Before I Do Amazon (9 page)

He shook his head, thinking that investing in a small dance studio would barely be a blip on his financials. "Not at all. I told you I would consider investing in exchange for your agreement to go to Argentina."

"Which does seem fairly incredible, since all I have to do is dance the tango for about five minutes."

"But that tango gets me an incredible piece of property and will launch a five-star resort that will be unlike any other. It's all about money and value, Isabella. Life is about trade and negotiation."

She frowned at his words. "I think life is about more than that, and I believe you do, too. You like to put yourself forward as a cold, unemotional, somewhat ruthless, obsessively determined businessman, but this photo shoots all that to hell. Because no one who is all the things I just said would keep a photo from a magazine that his mom cut out sixteen years ago."

She had a point. He took the paper out of her hand and refolded it. Then he put it back into his wallet.

"Just because you put it away doesn't mean it's not there anymore," she teased.

"I'm aware that the photo is a weakness. I guess we all have one."

"Sometimes more than one. I have many."

"You're very honest, Isabella."

"I try to be. It's not as exhausting being honest as attempting to be someone I'm not."

He couldn't help thinking she was getting a little dig in, and maybe she was right. He did like to portray himself a certain way, and sometimes it was tiring, but it was worth it. He'd created a persona that investors wanted to invest in. He couldn't do what he did if he came across as sentimental or weak.

"I should get back to the hotel," he said.

"That's it? That's the end of our conversation?"

"I have work to do."

"And you don't want to admit that you have a softer side, do you?"

"Softer sides don't work well in business."

"They do in the tango."

"I didn't see much softness when you and Ricardo danced."

"Then you weren't looking close enough. Of course, there's the sharpness, the passion, the intensity, but as I told you before, it's a push-pull, it's a dance of contrasts, man and woman, hard and soft, passionate and tender."

He found his body tightening at her words. Whenever Isabella talked about dancing the tango, he started imagining those same moves taking place in the bedroom.

Clearing his throat, he said. "Let's walk back to the car."

"Okay," she said, giving the harbor one last wistful look. "It's such a nice day. I hate to leave."

He could relate, but he had work to do and he'd already told Isabella way too much about his past and his family. He needed to put some distance between them before he started forgetting exactly why he was with her.

* * *

As they drove back to San Francisco, Isabella thought about what Nick had told her. He'd surprised her by showing her the magazine photo, by talking about his mother and her dreams, his father and his coldness. She was starting to understand Nick a little better now. And she was quickly beginning to see that the man had a lot of layers.

She wanted to unravel those layers, get to the core and see everything that he tried so hard to hide. He'd told her quite a bit, but she thought there was more. His father was still a mystery to her.

Not being happy that his son hadn't followed in his footsteps didn't seem like a strong reason for the animosity and distance between Nick and his dad. Nick obviously resented his father for not taking his mother to her dream beach and for not being present in his life, but she still felt like there was a missing piece of the puzzle.

She wasn't going to get any more out of him now, though. He'd shut down almost as quickly as he'd opened up. She couldn't really blame him. She didn't always want to talk about her family, either. Unfortunately, the upcoming trip to Argentina was going to make it impossible not to think about her dad, the missing parent in her life, the country she'd left behind as a small child.

Could she really go back there? Could she hear the familiar accents, see her own features replicated in so many others and not wonder how different her life would have been if her parents had not split up, if her mother had not brought her here to San Francisco?

She'd had a good life, though. She couldn't complain. Her mother had worked a lot, but her aunt had picked up the slack, and even though she wasn't extremely close to her mom, they talked on a regular basis. They got together for dinner at least once or twice a month.

They probably would have been closer if her mom had been willing to open up more about her dad. But her mother's silence on her father had always put a wall between them. She could accept that as a small child her mother had wanted to protect her from anything negative. But she'd grown up a long time ago, and she still couldn't get past the unspoken secrets of the past.

