Before I Do Amazon (12 page)

"That wasn't that bad," he muttered.

"Not bad at all. You just have to trust me as much as I trust you. That's what partnerships are all about. We have to play to our strengths and carry each other through the weak moments. That way at the end we're both still standing."

He gave her a thoughtful look as he considered her words. "You're not just talking about dancing, are you?"

"Of course I am." But what she'd said was true of all kinds of partnerships. "I think we're done for tonight. I hope you're feeling more optimistic."

"Actually, I am. Can we meet tomorrow?"

"I have back to back classes all day and night. Tuesday afternoon and Tuesday evening are free, though."

"Then we'll do it then. I'll check my schedule and get back to you on a time." Pausing, he added, "Can I buy you a drink in the bar?"

"That would be nice."

Nick turned off the lights as they left the ballroom, and they walked down the stairs to the lobby bar. The lounge was fairly empty—only an older couple at one table and two younger men at another.

Nick waved her toward a table by the fireplace, which gave off a warm, cozy heat. While it was almost summer, the day had been colder than yesterday, and the night had brought with it San Francisco's infamous fog bank.

The waitress gave them immediate attention, obviously knowing Nick was the owner. Their drinks arrived quickly along with a platter of cheeses, crackers and fruit that she didn't remember either of them ordering.

"I always eat well when I'm with you," she said lightly.

"I think the staff is trying to impress me," he returned. "But the food was a good call on their part. I worked up an appetite."

"Me, too." She spread some French Brie onto a cracker and popped it into her mouth. "Delicious."

"What did you do today?" Nick asked.

"I went to the studio for a few hours, met with some contractors and talked to my aunt."

"Is your aunt still planning to sell, or has her buyer disappeared?"

"She wants to sell now more than ever, and her buyer is apparently willing to take the studio over as is and do the repairs as long as the purchase price reflects the difference in money."

"They must really want the studio."

"I guess." She realized now that she should have asked Rhea more questions about the buyer. She should know who she was competing against. "You told me that you might be interested in investing. How serious were you about that?"

"I'm always serious about investments. What are you thinking?"

"That I would need a really big loan to match whatever my aunt is being offered. I'm probably not a great risk. I don't have a lot of money in the bank. And I still don't know the extent of the water damage or how much it's going to cost to get the studio back into working condition."

"You just gave me a lot of reasons for why I shouldn't help you. That's not the way to make a sale."

"I don't want to lie to you. I can't even imagine why you would want to invest except that you really want me to go to Argentina, but if you're willing, I'd love to talk more about how we could set up a loan."

Nick stared back at her for a moment. "Do you have an accountant who does the studio books?"

"Yes. I can get you whatever financial information you need."

"I'll also need the estimates on the repair work and anything else you can tell me about how you envision your expenses going over the next one to two years."

"I can pull together everything I have, but I have to tell you that my aunt has given me maybe a week to match her offer, and I'm not sure I'll have that long."

"Drop off what you have tomorrow, and I'll take a look. I can't make a decision until I see the numbers."

"Completely understandable. I feel awkward and uncomfortable even asking you to do this, because it's a lot, and I know that it's probably more of a charity gesture than a sound business investment. I'm just feeling a little desperate."

"We'll talk more after I review the information."

"Okay, good," she blew out a breath. "So what did you do today?"

"I had some business to take care of."

"So no time for fun?"

"Not until now," he said with a smile.

"What do you do for fun when you're not working, if there's ever a moment when you're not focused on business?" she asked curiously

He shrugged his shoulders. "The usual stuff. I read the paper, watch a ball game, work out."

"And see your friends?"

"Sure."

"Who are your close friends?"

"Martin is probably the closest to me. We've been working together for ten years."

"What about childhood friends or college pals?"

He shook his head. "I haven't kept up. I have no idea what anyone is doing."

"Then you must not be on social media," she said dryly. "I know the daily routines of people I haven't seen in fifteen years."

"You waste your time online?"

"Occasionally. I like seeing photos of my friends and keeping up with what's happening in their lives. But nothing takes the place of actually seeing them in person."

"You have a good group of friends." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Who didn't I meet last night at the bowling alley?"

"Laurel. She's Andrea's twin sister. She got married last year and has been traveling a lot with her husband. You also didn't get to meet Maggie. She's the one who works at the Stratton, and the other missing person is Jessica. She and her son moved to San Diego last year, so lately the only times I've seen her have been at bridal events."

"So she was the first to get married?"

"Yes, but we weren't at her wedding. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment courthouse affairs, and it ended in divorce. That reaffirmed our promise to have big weddings with all of our friends together."

"You think a courthouse wedding is why she ended up divorced?"

"No, but I think the fact that they were in such a hurry and didn't really want to take the time to plan a wedding might have played a factor. However, I know that a big wedding doesn't guarantee a happy marriage."

"Sometimes a big wedding dooms the marriage. The groom realizes he just married a bridezilla."

She laughed. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"One of my friends married a very hyper, crazy girl who put him through hell during the wedding plans. I wasn't sure they were going to make it down the aisle. They did marry but were divorced three years later. I don't think the marriage ever lived up to the hype of the wedding—at least not in her mind."

"What kind of wedding would you want?" she asked curiously.

"I have no idea. Probably whatever my fiancé wanted."

"You'd let her call all the shots? That sounds a little risky."

"The risk would be in picking the right woman." He sipped his wine, then said, "What about you? What's your dream wedding?"

"Something small, intimate, outside, I think. I kind of picture myself barefoot on the beach, but that's probably not practical."

"It sounds nice, especially the small, intimate part of it."

"Well there will be seven bridesmaids," she added with a laugh. "So it won't be that small."

