Toe to Toe

by Falon Ballard

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy; Sports Romance

Synopsis

It takes two to tango.

Allegra Hart has been working her whole life to achieve one goal: become a principal ballerina. When her director starts holding auditions for the lead role in the company’s latest production, Allegra sees this as her chance—maybe her last chance.

The catch? The director wants someone with sex appeal, and he doesn’t think she’s up to the task. Determined to prove him wrong, Allegra enlists the help of the lead dancer of an all-male revue, Cord Donovan, a classically trained dancer who is also the sexiest man she’s ever met. In exchange for lessons on how to ramp up her sex appeal, she promises to help Cord choreograph a new partner piece for his show.

As they practice their moves on and off the stage, Allegra and Cord find themselves battling a growing attraction. Except Allegra is determined not to let a man derail her career . . . but what if she could have both love and success? Or will her involvement with Cord jeopardize everything she’s worked for?

Release date: March 10, 2026

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Print pages: 336

Sample

One

Allegra

If my life were a color, it would be ballet pink.

And I think I might hate pink.

My reflection in the mirror of the dance studio reeks of it. Pink tights, pink leotard, pink pointe shoes. Even though this is just company class and I can wear whatever I want, I've never gotten out of the habit of reaching for pink, just one of the many habits ballet has ingrained in me.

My arm floats over my head, my heels pressed together and my toes turned out. Every person in front of me and behind me at the barre moves with the same fluidity, the same grace. We hit the same position on the same beat, moving as one entity more than as individual dancers. This part of our day is all about blending in, becoming one.

After class, we move on to rehearsal. We are only a couple of weeks from performances of Swan Lake, a show I have danced so many times now that I feel like I could do it in my sleep. At least I have a featured role this time, though it's not the one I wanted.

Hopefully I can dance well enough to finally get the promotion I've been working toward since the first time I put on a pair of ballet slippers. I let my mind drift, imagining how it will feel to see my name on a cast list in a lead role, not just one of many in the corps.

"Allegra." David Morgan, our company's artistic director, snaps me out of my reverie, his tone as sharp as my lines.

"Sorry," I mumble, quickly striding to the center of the practice room and striking my first pose.

Not exactly the best way to show him I'm ready for a bigger role.

But once the music starts, I forget about David, and the show, and the role I'm desperate for. I forget about the color pink and the ache in my shoulders and needing to ask Mom and Dad for more money soon.

As I begin the steps, the rest fades away.

It's cliché, I know, being swept away by the music. Only caring about the choreography and the movement and the character I'm trying to capture with nothing but a few flicks of my feet and swoops of my arm. But just about any dancer will confirm the truth of it. It's why we're here. Why we can't seem to leave when it would be self-preservation to walk away.

I finish, my chest heaving, sweat beading on my forehead, but I don't let the strain show on my face.

David watches me for a moment that borders on uncomfortable, his eyes raking my body from head to toe, before dismissing me with a nod. "Fine."

I spend the rest of the rehearsal with my back against the wall at the rear of the studio, stretching while my eyes watch our principals dance the dueling duets of Odette and Odile, the good and the evil, the light and the dark.

Part of me wishes I could hate them, wishes I could feel like they've taken something from me that they haven't earned, but nothing could be further from the truth. Every dancer at Ballet New York works their ass off, and watching my colleagues flit effortlessly around the room only inspires me to keep pushing harder. This is the time of our tightly scheduled day when we long to stand out, to be the dancer no one in the room can pull their eyes from. I don't think I've ever been that dancer.

"Don't forget we have a company meeting tomorrow morning at eight," David reminds us at the end of rehearsal as we're changing our shoes and packing up.

As if we could forget. He's been dangling the news of our next show over us for weeks. Apparently, he's going to bless us with something new and original instead of the classics we typically perform. When David first signed on as artistic director of the prestigious company, he promised to innovate and create, but the past few years have brought financial hardships to much of the dance world, and nothing sells tickets like the classics.

