Page 17 of Healing Eleanor

His head pops up over the monitor, a grin spreading across his face.

“Well, well, well. What a surprise to see you here. I thought you fled the country after that whole Giselle fiasco. Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you. Humiliation’s a heavy weight to carry.”

My eyes slowly lift to his, and there goes any hope of hiding. “Julian. What a surprise. I was just thinking this day couldn’t get worse.”

His hand swoops over his chest. “And here I was thinking you’d be thrilled to see me. Don’t pretend I’m not the most interesting thing to happen to you since your career imploded.”

“You know,” I start, grabbing a stack of papers and filing them away. “I’m genuinely impressed.” I gesture toward him with a few papers in my hand. “It must take some real effort to be this self-absorbed and still find time to breathe.”

He lets out a huff of air, and smiles like he’s utterly unfazed. “Talent, Ellie. You should try developing some.”

After I file away the last paper, I pick up a towel from underneath my desk. If I’m not holding something right now, I don’t trust myself to not launch my water bottle at his head. “So, what brings you here Julian? Don’t you have other places to be? Like pushing children at the park… or finding a mirror to kiss?”

“I was scheduled for a private session with Vincent.” He smirks. “But it seems someone wiped the calendar clean, and he forgot when my session was supposed to start.” He shrugs. “He asked if I could come in early.”

My eyes unintentionally roll. “Right. Makes sense.”

He slides his arms into a stretch like he’s posing for Vogue. “Well, if your little desk job fails, I hear barista gigs are very in right now. Just don’t forget to twirl when you hand someone their latte. Gotta keep the dream alive somehow.”

I ring the towel in my hand, willing it to stay there. Then I look him straight in the eye and smile. “You know what? You’re right.”

He blinks, lips parting before drawing into a line.

“I should definitely take advice from someone who peaked during Nutcracker season and still hasn’t come down.”

His smirk falters for just a second, but it’s enough to satisfy me.

He laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “Still bitter, I see. It looks cute on you.”

I set the towel down on the desk. “Well, I’d better get back to work. My little desk job doesn’t do itself.”

I turn on my heels and walk toward the break room before he can say another word. The last thing I need is to say something that’ll actually get me fired. Again.

When I sit down, the chair’s plastic creaks beneath me. I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and refresh my email.

Another rejection.

My twelfth one since I started applying to companies five weeks ago.

I stare at the screen until the words blur together. The polite phrasing is always the same—we regret to inform you… we wish you the best in your future endeavors. I can practically recite it by heart now.

Each night, I sit on my bed and type email after email.

At this point, I’m surprised my fingers haven’t fallen off from all the excessive typing.

But it still isn’t enough.

I’ve emailed every single company in New York City, and while some reject me outright, most just don’t respond at all. Their silence is almost worse than rejection itself.

It’s the reason behind it that gets me.

I could understand if they say my lines aren’t clean enough, or that I lack the strength and precision they’re looking for. But deep down, I know it isn’t about that. It’s about Soren.

Rumors of my dismissal from the Metropolitan Theatre of Ballet have started to circulate.

Even though everyone was instructed not to speak to the press, somehow it leaked that I’d offered to sleep with my coach for a promotion.

A lie so far from the truth, it makes me sick just thinking about it.