Young Millionaire Needed a Dance Partner for a Competition, Never Thought It Would Lead to Love
A Promise to Keep and a New Beginning
Blake Valentino’s thumb hovered over the decline button on his phone when he saw the caller ID, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was his father’s recent lecture about responsibility or the fact that he’d been dodging this particular call for three days.
Whatever the reason, the 28-year-old tech millionaire finally answered.
“Blake, my boy,” Richard Thompson’s booming voice came through. “I was beginning to think you’d vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Just busy, Richard.”
Blake’s eyes wandered around his minimalist penthouse, noting the untouched coffee machine and the pile of unopened mail. “What’s so urgent?”
“The charity gala, of course,” Richard said. “The one your mother chaired for 15 years before she passed. The one you promised to maintain involvement with.”
Blake closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. His mother had died two years ago, and he’d made that promise at her funeral—a promise he’d conveniently been ignoring.
“I’m still involved,” Blake insisted. “The Valentino Foundation donated generously last quarter.”
Richard sighed. “Money isn’t everything, Blake.”
“The annual spring charity ball includes that ballroom dance competition your mother and father won it three years running, remember?”
“I remember,” Blake said quietly.
“The committee was hoping—expecting, really—that you would participate,” Richard continued. “It’s in six weeks. The publicity would boost donations tremendously.”
Blake ran a hand through his dark hair. “Richard, I haven’t danced since college, and I don’t have a partner.”
“Find one. Take lessons. It’s for charity, Blake. For your mother’s legacy.”
The guilt card worked every time.
“Fine. I’ll figure something out.”
Blake ended the call and tossed his phone onto the couch. He needed a dance partner who knew what they were doing and had enough free time to practice for the next six weeks.
He needed someone who wouldn’t sell the story to the tabloids and who wouldn’t expect anything from him afterward. Blake opened his laptop and searched for the best ballroom dance instructors in the city. That’s when he found Elevate Dance Studio and a certain instructor named Riley Evans.
Riley glanced at her watch and suppressed a yawn. Teaching three back-to-back private lessons had drained her, but rent was due next week, and she needed all the hours she could get. Running her own dance studio was rewarding but financially precarious.
“Miss Evans?” The studio receptionist poked her head into the practice room. “There’s someone here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but,” she lowered her voice, “he says he’ll pay double your rate for an immediate consultation.”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “I have 15 minutes before my next student. Send him in.”
She expected some desperate father of the bride who had postponed dance lessons until the last minute. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man with intense blue eyes and a tailored charcoal suit stepped into her studio.
“Riley Evans?” His voice was deep and confident.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Blake Valentino.” He extended his hand.
Riley shook it, trying not to show her recognition. Everyone in the city knew Blake Valentino, the tech wunderkind who’d sold his startup for millions at 24 and had since doubled his fortune.
His face occasionally graced business magazines and local society pages.
“How can I help you, Mr. Valentino?”
“I need a dance partner for a charity competition six weeks from now,” he explained. “It’s ballroom—waltz, foxtrot, that sort of thing.”
Riley crossed her arms. “And you came to me because…?”
“Your website mentions your competitive background. Five regional championships in ballroom dance.”
“That was years ago. I teach now.”
“I’m willing to pay you generously to be my partner and coach.” He named a figure that made Riley blink.
“That’s substantial,” she admitted, mentally calculating how that money could help her struggling studio. “But I typically don’t partner with students for competitions.”
“This isn’t about winning,” he said, though something in his expression suggested otherwise. “It’s for my mother’s charity, the annual spring charity ball.”
Riley recognized the event. It was prestigious and always featured in the society pages.
“Do you have any dance experience at all?”
“I took lessons in college. I’m not starting from zero.”
Riley studied him. He had the height and physique for ballroom dance, and there was something intriguing about his intensity. Plus, that fee would cover three months of studio rent.
“Three private sessions per week, starting tomorrow,” she said. “Non-negotiable if you want to be competition-ready. And I’ll need to see what you remember before I commit fully.”
“Fine. Tomorrow morning, 7:00 a.m.”
Riley nodded, trying not to think about how early that would be. “Wear comfortable clothes and leather-soled shoes. Leave the suit at home. See you tomorrow, Miss Evans.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “And thank you.”
As Blake’s expensive cologne lingered in the studio, Riley wondered what she’d gotten herself into.
