Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 47

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I haven't been here in over two months.

The heavy curtains at the far side of Mister Calore's office are drawn open to reveal grand panes of glass. With another day of ballet dancing over and the sun gone, Broadway's bathed in the shadows of skyscrapers, and those shadows and the light of neon signs creep into the office.

Not knowing why I'm here, I can do nothing but sit on my hands and glance around. The bookshelves, the lounging space, and the sizable onyx desk that I sit before are the same as I remember them, the polished wooden floor, intricate rug, and chandeliers still grand. I try to take in the little details of the office, like the titles of the business books on the bookshelves and the wood patterns on the desk. It's certainly a lot cleaner than Julian's.

Given the smile Lucas wore as he explained that Tiberias Calore wished to speak with me was enough to keep me from freaking out. If the Calores had somehow discovered my connection with the Scarlet Street Fighters, I'd already be in handcuffs, and that corrupt cop, Dane Davidson, would be here. Instead, Tiberias Calore merely glances through some papers inside of a manila file folder, flipping from one to the next.

I've been here for a solid three minutes, and in that time, Mister Calore has been entirely silent after telling me I'll be just a minute. I'm not sure if it's some sort of business strategy designed to confuse, intrigue, or scare me, but for three long minutes, Tiberias Calore has done nothing but pour through the files in front of him.

I see my name on some of them, and I recognize bits and pieces of the Corps and Principal contracts I've signed.

Like Anabel, Mister Calore was on the bridge when I arrived upstairs. In the seconds before the gunshots went off and the ballroom went dark, I remember how he looked at me as though I was a mystery waiting to be solved. I remember how his chain of diamonds prickled at my collarbones.

"Miss Barrow. How are you?" Mister Calore finally starts, straightening his posture to that of an old dancer. The newest paper he's examining drops from his hand and drifts to his desk, and Tiberias Calore's molten eyes focus in on mine. Though he resembles his eldest son in every way with his thick black hair—though streaked with strands of grey—and tall, muscular frame, I struggle thinking of Mister Calore as a dancer. He looks every bit a businessman as he stares back at me in his suit jacket.

I almost forget his question. "I'm fine," I tell him, finding it silly to say that I'm good. It takes me a moment to echo the question. "How are you?"

The door to the Academy's hall is open, but I wouldn't mind having somebody else with me in this room. You know, when I'm with the Scarlet Street Fighters' mortal enemy, Tiberias Calore.

Mister Calore lets out a humorless chuckle. "I've been better, honestly, Miss Barrow."

If it's been nearly seventy-two hours since the attack, and Tiberias Calore has nothing better to do than sit in his Academy office and talk to me, then yes, I would imagine that he's been better. The FBI and the NYPD have been working more tirelessly than they were this summer after the incident at Cygnet Hydrotech, and yet . . . nothing. Nobody knows anything.

"But I doubt that either of us wants to discuss the events of this weekend. And I have a different matter to discuss with you anyway. About your contract."

I shouldn't be surprised, but I blink at him anyway. My six-figure contract is season-to-season and is otherwise made up of a bunch of legal nonsense that I don't ever think about. Once Giselle is over, I'll sign a new one for the next season—permitting I don't, say, blow out a knee or get arrested for involvement in a terrorist organization—then sign another after that, and so on until the end of my ballet career.