"I hope your groom has seven good friends."

"If he doesn't, I'm sure I can talk some of my bridesmaids into walking down the aisle with their husbands or boyfriends."

"You've got it covered."

"Except for the groom, it's all worked out," she said with a grin.

He smiled back. "I'm sure
Mr. Right
will come along."

"I'm not looking for
Mr. Right
, just the right man for me. But I'm not in a hurry. I have a lot of other things to worry about at the moment. In fact, I should probably get going. My first class tomorrow is at nine."

"I'll drive you home."

"No, this time I really insist on getting a cab. It's out of your way, and you're already doing so much for me."

"I'm getting something in return." He paused. "So we'll be leaving for Argentina on Friday."

Her gut clenched at the reminder that in a few short days she'd be heading back to the country where she'd been born. "Okay. And we'll be back on Monday?"

"If that's what you want. If you prefer to stay longer, that's fine, too. Have you given any thought about whether or not you want to contact your father while you're there?"

"I've given it some thought. I just haven't come to any conclusions."

"Well, you still have a few more days."

She might need a few more decades to make that decision. Unfortunately, she wasn't going to have that long.

Chapter Ten

Nick spent most of Monday trying not to go downstairs and see how Isabella's dance classes were going in the ballroom. He had far more pressing business to take care of, and if she were having any problems, she had his assistant's number and she could call for help, but she hadn't called. He hadn't heard a word from her since he'd put her in a cab the night before.

Getting up from his desk, he looked out the window. It was a cloudy day with a hint of rain in the forecast, and the unsettled sky matched his mood. Ever since Juan Carlos had asked him to dance the tango, his life had felt out of control. Actually, it wasn't just the contract amendment that had sent him spinning; it was Isabella. Maybe another teacher wouldn't have gotten him so stirred up. He might have been better able to concentrate on dancing rather than dreaming about kissing Isabella and taking her to bed.

But he didn't have another teacher, nor he did he want one. He liked Isabella. And while he didn't enjoy feeling like an awkward, clumsy person every time she turned on the music, he did enjoy being with her. Holding her, touching her, feeling her passion, even if it were only for the dance, was starting to be more enjoyable than he'd ever imagined. He almost didn't want it to end, but it would end. In less than a week, they'd go to Argentina. He'd perform the dance with Isabella's help, and that would be it.

Or maybe not it. Isabella had emailed him some of the estimates for the studio repairs with a note that more information was coming.

Was he really going to invest in a run-down dance studio that would be managed by a woman who had absolutely no business experience and who had flat out told him she probably wasn't a great risk?

Of course he was, because it was Isabella who was asking for help, and how could he stand by and watch her lose her dream? He knew what it felt like to want something really badly. The land in Argentina had driven his every move since he was eighteen years old. He wanted that property as much as Isabella wanted her studio. And he could afford to help her, so why wouldn't he?

A knock came at his door. At his "come in," his assistant, Paula Rogers entered the room dressed in a black pencil skirt and silky gray blouse. At thirty-seven, Paula had been with him for eight years and was one of his most trusted employees. While he called her his assistant, she was in fact responsible for many of his ongoing projects, and when he'd received Isabella's studio information, he'd forwarded the numbers to her so that she could give him a preliminary report.

She set a file on his desk. "I printed everything out and attached my notes," Paula said. "I spoke briefly with Miss Martinez's accountant. He is going to forward some additional information later this afternoon."

"What are your notes going to tell me?" he asked.

"The return on investment will be very low if there is any return." She paused. "But I don't think your reasons for this particular investment have anything to do with profit potential, do they?"

"Not particularly," he admitted. "But I'd still like to know what I'm getting into. So take a look at the P&L when it comes in."

"I'll do that."

As Paula turned to leave, he added, "I'm going to step out for a while. I'll be back by four to meet with Martin." He grabbed his suit coat and headed out of the office and down to the Mezzanine level.

There were a couple of small children playing tag in the hallway outside the ballroom while a young woman who appeared to be a nanny texted on her phone. While it bothered him a little that the kids weren't being well supervised, he chose not to get worked up about it. The children would only be here for a few weeks, and he couldn't afford to do anything to upset Isabella before he got her on the plane to Argentina.

He opened the door to the ballroom and stepped inside. A class of young pre-teen girls were doing a routine under Isabella's instructions. They were really quite good, he thought. There was no playing around in this group. The atmosphere was serious and intense, and the couple of parents who sat on straight-back chairs at the other end of the room seemed completely immersed in what their children were doing.

Isabella wore leggings and a tank top that clung to every curve, and he found his mouth watering at the sight of her. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail revealing a pair of silver hoop earrings hanging from her ears. She was pretty without even trying. She was also kind and encouraging to the girls, offering critical suggestions in a firm but cheerful voice. Isabella wasn't trying to tear anyone down but rather to build everyone up. It wasn't a coaching strategy he'd seen much of in his life. The guys he'd played baseball for had all been more comfortable with a shaming approach to coaching.

A woman came through the door and paused next to him—Isabella's aunt. "Mr. Hunter. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Just checking out how things were going."

"Could I have a word with you?"

"Sure."

"Isabella told me you're interested in buying the studio," Rhea said as they walked out of the ballroom.

"Yes. She's getting me the financials. I understand you have another interested buyer."

"I've received an excellent offer from a woman who has been part of the dance world for years. She's been on the East Coast but is expanding her operations to the West Coast. I understand her interest in my business; I don't understand yours."

Rhea's dark eyes were piercing, and he had a feeling she could see right through him. "My interest is in Isabella, in funding her dream," he said honestly. "She asked for my help, and I'd like to give it if I can."