Her mother would not want her to go to Argentina and would probably be able to come up with dozens of reasons for why it wasn't a good idea, but Isabella didn't want to let her mother make this decision for her.

She would go back to where she'd been born. As to whether or not she would try to find her father was a question she couldn't yet answer.

"Why don't I take you home?" Nick suggested as they crossed over the bridge into San Francisco.

"Actually, if you could drop me off at the studio, that would save me a bus ride. I know it's not anywhere near the hotel—"

"Don't worry about it."

"Thanks."

"When is our next lesson?"

She thought for a moment. They needed as much time as possible to get Nick up to speed, but she had plans for the evening. "How about tomorrow night?"

"That should work."

"Good." As she thought about their next lesson, she knew she had to try something new and different to get Nick to relax and enjoy the dance. They'd gotten to know each other a little better the past few hours, but she had a feeling the walls would come back up as soon as she turned on the music tomorrow night.

An impulsive idea ran through her head. He'd say no. It wouldn't be his scene, his friends, his kind of night…

On the other hand, maybe he needed a different kind of night. He'd admitted that he'd been all work and no play for a long time, and that he rarely lifted his head to look around. Being that closed off was not going to help him master a dance of passion and exhibition.

"Nick," she said.

He gave her a wary look. "What?"

"Do you like to bowl?"

"Bowl?" he echoed as if she'd just asked him a question in a foreign language.

"As in throw a ball towards some pins and knock them over."

"I know what bowling is; I just haven't thought about it since I was twelve years old."

"There's a very cool bowling alley by the ballpark—Barker's Bowl. It's part of a bar/restaurant venue. Live music, strobe lights, slick lanes, designer shoes. It's not your father's bowling alley," she said with a smile.

"Are you asking me on a date, Isabella?"

"I'm inviting you to be part of a group that's going to the bowling alley tonight at nine to celebrate my friend Kate's birthday," she said quickly.

"Is she one of the brides-to-be?"

"No, she's one of the bridesmaids. There are about ten people going. We've reserved three lanes. It should be fun." She licked her lips when he didn't answer right away. "I'm sure it's not what you normally do on a Saturday night. It's more blue collar than white collar."

"Do you think I'm a snob?"

"I don't know."

"Most people would automatically say, of course you're not a snob."

"I'm not most people."

"I'm beginning to realize that."

"Look, it's not a big deal. Forget I asked. You probably have a date anyway."

"Actually, I'd like to go. I do have a dinner with a business associate, but it should wrap up by nine or a little later."

"You can meet us at the bowling alley. If you decide you don't want to come, it's completely fine."

"I'll be there."

"Great," she said, hoping she hadn't made a mistake. Her girlfriends would be all over Nick with speculative questions, but maybe that was a good thing. It had been a while since she'd brought a hot date with her, and Nicholas was certainly one of the most attractive men she'd ever met, smarter than most, too, but his obsession with work and money made her wary. She respected ambition and drive in a man, but Nick was a little one-dimensional for her taste. Perhaps tonight she'd get to see another side of him.

Chapter Eight

Barker's Bowl was located in a huge building near the Cougars' ballpark and the southern seaport of San Francisco. In front was a restaurant with an enormous bar. In the back was a bowling alley made up of twelve lanes surrounded by comfortable couches and chairs. The alley lighting was a mix of purple and pink, and music blared across the speakers, adding a club-like feel to the room.

The bowling alley was crowded as it was most Saturday nights, and she and her group of friends had been sharing three of those lanes for the past hour. Changing partners and teams with each game, they'd also gone through a couple of rounds of drinks and a few bowls of pretzels, peanuts and chips.

Checking her watch, Isabella frowned when she realized it was after ten. Nick was an hour late, which probably meant he wasn't coming. He'd mentioned a dinner, and it was certainly possible that it had gone longer than he'd imagined. Or it was more likely that he'd had second thoughts about spending time with her and her friends.

