<span style="color: #FF0000">This one was a smart one, a clever one and he figured he might as well not dance around the elephant in the room anymore. His glass was set down carefully and with purpose while he took the moment to gather his thoughts. <br/><br/>“I want to know,” he paused to look up from his glass to her eyes. “Why such a bottom of the barrel, ill-bred, back water, clod stomping, twenty-five cent pole dancer, who has about much dancing talent as a cow, is so determined to dance?” his voice oddly professional as he addressed her. “I mean you could like go work on a farm, milk cows, shovel shit, bale hay and all that good farm stuff, but no. Instead here you are stumbling about the stage like a mad cow and embarrass yourself with this bullshit, when you could just go away and do something you are actually good at. So tell me, tell me why you are doing this to yourself?” <br/><br/>Cat was out of the bag now and he was interested in the answer she would give him.</span><br/><br/>A coy smile pulled at her lips, a thoughtful smile, as he got it out there. She’d known it was there, bubbling beneath the surface behind all of his remarks, his “small talk,” waiting to boil over. What she found most amusing, however, was that he seemed to think it was a big secret how he felt about her? That she didn’t know exactly how he thought of her, from way up there on his high ass (yes, ass. He’s not deserving of a horse)? It was like he was slow himself, some weird autistic kid who didn’t know, or didn’t care to pay attention, to how he shown everything so plainly? Like Asperger’s, but retard-edition.<br/><br/>“And I’d like to know why something you no longer feel for is still the one claim to fame you’re desperately clinging to with that deadened, life-locked grip of yours? Why someone of your ‘caliber’ couldn’t just move on the moment your reputation was threatened by the likes of a ‘bottom-of-the-barrel, ill-bred, back water, clod stomping, twenty-five cent pole dancer with the talent of a cow’? Why not just use your name, your money, and your pompous attitude to take over some other poor, unsuspecting dance company and get your solo spotlight back?”<br/><br/>With a light, one-sided shrug, the eyebrow on that side mimicking the action, she took another sip of her wine. Without waiting for him to answer, however, she answered her own question. “But I already know the reason why,” Tempest remarked casually, calmly. “Because, for someone who was rumored to hold the grace of a gazelle, you’ve lacked the tact of a gentleman and mature adult male since you stepped up to claim this birthright you saw fit to stamp yourself all over. Have you thought of how terribly you’ve sullied your good mother’s name? How, all that can be remembered about her, is this retarded excuse of a man who can’t admit that, for even a fraction of a moment, he could be imperfect? That he may need someone else to help him continue to remain relevant.”<br/><br/>There was only a small pause as she took another sip. “But, here’s the kicker: You’re already irrelevant. Without my help, you’ll be nothing. Not to mention they’re bringing in another because they think you’re a lost cause, or did Dubois forget to tell you that? They’re bringing in a male dancer, a no-name, who’s got the skill you lack because they’ve no faith you can do as you need to, perform as they need, by the end of the month. Sad, really…that a dancer with such promise, such a ‘great career’ would fall victim to his own, heavy ego…you’d think it’d float pretty damn well with all that hot air you’re constantly filling it with.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000">Words. A lot of them were thrown his way and more than a few stung a bit, more than he would ever admit, though he was not sure if he should believe half of it. So, for a long moment, he just sat there his eyes on her own, never wavering, never even did a brow arched. Instead, he allowed the silence to fill the space between them before he stood suddenly, though with an unnatural grace. Now at her side he looked down at her and extended his hand, “Dance with me.”</span><br/><br/>The silence was a welcomed relief. She’d silenced the “Great” Athanase Durant, pompous douchebag extraordinaire with an aptitude for extended, harsh lines in his dance. Her eye contact held with his, despite how long the silence extended, the only lack of contact being in the briefest of blinks she did out of habit, but her gaze didn’t waver.<br/><br/>Only when he was suddenly at her side, extending a hand, did she perk a brow at it, accepting it without so much as a hesitation. Her inner monologue was wondering at him, at what he was playing at, but she’d play this game. It wasn’t in her nature to just up and quit because she thought the look in his eye was a little too intense.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000"> Onto the dance floor her led her, the band already took note of him and he nodded to them, which caused them to halt what they were playing and change to something else. “Do you tango?” he asked just before he snatched her up close to him and, his chest pressed against her chest, eyes on her eyes, lips just barely not touching. As the music started up he took hold of her hand and spun her away from him and then back so that now her back was pressed up against his chest. “Let's see how well you keep up...” <br/><br/>As the music started he moved and lead her in a dance that was hot, sexy and all but the act itself on the dance floor. Form perfect as always, but there, just as the smallest hint there was a fire in his eyes while he showed her just what he could do. Why he was so famous and why people wanted him. <br/><br/>Spins, turns, dips and more were done, as they took over the dance floor and held the attention of the whole establishment. When the dance came to an end, he had dipped her low, had dipped with her, his face oh so close to her own until he finally whispered. <br/><br/>“The lies and jealously of a girl who is nothing but a disappointment to her father, should mind her tongue when in the presence of greatness,” he smirked and then dropped her. Right there on her back. In the middle of the floor. Where he left her while he walked away and signaled for the check.</span><br/><br/>She allowed him to lead her onto the floor, not bothering with any verbal answers as she knew he didn’t really need them, that they were rhetorical. So, flush against him, lips just barely a hair away, eyes on his, she followed his steps. Each turn, she followed. Each dip, she allowed. Each spin, more of the same. All the while, her mind marveled at that glimmer of true emotion, something other than the blasé, jaded dancer she’d met with no filter on his mouth and a mind stuck in high school. It was different, barely there, but enough to prove there was<span style="font-style: italic">something</span>there, even if he didn’t allow it out there unless to prove a point.<br/><br/>A point he wasn’t doing much at proving with how “perfect” he was being just then.<br/><br/>And that pause, as the song came to a close, hanging there in the balance while he lingered close to her, stared her down, whispered…about her father. Because he had a right to speak about such things. Before he could drop her, a loogie hocked and spit all over his face, anger palpable as her back hit the floor in the middle of the crowd of people. Without a second thought, Tempest was off the floor, and storming out, only annoyed she’d not thought to take her own car to run him down with.<br/><br/>With that, she hastily exited the establishment, lest she take a knife and stab him in the neck on principle, waiting until she got outside to take her heels off and jog her ass home.<br/><br/>His reputation, his livelihood, his life…it could all burn in the fiery depths of hell, in the inner most circle for all she gave a damn right then. That remark had taken her last fuck to give.<br/><br/>Tempest was done.