by Tasha Black
Instead, he had settled into a life of excess, punctuated by work benders in which he would disappear into the office and not emerge for days.
He had a serious talent for finance, as it turned out.
And a voracious appetite for ballerinas.
He took a deep breath and turned the corner from the foyer into the living room.
The dancers were exclaiming over the yogurt. Each clutched a tiny crystal bowl of yogurt with fruit and a miniature silver spoon.
With their hair down over their flat chests and the tiny utensils in their hands, they looked sort of like kids having a tea party. West got his second surprise pang of conscience of the evening.
Before he could examine his feelings, one of them spotted him and squealed.
“Hi, Mr. Worthington.”
The tallest of the group approached him with a confidence the others seemed to lack.
“I’m Alais. Thank you for the party.”
Her French accent was exquisite.
“Hello, Alais. You’re a beautiful dancer.”
He didn’t actually know which fucking one she was. They all looked the same onstage and the whole thing had been boring as hell - one emaciated woman after another being tossed around by bored-looking guys in tights all set to classical music.
But fucking a ballet company was on his bucket list, and they certainly looked athletic enough to make it worth his while.
Peter stood in the corner behind the bar, clearly making an effort to look indifferent and professional. These dancers were totally Peter’s type. Peter had asked him like it would be a favor - if West would “let” him watch. But of course West knew Peter would be tormented having to watch without participating. Knowing that ought to have been part of the pleasure for West.
But tonight he just couldn’t get into it. Maybe he had finally become so depraved that he couldn’t find a bright enough spark to ignite himself.
His mind crept back to Cordelia. Was he feeling like this just because of her thinly veiled disapproval? That seemed unlikely, she never approved of any of his escapades. Still, it was probably better to fire her, just in case.
Strangely, the thought brought him no joy. Maybe he was coming down with something.
The dancers were all abandoning the tables and padding over to him. The smallest one couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. She peeked at him from behind her colleagues, her blue eyes twinkling with fear and excitement.
“Come closer girls,” West heard himself say. “There’s a secret that no one knows about me. But I know ballerinas are very disciplined. Can you keep my secret?”
They murmured softly and nodded their heads eagerly.
“Do you see that man over there?” West pointed to Peter.
West didn’t like to play with his food, but there was no sense in letting a buffet like this go to waste just because he wasn’t hungry.
“That’s the real Mr. Worthington,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Gasps and smiles.
Peter’s jaw clenched at the lie, but he kept looking stoically forward.
“You see,” West explained, “Mr. Worthington is very wealthy. It’s not safe for him to reveal his face to the public, so ever since he was a boy I have been his stand-in.”
Alais nodded sagely.
“He’s even more handsome than I am, don’t you think?”
They all giggled.
“I’m going to go over there and make you all some drinks.” He turned to address Peter. “Mr. Worthington, the ladies understand now. I’m ready to take your place.”
Peter looked at him in wonder.
Then he dashed out from behind the bar before West could change his mind.
West had a momentary feeling of benevolence followed by the dark certainty that he’d just thrown these girls out of the frying pan and into the fire. Also, he had tricked them into star-fucking the wrong guy.
He reached under the bar and retrieved the bottle of good scotch he’d stashed there earlier. It would have been wasted on the present company. He poured himself two fingers and leaned casually on the bar.
Peter was already in the pit. He fumbled with his bow tie, until one of the dancers offered to do it for him. He grinned, as another practically shoved the first one off.
“Easy girls, there’s enough wild West for everyone,” he joked.
They all giggled generously at his dumb joke and the two girls removed his tie together.
West could almost feel their little fingers on his own chest, like spiders.
The buzz of his phone distracted him and he slipped it out of his pocket.
There were about four hundred messages in his inbox but he didn’t feel like thinking about work this week.
There were also a couple of texts. Cordelia had texted him earlier, but he had ignored it. Something about plans for a meeting tomorrow that he had no intention of attending.
Thinking of Cordelia and her blushing was weirdly compelling.
Instead of listening to Peter try to convince the two girls to kiss each other to “make up” for their tussle, he found himself replaying the scene with Cordelia in slow motion - her lips parting slightly and the blood staining her cheeks.
Impulsively, he texted her.
Sure you don’t want to join me? ;)
There was no reply, though he could see the message had been read almost instantly. He couldn’t deny that she was a model employee.
In the pit, the two girls were actually kissing each other now for his friend’s amusement. Peter tentatively stroked their hair, his face slack with wonder.
Lame.
As if sensing his gaze, Peter looked up at West helplessly.
It was probably uncomfortable for him to have this experience in front of his friend. But West didn’t really give a fuck. Peter was lucky West was amused - he could still put a stop to it at any moment. The rich guy giveth, the rich guy taketh away.
The buzz of his phone drew his attention away again.
