Page 8 of Damaged Protector
The jackass rose from the couch, and I took a step back, putting as much space between us as possible as my heart thumped with fear behind my breastbone.
He made a derisive little tsking sound. “That’s the problem with mediocre dancers, Ivan. They don’t respond well to criticism.”
Attempting to brush off the mediocre insult, I clenched my fists at my side. “You tried to sexually assault me,” I spat.
Dean Kotov broke in, his voice sharp. “That’s a very serious accusation, young lady. Bernard Moreau’s reputation is beyond reproach.”
He’d never taken a firm tone with me, and it hurt. But I lifted my chin and insisted, “So is mine.”
The dark-haired jerk took a couple steps in my direction, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to cower when he sneered, “You’d dare to compare my reputation to yours? You’re a nobody who thinks she’s somebody because she has a modicum of talent.”
“You made unwelcome advances toward me, and…”
He was right in my face now, his back to the dean as he licked his lower lip in a disgusting display of lewdness, and I lost my words.
“Oh, how you do flatter yourself, Miss Fitz. I’m one of the most well-respected individuals in the dance world. Why would I want someone like you?” Then he winked. The fucking bastard!
And I lost my shit. Every ass-kissing lesson my mother had ever instilled in me flew directly out the window and into the dark Pennsylvania night.
I jabbed my finger into his chest and snapped, “You are the most arrogant son of a bitch I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve met a lot of them. You know exactly what you did, you pompous, overrated—”
My next words were cut off when Dean Kotov stepped between us. “Mallori! That is enough!”
“This is why I don’t deal with freshmen, Ivan,” Moreau purred, taking a half step back. “I expect more of a senior student, but she obviously lacks the maturity to dance at a professional level.”
The dean held up a palm toward each of us, his eyes closing for a long second as he exhaled a gritty breath. “I don’t know what to say here. Mallori has never acted like this before.”
“Well, my name brings a lot of funding to this university. What does this little girl bring besides bad lines and false accusations?”
“You said my lines were, and I quote, fantastique. You know, while you were touching me inappropriately?”
“That’s it!” Moreau roared, and I stumbled back a step at his ferocity. “I could teach at any university in the world, Ivan. I’ve been assaulted and insulted this evening, and I’m tired of playing nice with this child.”
“You didn’t think I was a child when you were unbuttoning your pants,” I shot back, and Dean Ivan’s already pale face blanched to the approximate shade of an egg.
The man I’d come to know and trust faced me, his mouth downturned as he shook his head. “Mallori, I’ve never been more disappointed in anyone in my entire life.”
And I understood. He wasn’t talking about Moreau. He was talking about me.
Dean Kotov was disappointed… in me.
Chapter 2
I wanted my mom.
Yes, Mama could be a bit harsh and very demanding when it came to dance… or anything, really, but she was my biggest supporter. She never missed a performance or an audition, and I knew she would be in my corner and stand behind me.
Wiping my tear-streaked face on the sleeve of my jacket, I entered our three-story Queen Anne home and dropped my bag beside the door.
“Mama!” I called, and she came immediately from the living room on the right, her purse in hand.
“Pick up your bag. We’re going back to campus.”
One of my eyes squinted in confusion. “What for?”
“Dean Kotov just called me.”
My shoulders crumpled in on themselves. At least I wouldn’t have to relive the entire story. “Mama, it was horrible.”