Page 74 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 5-8
Why the hell did I ever agree to dance last night? My life was good. Really good. A job I loved, a boss I respected and, yes, found attractive, but always from a safe distance. I’d found my way back to dancing. Jessica and I are becoming friends. I see my parents every—
My head snaps up and I push off the door.
“I need to call my parents.”
I’m halfway across the room when Aiden grabs my arm and stops me.
“We need to talk first.”
I whirl around, resisting the urge to shove him away with both hands. This is his fault, too.
“Who took the photo?”
“One of the event photographers. Once they realized who I was, they decided to follow me thinking I was meeting a new lover.” He scowls at the paper in his hands. “My best guess is he asked for your name and put two and two together. But he’s no longer employed.”
My jaw drops. “You had him fired?”
“His job was to photograph the event, not pretend to be a paparazzo. The Gardens agreed with me.”
He’s got a point. But if he hadn’t followed me, if he had just stayed in his VIP booth sipping hundred-dollar cocktails, none of this would have happened.
“Why the hell did you come after me last night?”
I’m risking the future of my job with my tone. But I’m so angry, stripped bare in front of a man I never wanted to be vulnerable in front of. So damn afraid I can barely see straight. Memories of Brett rear up, his face twisted into a mask of such burning anger I can still taste the fear from all those years ago. But I’m not going to cave this time. I will start over from scratch if I have to.
I whirl and jab a finger at Aiden.
“I’m allowed to have a life outside of work, and if you’re going to tell me I can’t work for you and dance then you can just shove one of your seven-figure contracts up your—”
“Stop.”
He barks out the one word with the same ferocity he’s used when dealing with cranky clients. My first inclination is to back down, apologize. So I straighten my shoulders, raise my chin and meet his gaze head-on.
“As I said last night, this has nothing to do with your dancing.” Aiden runs a hand through his hair. “For God’s sake, Seraphina, it’s a well-known fact I spent several years picking pockets in New York before John found me. Do you really think I’d judge you for something as mundane as learning how to dance?”
“Maybe not you, but your clients—”
“My clients,” he grounds out, “can go to hell if they have a problem with it, especially since I counted at least seven of them in attendance last night thoroughly enjoying the festivities.”
My anger drains away as I deflate.
“When you said we have a problem… I thought…”
“I was surprised last night. I wasn’t at my most eloquent.”
“So why did you come after me?”
One long, slow blink. His tell. I’ve seen him in enough conferences and on enough phone calls to know he’s going to lie, or at the very least only share half the truth.
“I was shocked.”
“Shocked?” I repeat.
“Yes, Seraphina, shocked.” My six-hundred-square-foot studio apartment shrinks as he takes a step closer. “My prim, proper assistant twirling a stick that’s on fire around her head like it couldn’t suddenly combust and kill her? Yes,” he repeats, his voice hardening, “I was shocked.”
I roll my eyes. I had the same conversation with my father when I first started dabbling in fire dancing.
“It won’t randomly combust. I use controlled fuel application to the wick ends—”