No, thank you, sir.
Christ.
Get in here NOW.
He idly wondered if he’d finally found the button to push that would send her out the door. Despite his earlier thoughts about firing her, he had to admit, she ran things really well. It would suck to watch Dalton try to train the next one. Dalton always got really pissy when he had to do most of the PA’s work.
A slight movement in the doorway caught his eye.
Cordelia stepped into the room, her face beet red, her eyes glued to the floor.
“Cord.”
She turned and seemed surprised to see him behind the bar.
“You know how to make girly drinks, right?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She looked up at him in confusion.
“What did you do at night while you were in college, study?”
“My degree is in Wildlife Biology and Conservation, with a specialization in Applied Animal Behavior and Cognitive Studies. I was part of a work study program to pay my tuition, and I volunteered every weekend at a local wildlife refuge.”
Jesus, what a mouthful. Her voice was ice.
“So not a lot of time mixing drinks?” he teased.
“Not unless you count mixing formula for abandoned gray wolf pups after their mother got caught in a poacher’s snare. Or mixing the proper dose of tranquilizer to take down a full grown grizzly bear.”
West didn’t count either of those things.
“Well, today you’re going to learn,” he said.
“Not unless it’s Shirley Temples I’m not.”
Wow, she was pushing the envelope tonight.
West looked at her. She glanced down at her hands in a respectful posture, but her lips pressed together in a straight line.
“Some of them have to be twenty-one,” he reasoned.
“Would you like me to text Dalton for their passport info?”
“S
ure,” he sighed, already exasperated.
She slipped her phone out and began sliding her thumbs over it effortlessly. Her texting was so fast, it was mesmerizing.
“Four Shirley Temples, two…girly drinks. All of them are at least eighteen.”
He nodded and looked over at the pit again. Peter was finally making his move, kissing one of the two trouble-makers while the other stroked his chest. They were all so thin they almost looked like boys.
West figured he’d thrown Peter the right bone. He preferred his starlets to these starved creatures - at least they looked like women.
“Are amaretto sours okay, sir?”
“Hmm?”
“For the two girly drinks?”
“Nah, White Russians.”
“What about the calories?”
“They could use the calories.”
She smiled.
The dancer who had introduced herself as Alais approached, a suspicious look clouding her delicate features.
“That’s not Mr. Worthington.”
3
Cordelia went silent.
When Cordelia had arrived to see Peter in the pit and West behind the bar, she was surprised at first. But even though it wasn’t like West to share, she figured it was about right that he only did it at the expense of six young women.
How was he going to talk his way out of this one?
To his credit, West didn’t miss a beat.
“This one is smart,” West murmured.
If she didn’t know better, Cordelia would have thought he didn’t mean for them to hear. But of course West was a manipulative jerk, and was only calling the girl smart to get in her pants.
“Come back here,” he said in a dramatic stage whisper, “immediately.”
The girl scrambled behind the bar with them, gazing up at West with luminous brown eyes.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I only lied to you to help my friend. The man over there, Peter, he’s dying. He has always loved the ballet. His dream was to fall in love with a dancer. But he never had the chance, and now he never will. In a way, you are granting his last wish.”
Alais’s mouth formed an “o”.
West reached out and twirled a length of her brown hair around his finger.
“Of course,” he said, his voice dripping honey, “Peter has five more dancers than he dreamed of tonight.”
“Then he won’t miss me, Mr. Worthington.”
Cordelia had been trying to disappear into the bar ever since West touched the girl’s hair but her head jerked up at the audacity of that last line.
Alais was already pressing her body against Mr. Worthington’s.
Cordelia had to admire the girl’s ability to cut to the chase. With Westley Worthington it was probably a good philosophy to go for what you wanted while you had the chance.
Cordelia wanted nothing more than to leave, but the two of them blocked the opening. In desperation, she scanned the surface of the bar. She could climb it, but not without breaking something. She had rescued plenty of animals from traps in her time, but had never been on this end before.
On the other side of the bar, Peter was asking all the dancers if they would like to see his bedroom. His face was a mask of grim determination, not what she would have expected under the circumstances.
Three of the girls startled like a flock of geese and scrambled out of the pit and over to the snack table.
Cordelia silently applauded their good sense.
The other two remained. One was teasingly asking Peter to “convince them” to go with him. Oh brother.
The other glanced in Cordelia’s direction and winked. Cordelia looked away, horrified.
Unfortunately, she looked right into West’s face.
His eyes were shut and his face was transported with pleasure as Alias ran her hand along the massive bulge in his pants. Unlike Peter’s clenched and desperate look, West’s vulnerability made him even more handsome than usual.
Cordelia couldn’t look away. Her eyes caressed the delicate arch of his thick eyebrows, the way his long lashes kissed his cheeks, his strong jawline.
