after the day I had. I’m glad I didn’t, though.” She smiled warmly at him, forgetting for a moment that he was there to learn a dance for his wedding.
“And I’m glad you didn’t turn me down.” He smiled back. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Zaakir retrieved his jacket from the table and reached into an interior pocket. He pulled out several bills, folded them, and handed them to her. “For tonight. Thank you, Megan, for your time and expertise.”
She took the money and watched as he turned and walked out. From the door of her studio, Megan could just make out the street where he climbed into the backseat of a waiting car. No sooner had Zaakir shut the door, the sleek black limousine pulled away from the curb and sped off into the night.
Megan counted the bills in her hand. The Sheikh hadn’t paid for a one-on-one lesson. In fact, he hadn’t even given her what was the cost of a class of thirty. The amount she held in her hand was enough for a class of one hundred students, more than three times their agreed amount. He must not have realized how much he’s given me , she thought. Even if he intended this as payment for the following evening as well, it was still far too much, and she’d have to give some of it back.
She counted out the fee they had agreed upon, then added to it the price for a private tango lesson. She set aside the remainder and tucked it into an envelope once she was back in her office, thinking she’d return it to him and explain her fees the following night. She put the envelope and her earnings for the two classes into her safe box and locked it in the safe.
At least now she’d have enough to pay for the ballet costumes for this summer’s recital, Megan thought. It was a huge order—her biggest expense of the year, aside from the rental of the building for the recital—and it was a difficult payment to make. When the time came to pay the hire charges for the building, the year’s tuition would be paid in full and all of the tickets for the event would be purchased, but the costumes had to be ordered far in advance, and most parents were still making payments on the fees. The payment tonight put her ahead of schedule.
Megan glanced over her stack of bills, checked her bank account, and sighed in relief. For her first year owning a studio, she’d done well for herself. Much better than her parents expected she ever would. She hadn’t taken the more secure path of law or medicine—a decision they still hadn’t let her live down—but had instead chosen to follow her deepest passion and chase her dream. Now, coming to the close of only the first year, Megan’s dance studio had become one of the largest single-teacher studios in the neighborhood. Soon, she’d be looking at hiring additional teachers, and in a few years, she’d have to move to a larger space. Maybe then her parents would see that her lifelong love of dance hadn’t merely been a frivolous hobby, as they’d called it. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to make it.
TWO
“You are not going to believe what happened last night,” Megan said to Rachel.
They were sitting at a small wrought-iron table at their favorite café, a bistro with a tiny garden out back; a sanctuary away from the crowded Manhattan streets. Rachel sipped her coffee and bit into her turkey wrap as she waited for her friend to go into detail.
“After working all day,” Megan continued, “I get this email asking me to stay late to take a class of thirty, so of course, I accept. Only thing is, the time for the class comes and goes. Then one guy shows up. One.”
“Oh wait. Let me guess,” Rachel said, putting down her wrap so she could illustrate her point with her hands. “And he just happens to be the most gorgeous man in the world who can dance like he’s taken lessons for years and, oh yeah, who just so happens to be rich.” She sighed and took a long sip
“And I’m glad you didn’t turn me down.” He smiled back. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Zaakir retrieved his jacket from the table and reached into an interior pocket. He pulled out several bills, folded them, and handed them to her. “For tonight. Thank you, Megan, for your time and expertise.”
She took the money and watched as he turned and walked out. From the door of her studio, Megan could just make out the street where he climbed into the backseat of a waiting car. No sooner had Zaakir shut the door, the sleek black limousine pulled away from the curb and sped off into the night.
Megan counted the bills in her hand. The Sheikh hadn’t paid for a one-on-one lesson. In fact, he hadn’t even given her what was the cost of a class of thirty. The amount she held in her hand was enough for a class of one hundred students, more than three times their agreed amount. He must not have realized how much he’s given me , she thought. Even if he intended this as payment for the following evening as well, it was still far too much, and she’d have to give some of it back.
She counted out the fee they had agreed upon, then added to it the price for a private tango lesson. She set aside the remainder and tucked it into an envelope once she was back in her office, thinking she’d return it to him and explain her fees the following night. She put the envelope and her earnings for the two classes into her safe box and locked it in the safe.
At least now she’d have enough to pay for the ballet costumes for this summer’s recital, Megan thought. It was a huge order—her biggest expense of the year, aside from the rental of the building for the recital—and it was a difficult payment to make. When the time came to pay the hire charges for the building, the year’s tuition would be paid in full and all of the tickets for the event would be purchased, but the costumes had to be ordered far in advance, and most parents were still making payments on the fees. The payment tonight put her ahead of schedule.
Megan glanced over her stack of bills, checked her bank account, and sighed in relief. For her first year owning a studio, she’d done well for herself. Much better than her parents expected she ever would. She hadn’t taken the more secure path of law or medicine—a decision they still hadn’t let her live down—but had instead chosen to follow her deepest passion and chase her dream. Now, coming to the close of only the first year, Megan’s dance studio had become one of the largest single-teacher studios in the neighborhood. Soon, she’d be looking at hiring additional teachers, and in a few years, she’d have to move to a larger space. Maybe then her parents would see that her lifelong love of dance hadn’t merely been a frivolous hobby, as they’d called it. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to make it.
TWO
“You are not going to believe what happened last night,” Megan said to Rachel.
They were sitting at a small wrought-iron table at their favorite café, a bistro with a tiny garden out back; a sanctuary away from the crowded Manhattan streets. Rachel sipped her coffee and bit into her turkey wrap as she waited for her friend to go into detail.
“After working all day,” Megan continued, “I get this email asking me to stay late to take a class of thirty, so of course, I accept. Only thing is, the time for the class comes and goes. Then one guy shows up. One.”
“Oh wait. Let me guess,” Rachel said, putting down her wrap so she could illustrate her point with her hands. “And he just happens to be the most gorgeous man in the world who can dance like he’s taken lessons for years and, oh yeah, who just so happens to be rich.” She sighed and took a long sip
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