Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease by Tatiana March Read Free Book Online Page A

boardroom door and
strode out. “Don’t forget to leave a list of anything you take away
from the premises,” she called back over her shoulder, and then
vanished out of sight, slamming the door behind her.
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    Chapter Four
     
    He wasn’t coming.
    Crimson stood beside Peter
Tomlinson and tried not
to be intimidated by the nearly one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes
that followed her every movement. They were in the showroom,
smaller of the two single story buildings behind the offices. A
muted soar of conversation filled the air. She suspected most of it
was gossip and speculation about her.
    She attempted to calm her mind by taking a moment to admire the
two rows of cars that lined the high ceilinged hall that made up
the showroom. On the left stood vintage racing cars, all the way
back to the founding of Constantine Motors almost a hundred years
ago. On the right, six brand new Constantine Panthers waited to be
collected by their purchasers. The employees milled freely among
the vehicles, pride and admiration reflected on their
faces.
    “ Ready to start?” Peter asked.
    Crimson surveyed the glass-enclosed walkway that connected the
showroom to the office block. “Can we wait just a few more
minutes?” she asked, although she’d already abandoned hope. Of
course, Nick Constantine wasn’t coming. He’d already gotten what he
wanted, which was to humiliate her.
    Shame stirred inside her as she recalled
her behavior with him
the previous afternoon. He’d been right. She had been selling him something. She’d fooled herself
into believing it was just a bit of fun. Appealing to his sense of
humor. His sense of the absurd. When, in reality, she’d been sucked
in by her secret dreams. The Snow Queen and the Prince of Darkness.
Deep in her mind, she had wanted to seduce him into helping
her.
    She’ d seduced him, all right. Into her panties. And now, he
would brush her off like a piece of lint from the lapel of his
suit.
    At the far end of the room, a door
o pened in the glass wall
that let in the bright summer daylight. A lean, athletic man
entered, his dark curls glinting in the sun. He was dressed in
faded jeans and an ancient green sweatshirt with Constantine Racing
printed in yellow letters across the front.
    H er heart thudding, Crimson watched as Nick Constantine
walked up to her, dodging his way between the clusters of
employees. When he reached her, he bent to touch his lips to her
cheek, a casual sign of intimacy, or at least of friendship. Soft,
woodsy cologne drifted out to her. Relief hit her so hard her knees
almost buckled.
    “ Relax,” Nick whispered, his arm supporting
her. “You’ll be fine.”
    “ Thank you. I thought…” She let her words
trail away.
    “ Wouldn’t miss it for the
world.”
    Peter Tomlinson edged
for ward with an eager
nod at them. “I think I know you,” he said to Nick. “You’re Nick
Constantine. The only man alive who has driven the Constantine
Spur.” He pointed at the vintage racing car that stood high up in
the air, resting on a plate of reinforced glass suspended from the
ceiling with four steel cables.
    “ I’m not sure taking the car around the parking lot at crawling
speed on my tenth birthday counts as driving,” Nick replied and
offered his hand. “Sorry to barge in unannounced. Raymond let me in
through the back. I had promised Crimson to be here and I was
running late.”
    “ Not a problem. Let’s get started.” Peter
turned to address the crowd and raised both hands to demand
silence. “Settle down, folks.” He waited for the conversation to
fade away and continued, “I have great pleasure in introducing
Crimson Mills, who has been appointed the new CEO of Constantine
Motors. She is the stepdaughter of Stephan Constantine. The shares
of Constantine Motors are placed in trust until the end of the
year, when the probate is finalized. However, you should assume
that Crimson will be one of the major shareholders.”
    He motioned