible Post headline when the camera flashes started. She had tried to get ahold of all the students from her first class but hadn’t been able to reach a few of them.
The feeding frenzy that had ensued when one of her students had arrived had been brutal. Even through the closed doors and with the security shutters down, Sophie and Darren could hear the shouted questions. She cringed just recalling some of the things they’d asked about her. “How did they find me so quickly?” she asked, wiping futilely at the tears running down her cheeks.
“Well, clearly they’re all rats and they sniffed you out with their disgusting, twitchy little noses.” Darren grimaced, shuddering delicately. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened or are we just going to sit here devising slow and painful deaths for all tabloid reporters?”
Sophie blinked wet lashes. “The second one?”
“Sophie come on, you can tell me anything.”
She sighed, if she couldn’t tell Darren what happened how could she even begin clearing her name in the press? “Henry Medina offered me a thousand dollars an hour to dance with him. At his home. So, I went there the other night and we... danced.” She put her face in her hands.
She knew Darren wouldn’t judge her, but she was still feeling raw from Henry’s cruel gift of money and the reporters were only making things worse.
Darren straightened and leaned his hip against the desk. “Danced?” He poked the photo on the front of the paper. “Did it get horizontal?”
She kept her hands over her face, glancing briefly through her fingers. “Yes.”
His brows rose in surprise. “And?”