Why would he want to bowl with a bunch of strangers and a woman who was just his dance teacher, a woman he'd met two days earlier? They weren't in a relationship. They weren't really even friends. She was just a means to an end for Nick, and she really shouldn't let herself forget that.

Kate Marlow, a slender brunette with sparkling blue eyes, came over, two glasses of white wine in her hand. She handed one of those to Isabella. "You look thirsty."

"Thanks. Are you having fun?"

"I am. One of the best birthday parties I've ever had. And it's nice not to be the organizer for a change."

"I'll bet." Kate was a wedding planner, and because she was so good at organizing events, she often planned their birthday parties as well.

"You, however, do not look like you're having as much fun as I am," Kate said, giving her a thoughtful look. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just a little tired. It's been a long week."

"Julie told me that your studio got flooded. It sounds like a disaster."

"It's pretty bad. My aunt and I met with a couple of contractors this afternoon. They should have their bids in by Monday, but judging by the few comments they made, the repairs will be extensive. The flooding is actually the least of the problems. The plumbing and even some of the electrical wiring have to be redone."

"What does your aunt think?"

"That it's a really good time to get rid of the studio if the interested buyer she has doesn't go running in horror at these recent developments."

"Is that likely?"

"I'm not sure. She hasn't told me anything about the buyer." Isabella paused. "I have to admit I haven't asked her too much about the person, either. I really want her to sell to me."

"Still?" Kate quizzed. "Maybe you'd be better off finding another space and starting from scratch."

That was probably a logical suggestion, but her heart was in her aunt's studio. "We'll see. I need to take it one step at a time." Her gaze drifted across the room as she caught a glimpse of a man with dark hair making his way towards them, but it wasn't Nick.

"Maybe you should text him," Kate suggested.

"Who?"

"The man you're waiting for. Come on, Isabella. You've been checking your watch every fifteen minutes, and you mentioned something earlier about wanting to wait for your partner, so I can only assume you invited someone to come, and he hasn't shown up."

"I asked Nick Hunter. He's taking dance lessons from me."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "Nick Hunter—as in Nick Hunter who owns the Grand View Tower Hotel?"

"That's the one. I'm surprised Liz and Julie didn't already tell you that I'm giving him tango lessons."

"I'm surprised, too. I should have been the first one they called. So you invited him here—to bowling night?"

"I'm trying to get to know him better, so I can get him to relax when we dance."

"So dating your student to improve his dancing—interesting strategy," Kate teased. "What's really going on? Do you have a mad crush on him?"

"I'll admit that he's very attractive, and I like him. But since he's standing me up, I wouldn't get too excited about any romantic possibilities."

"Text him. See where he is. He could be lost."

"No, he knows where I am. He had a dinner tonight, so he was iffy about coming. It's not a big deal. And it's not really a date."

"Your eyes say that it's a big deal. You look disappointed, Isabella."

"Maybe a little, but it was an impulsive invitation. I didn't really expect him to say yes."

"What's he like?"

She thought about the simple question, wishing there was a simple answer. "Honestly, I'm still trying to figure him out. He has a very stiff, hard, unyielding side to his personality. But I've also seen glimpses of dry humor and the occasional warm smile. Sometimes I think he's having an ongoing battle with himself on what kind of man he wants to be."

"Well, you've thought a bit about him," Kate remarked with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "He's gotten under your skin."

"He intrigues me. I've never met anyone like him. But before you start planning our wedding, I have to tell you that he's a committed bachelor. He's been very up front about the fact that he lives for his job and his focus is on growing his hotel empire."

"Then why on earth did you invite him here? He's clearly a wealthy guy with a lot of options and no interest in relationships. That sounds like a player."

"It was a moment of temporary insanity. I actually don't know if he's a player. I think he's a little too serious for that. He doesn’t live his life in a carefree way. Maybe I'm being naïve, but I don't see him having a lot of random hookups. He's very cautious about who he trusts, who he lets into his life. Anyway, enough about him, it looks like you and I will be partners for the rest of the night."