He leaned against the back of the bar in a casual stance, but his massive hands were clenching the counter on either side of his hips, belying the excitement of the experience.
Alais let out a hungry little moan as she worked her hand faster and West rocked his hips toward her.
In spite of herself, Cordelia felt her own body begin to respond to his excitement.
Why?
This man was a noted jerk and womanizer, a fact that she was currently bearing witness to. Why did she feel the sudden urge to yank the girl off of him and show him how a real woman would treat him?
She tore her eyes away and tried to back up a little.
Cordelia’s elbow brushed a stack of overturned glasses like the one Mr. Worthington had been drinking out of. She grabbed the leaning stack to secure it, but the top glass tumbled off and through her fingers, shattering with a sound that reverberated through the penthouse like a gunshot.
She looked back to Mr. Worthington.
Alais didn’t lose a beat. She still caressed the throbbing bulge through his pants with one hand, while she undid his belt with the other.
West had opened his eyes and was staring right into Cordelia’s.
Alais slid the belt out of its loops with practiced ease, and began to work on the buttons.
West’s eyes burned into Cordelia’s. She felt almost hypnotized. Though she knew she should be livid about it, Cordelia soaked in the unlikely intimacy of the moment.
Alais undid the buttons and slowly lowered the zipper. Gingerly, she ran her hand along the elastic of his underwear before hooking a finger inside and giving a playful tug.
4
West was reeling.
His body tingled all over from Alais’s touch. But it was the way his mind was stimulated by Cordelia’s eyes that threatened to push him over the edge.
It was like fucking Mary Poppins.
Her body was still and her posture excellent as usual, but her breasts heaved under that white sweater and her parted lips glistened in the dim light of the penthouse.
Her eyes burned with barely restrained longing.
He imagined the feel of her skin on his as she pressed herself against him. The heat spreading as she opened his fly and slid a warm hand into his pants.
Instead, a cold hand down there snapped him back to his senses.
Ripping his eyes from Cordelia’s, he yanked Alais away from his body. She looked confused.
“Party’s over!” he announced.
“What do you mean?” Alais asked.
“Security alert from downstairs,” West informed her. “Everyone has to leave.”
Ballerinas began to scurry for their belongings.
“C’mon, man,” Peter pleaded from the base of the stairs. The two dancers must have finally let themselves be convinced, he had an arm around each.
West only shrugged.
“Cord!” he called. What was she doing? Party clean up was her job.
She jumped and shot him a nasty look before getting her head back in the game.
Grabbing Alais by the arm, she marched out from behind the bar.
“Sorry everyone, we’ve just received an urgent message from security. Please gather your things as quickly as you can, and then exit this room calmly and meet me in the lobby. Mr. Worthington may be in danger - he can’t risk your safety too.”
“Fat bitch,” Alais whispered as she tore her arm away from Cordelia. Classic.
Cordelia didn’t even break stride.
Within a minute the room was cleared out.
West watched Cordelia walk away, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t quite identify as she disappeared from view.
He pushed it out of his mind and turned to his friend.
“Nice girls, huh?”
Peter didn’t answer.
He was probably pretty frustrated. But West f
igured he had given him enough jack-off material to last the rest of his life. If West knew Peter, he’d be telling his grandsons about it one day. Poor guy was only going to score with two out of six anyway. West was sure he could have landed them all right there in the pit.
“What the hell was that all about?” Peter broke the silence as he buttoned his white shirt.
“I had a change of heart.”
“Since when does Westley Worthington have a heart?”
“You’re mad at me?” West tried to sound indignant, even though he knew Peter was right. “I’m the only reason any of these girls would ever even give you a second glance. You think they’d be lining up to drop their panties for Peter Watson?”
“And what’s so special about you? You’re just a bank account with cock attached to it. You think anyone would have anything to do with you without your money? I know I sure as hell wouldn’t. Not the way you’ve been acting lately.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining ten minutes ago, when you were covered in ballerinas.” West said.
“You’re an asshole.” Peter’s voice pitched higher, like it was being stretched taut over his anger. “And an egomaniac.”
“And you’re nothing.” West could tell by the look on his friend’s face that he was pushing too far, but he continued anyway. “You’ve lived your whole life on the handouts of people who are better than you. You settle for scraps. It’s why I’ll always come out on top. Because you don’t have the balls to man up and take what you want, even when it’s rightfully yours.”
Peter looked like he was trying to burn a hole through West with his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he breathed in long, slow breaths, trying to keep his shit together.
West knew he should let it go. Just walk away while he still could. If he let Peter blow off some steam, they’d laugh about it tomorrow.
But he didn’t.
One little push would have sent Peter over the edge, but Westley Worthington always went big.
“That’s why Gwen ended up with me.” West felt the bitter taste of the words as they dripped from his mouth like venom.
