Westley Worthington strode in to the penthouse just as Cordelia was marching out.

Her straw-colored hair brushed her shoulders in time with the disapproving rhythm of her walk. Her long tweed skirt swished and her ample breasts bounced almost hypnotically under her sweater. But the expression on her face made him feel like he’d just taken the ice bucket challenge.

“Did you warm them up for me?” he joked.

“Yes, sir.”

Her unbreakable restraint never failed to amuse him. West had gone through a personal assistant a month for years - even a couple of mad streaks where he ran one off every other day. But this one was different.

She was smart.

And she was clearly resolved to keep her cool at all costs.

Which of course, made him all the more determined to get under her skin.

“Hey, do you want to join in this time?” West offered with a suggestive wink.

He waited for her inevitable No, thank you, sir. But it didn’t come.

Instead, she blushed deeply and kept walking.

West was surprised to momentarily feel like an asshole for embarrassing her.

But it was amazing how quickly those kinds of feelings passed if you pushed them aside. And West was very good at pushing them aside.

When he’d found out his family’s money came from selling bad mortgages, he’d managed to get over that.

And now that his dad was in jail, the money belonged to West. He could have used it to try and do some good but what was the use? Everyone knew the Worthingtons were a bunch of thieves -probably no one would have taken his dirty money anyway.

Instead, he had settled into a life of excess, punctuated by work benders in which he would disappear into the office and not emerge for days.

He had a serious talent for finance, as it turned out.

And a voracious appetite for ballerinas.

He took a deep breath and turned the corner from the foyer into the living room.

The dancers were exclaiming over the yogurt. Each clutched a tiny crystal bowl of yogurt with fruit and a miniature silver spoon.

With their hair down over their flat chests and the tiny utensils in their hands, they looked sort of like kids having a tea party. West got his second surprise pang of conscience of the evening.

Before he could examine his feelings, one of them spotted him and squealed.

“Hi, Mr. Worthington.”

The tallest of the group approached him with a confidence the others seemed to lack.

“I’m Alais. Thank you for the party.”

Her French accent was exquisite.

“Hello, Alais. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

He didn’t actually know which fucking one she was. They all looked the same onstage and the whole thing had been boring as hell - one emaciated woman after another being tossed around by bored-looking guys in tights all set to classical music.

But fucking a ballet company was on his bucket list, and they certainly looked athletic enough to make it worth his while.

Peter stood in the corner behind the bar, clearly making an effort to look indifferent and professional. These dancers were totally Peter’s type. Peter had asked him like it would be a favor - if West would “let” him watch. But of course West knew Peter would be tormented having to watch without participating. Knowing that ought to have been part of the pleasure for West.

But tonight he just couldn’t get into it. Maybe he had finally become so depraved that he couldn’t find a bright enough spark to ignite himself.

His mind crept back to Cordelia. Was he feeling like this just because of her thinly veiled disapproval? That seemed unlikely, she never approved of any of his escapades. Still, it was probably better to fire her, just in case.

Strangely, the thought brought him no joy. Maybe he was coming down with something.

The dancers were all abandoning the tables and padding over to him. The smallest one couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. She peeked at him from behind her colleagues, her blue eyes twinkling with fear and excitement.

“Come closer girls,” West heard himself say. “There’s a secret that no one knows about me. But I know ballerinas are very disciplined. Can you keep my secret?”

They murmured softly and nodded their heads eagerly.

“Do you see that man over there?” West pointed to Peter.

West didn’t like to play with his food, but there was no sense in letting a buffet like this go to waste just because he wasn’t hungry.

“That’s the real Mr. Worthington,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Gasps and smiles.

Peter’s jaw clenched at the lie, but he kept looking stoically forward.

“You see,” West explained, “Mr. Worthington is very wealthy. It’s not safe for him to reveal his face to the public, so ever since he was a boy I have been his stand-in.”

Alais nodded sagely.

“He’s even more handsome than I am, don’t you think?”

They all giggled.

“I’m going to go over there and make you all some drinks.” He turned to address Peter. “Mr. Worthington, the ladies understand now. I’m ready to take your place.”

Peter looked at him in wonder.

Then he dashed out from behind the bar before West could change his mind.