It will be refreshing to try something new. Assuming he lets me be a part of it.

"I think most of you are going to be excited with this new project. I can't wait to share it with you." Though he doesn't exactly sound enthusiastic, I know he means it. Mostly because a few months ago, he got totally wasted one night when we all went out after rehearsal and told me he had had a stroke of "creative genius" that was going to put our company back on the map.

I wasn't aware we'd been eliminated from the map, but when your director starts spilling secrets, it's unwise to interrupt the flow.

Unfortunately, shortly after expounding on his own ingenuity and brilliance, he tried to get me to come home with him.

I said no, for so many reasons.

Things have been a little strained for us ever since. He can't come right out and say anything because to acknowledge his behavior that night would be opening up himself and the company to a string of lawsuits neither can afford.

I sure as fuck am not going to say anything because I love my job. And after ten years with this company-between the school and the corps and now as a soloist-I'm due for my chance at principal. And I'm not going to let a little thing like sexual harassment derail me. If sexual harassment derailed every ballerina it happened to, ballet would cease to exist.

So I push it down and focus on the only thing that matters: the dance.

As I leave the building, my phone vibrates from the pocket of the soft pink joggers I pulled on over my tights. The sun has gone down and the early spring air still holds a hint of a chill. I let the sounds of the city wash over me, horns blaring and people laughing as they enjoy dinner on a restaurant patio-maybe the first of the season. I fish out my phone, smiling when I see my sister's name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Ohmygod, is this the one and only Allegra Hart, star of Ballet New York? Did I actually manage to get you to pick up the phone?" Bethany's voice holds only a hint of sarcasm.

"Haha. I always pick up the phone for you, and you know it." I pull my sweater a little tighter around me as I begin the short walk to my studio apartment, taking a second to appreciate the green buds beginning to sprout on the trees.

"Unless you're in class. Or rehearsal. Or a performance."

I snort. "You think I'm going to just stop a show and be like, Sorry, audience, I know you paid a buttload of money to be here tonight, but my sister's calling to talk about Real Housewives and I gotta take this!"

"You and I both know all discussions of Real Housewives take place on monthly sister night and must involve wine and popcorn."

Bethany instituted monthly sister nights when it became clear my schedule was not going to allow for many-or any, really-spur-of-the-moment hangouts. We've been holding them since we were teenagers, and I can count on one hand the number of times one of us has had to cancel. Sister night is sacred.

Two years my junior, Bethany is the Hart daughter who didn't have to live up to our mother's expectations, so therefore designed her own life and is living a real adult one. She has a college degree, and an apartment with more than one hundred square feet of living space, and a career with normal hours, and a fiancée. She has a name that belongs only to her, not one borrowed from one of the greatest American ballerinas of the twentieth century.

"Anyway." My building is in sight and I know if I don't get my sister off the phone quickly, I'll be chatting with her for the rest of the night-not that I don't love her and our talks, but I have an even earlier morning tomorrow than I usually do, since David's meeting cuts into my normal preclass workout hours. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"I'm calling to make sure you have made arrangements for tomorrow."

Shit.

I completely forgot about Bethany's bachelorette party.

So like any good sister, I lie: "Arrangements have totally been made. I will be there." I don't remember where there is, but that's a small detail. I can text my mom and ask her for the pertinent info. Not that she'll be joining us, but she makes a point of knowing everything about us-at all times.

"We're meeting at Six Pact at nine o'clock." Bless her. Like any good sister, she totally knows I'm lying. "Do not be late."

I groan in reluctance. "I think I managed to block out the fact that we're going to a strip club until right this moment."

"First of all, it's not a strip club. It is a male entertainment extravaganza. Second of all, I'm the bride and I do what I want."

"Why does what you want have to include half-naked guys doing a shitty approximation of choreography?" I unlock the front door to my building and cross the lobby. I think about taking the elevator-fuck knows I've earned a break after all the dancing I've done today-but I ultimately veer to the right toward the stairs, knowing it will burn a few extra calories. Maybe I'll even let myself have a drink tomorrow night.

