Sally nodded stiffly.
Logan’s long fingers twisted the stem of his wineglass. ‘I don’t cherish the idea of making a complete and utter fool of myself in front of Sydney’s finest.’
‘You could have lessons,’ Sally suggested, feeling more nervous by the second. She felt uncomfortably confused too. She still had no idea why her boss was taking her into his confidence.
Watching her, he said, ‘I’ll certainly need lessons. That’s where you come in, Sally.’
‘Me?’
‘I was hoping to call on your expertise.’
‘I—I don’t understand.’ A pulse in her throat began to beat like the wings of a trapped bird.
‘When we were talking the other day, you told me that you were barely out of the cradle before you started dancing at Outback balls with all your brothers.’
‘Oh—w-well, yes, that’s true.’
‘So I assume you’re a very good ballroom dancer?’
Sally’s eyes widened with shock. ‘I—I’m not bad.’
‘I was hoping you could teach me.’
Whack.
The impact of his words exploded inside her, shooting sparks like a firework.
‘I’ve shocked you,’ Logan said, watching her carefully.
Sally reached for her wine. ‘You’ve certainly surprised me.’ Surprised? She was fighting panic. To teach her boss to dance would be stressful enough without the horrible memories that haunted her.
‘It’s for a good cause,’ Logan said. ‘You’d be helping sick children like your nephew. The one with asthma. And many others who are much worse off. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your childhood blighted by severe illness.’
It was a very good cause. Sally couldn’t deny that, but she couldn’t let go of her fear at the thought of dancing. With Logan. Her heart was racing. Her skin was bathed with perspiration and her throat had closed over.
Logan said, with a smiling shrug, ‘I’d be willing to pay you, of course.’
At the mention of money, Sally blinked. He should hire a professional. There had to be hundreds of professional dance teachers in Sydney and Logan could hire any one of them. They would provide him with the expert coaching he needed and the added bonus of complete anonymity. And she would be spared the ordeal.
But Logan’s sister might have suggested professional classes already. And, even if she hadn’t, Sally knew that Logan’s request was a perfect opportunity to conquer her fear once and for all.
When she was eleven she’d fallen from a horse. She’d been winded and hurt and, even now, when she thought about it, she could still remember the pain of bruised ribs and the taste of the red dust in her mouth. But, despite her skinned knees and bruises, her father had insisted that she must get straight back in the saddle.
She’d sensed then, at that tender age, that if she hadn’t followed her father’s advice, she might have developed a fear of horses that could have turned into a debilitating phobia.
It’s the same now. I have to get back on the dance floor.
It would be silly to spend the rest of her life avoiding something she loved as much as she loved dancing. And, after all, she’d come to Sydney to prove she’d recovered from that experience.
She could almost hear her dad urging her in that gentle, insistent way of his. Come on, kiddo. When you come a cropper, you just have to pick yourself up and ride the bruises out of your system.
Now I need to dance the bruises out of my system.
And, of course, there was the rather astonishing fact that Logan had asked her.
‘What are you thinking?’ He looked endearingly worried.
Sally let out her breath slowly. ‘I—I’m thinking that we’d need to find a suitable venue. Somewhere with space to move about.’
Relief spread over his face like a sunrise and Sally was suddenly very glad she hadn’t turned him down.
‘I’ve been giving the venue some thought,’ he said. ‘I wondered if the meeting room at Blackcorp would be suitable. We could push the tables and chairs against the walls.’
‘I—I guess.’
‘But we’d need to do this outside working hours, of course. There’s no need to advertise the lessons to the staff.’ He shot her a sharp questioning glance.
‘I won’t breathe a word,’ she promised.
‘I hoped an evening might be suitable. Or some time at the weekend.’
Sally nodded. ‘Either time would be OK for me. I’m not especially busy.’
‘How about Thursday evening, then? At about half past seven?’
Lifting her glass in a salute, Sally said, ‘It’s a date. I—I mean a deal. Make sure you bring your dancing shoes.’