West had a momentary feeling of benevolence followed by the dark certainty that he’d just thrown these girls out of the frying pan and into the fire. Also, he had tricked them into star-fucking the wrong guy.

He reached under the bar and retrieved the bottle of good scotch he’d stashed there earlier. It would have been wasted on the present company. He poured himself two fingers and leaned casually on the bar.

Peter was already in the pit. He fumbled with his bow tie, until one of the dancers offered to do it for him. He grinned, as another practically shoved the first one off.

“Easy girls, there’s enough wild West for everyone,” he joked.

They all giggled generously at his dumb joke and the two girls removed his tie together.

West could almost feel their little fingers on his own chest, like spiders.

The buzz of his phone distracted him and he slipped it out of his pocket.

There were about four hundred messages in his inbox but he didn’t feel like thinking about work this week.

There were also a couple of texts. Cordelia had texted him earlier, but he had ignored it. Something about plans for a meeting tomorrow that he had no intention of attending.

Thinking of Cordelia and her blushing was weirdly compelling.

Instead of listening to Peter try to convince the two girls to kiss each other to “make up” for their tussle, he found himself replaying the scene with Cordelia in slow motion - her lips parting slightly and the blood staining her cheeks.

Impulsively, he texted her.

Sure you don’t want to join me? ;)

There was no reply, though he could see the message had been read almost instantly. He couldn’t deny that she was a model employee.

In the pit, the two girls were actually kissing each other now for his friend’s amusement. Peter tentatively stroked their hair, his face slack with wonder.

Lame.

As if sensing his gaze, Peter looked up at West helplessly.

It was probably uncomfortable for him to have this experience in front of his friend. But West didn’t really give a fuck. Peter was lucky West was amused - he could still put a stop to it at any moment. The rich guy giveth, the rich guy taketh away.

The buzz of his phone drew his attention away again.

No, thank you, sir.

Christ.

Get in here NOW.

He idly wondered if he’d finally found the button to push that would send her out the door. Despite his earlier thoughts about firing her, he had to admit, she ran things really well. It would suck to watch Dalton try to train the next one. Dalton always got really pissy when he had to do most of the PA’s work.

A slight movement in the doorway caught his eye.

Cordelia stepped into the room, her face beet red, her eyes glued to the floor.

“Cord.”

She turned and seemed surprised to see him behind the bar.

“You know how to make girly drinks, right?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She looked up at him in confusion.

“What did you do at night while you were in college, study?”

“My degree is in Wildlife Biology and Conservation, with a specialization in Applied Animal Behavior and Cognitive Studies. I was part of a work study program to pay my tuition, and I volunteered every weekend at a local wildlife refuge.”

Jesus, what a mouthful. Her voice was ice.

“So not a lot of time mixing drinks?” he teased.

“Not unless you count mixing formula for abandoned gray wolf pups after their mother got caught in a poacher’s snare. Or mixing the proper dose of tranquilizer to take down a full grown grizzly bear.”

West didn’t count either of those things.

“Well, today you’re going to learn,” he said.

“Not unless it’s Shirley Temples I’m not.”

Wow, she was pushing the envelope tonight.

West looked at her. She glanced down at her hands in a respectful posture, but her lips pressed together in a straight line.

“Some of them have to be twenty-one,” he reasoned.

“Would you like me to text Dalton for their passport info?”

“Sure,” he sighed, already exasperated.

She slipped her phone out and began sliding her thumbs over it effortlessly. Her texting was so fast, it was mesmerizing.

“Four Shirley Temples, two…girly drinks. All of them are at least eighteen.”

He nodded and looked over at the pit again. Peter was finally making his move, kissing one of the two trouble-makers while the other stroked his chest. They were all so thin they almost looked like boys.

West figured he’d thrown Peter the right bone. He preferred his starlets to these starved creatures - at least they looked like women.

“Are amaretto sours okay, sir?”

“Hmm?”

“For the two girly drinks?”

“Nah, White Russians.”

“What about the calories?”

“They could use the calories.”

She smiled.

The dancer who had introduced herself as Alais approached, a suspicious look clouding her delicate features.

“That’s not Mr. Worthington.”