"You enjoy half-naked guys just as much as the next woman who's interested in men, don't lie to me."

I trudge up the first set of steps. "I spend my whole day with half-naked guys, B."

"The rest of us are not so lucky."

"You are marrying a woman, doesn't that mean we can skip the dudes with bad moves and worse costumes?"

"That is biphobic, Allegra Hart. I will not stand for that kind of erasure."

"Pretty sure I'm also bi, sis."

"Pretty sure you haven't had sex with anyone of any gender in years, sis."

"Wow. Both rude and irrelevant." I make my way up the last set of stairs to my floor, so close to a hot shower and an icy foot bath, I can practically feel the warm water easing the aches of my muscles. "All right, B, I will be there, but I want it noted for the record that I am attending against my will and I plan to hate every second of the experience."

"That's the kind of love and devotion I expect from my maid of honor!"

I groan again, the combination of the reminder of all the duties yet to come and the relief of finally reaching my front door overtaking me. "I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too!" she chirps before I disconnect the call and shove my phone back in my pocket.

As the front door of my studio opens, its arc swinging wide, I barely manage to catch it before it slams into the counter of my "kitchen." It takes only about four steps before I've crossed from the door into my "bedroom." My full-size bed is covered by a plain white duvet. Two white pillows sit at the top. The whole thing rests against a plain white wall.

I don't spend a lot of time here, so decorating has never been a priority. I promised myself when I made principal, I would invest a little more effort into my living space. Maybe even try to keep a plant alive. But right now I don't have the time or the funds to care. I toss my ballet bag near the front door and drag myself straight to the bathroom, unable to think about touching anything when I'm still covered in a day's worth of sweat.

The water flows over me, and I let out an unholy groan as the pulse beats against my aching shoulders. I spend more time than I should underneath the stream, wondering what kind of announcement could be awaiting us tomorrow. Wondering if I totally blew my shot at principal by turning down David's advances.

Overall, things in the ballet world have gotten much better in recent years when it comes to the wildly unbalanced power dynamics between directors/choreographers and dancers. I know that, were I to report David's behavior, it would be taken seriously. Just as I know it would likely be the end of my time with Ballet New York. Not that they would fire me, obviously. But I would be ostracized-emotionally and mentally pushed out, if not technically.

And besides, it's not like he really did anything so terrible. Yes, he propositioned me, but he didn't persist, at least not much, after I said no. And as of now, saying no hasn't caused any sort of harm.

I need to stop worrying about it. David was so drunk, he probably doesn't even remember.

I reassure myself of this as I tuck myself into bed, curling up with my iPad to watch the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules. Somehow the drama of drunk twenty-five-year-olds constantly banging their co-workers feels tame in comparison to the drama of the ballet world. But I allow myself to forget about dance, about promotions, about directors with wandering eyes, about everything.


I’m ten minutes early to the company meeting the next morning, wanting to find a seat well within David’s eyeline. I want him to be thinking about me in connection with whatever this new project is. Want him to start seeing me in a leading role, even if I have no idea what said role will entail. Whatever it is, I’m ready for it.

We gather in the largest of the rehearsal rooms, crowding into the space, the chatter echoing around us as we wait for David to grace us with his presence.

Lucy, one of the few in the company I would call a friend, plops down next to me on the floor, automatically extending her legs into a stretch, her dark hair falling over her face as she leans forward. "So what are the odds this whole thing could just be an email?"

I smile, but it's tense. Not for the first time, I wish I could have a little sliver of Lucy's ease. A Japanese American woman with bright eyes and bolder sass, she's perfectly happy with her place in the corps, and in general, doesn't stress about things like castings and contract renewals. She dances because she loves it, says she'll do it for as long as it makes her happy, and when it doesn't, she'll stop.