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."
"Obviously you can," Rhea said. "But the studio isn't Isabella's dream."
"I think you're wrong about that," he said slowly. "She's told me a number of times that the studio is her second home. It's her safe harbor."
"Exactly. It's her safe place; it's not her dream." Rhea paused. "Isabella is one of the most talented dancers I have ever seen, and I have seen a lot. I've been in her shoes. I know what it takes to the get to the top, and Isabella has it all: beauty, athleticism, grace, incredible feet and flexibility, and most of all, expression. She brings her emotions to every dance. She pours her heart out on the stage, and she is completely mesmerizing."
He swallowed hard at the images Rhea's words had created in his mind.
"But Isabella got hurt, not just physically but also emotionally. She came home to heal her broken bones and her broken heart. I was happy to have her in the studio, don't get me wrong, but I never wanted the studio to be the place where she hid out from life. It's the place you get prepared to launch into life."
"You want her to go back to the stage?"
"I do. She has a chance to audition for a musical that will open here in the city in a few months. The show is being produced by Hal and Donna Tyler, who are giants in the theater world. They love Isabella. They want her to be in their show, but she's afraid to go out for it. She hasn't danced on a stage since she had a horrible fall. I don't know if she told you about it."
"She mentioned it to me, but Isabella doesn't seem like the fearful type." He wondered if his assessment was off, or whether Rhea didn’t know her niece as well as she thought she did.
"I don't know if it's some kind of post-traumatic stress, but Isabella is afraid to go back to chasing her dream. "I don't want my studio be a ball and chain holding Isabella to the ground when she was meant to fly. Life is about walking on the high wire. It's not about the net. Isabella is meant to be on that wire. It's who she is. If you're buying the studio because you care for her, then maybe you should reconsider. Do you really want to give her the net that will keep her trapped in a life that's only half of what it could be?"
He heard the passion in Rhea's voice. Whether she was wrong or right, she definitely cared a lot about Isabella. And he found himself wondering if he wasn't doing just what Rhea had said, giving Isabella a place to hide.
Was it any of his business that she was choosing to teach instead of to dance? Everyone would say no. And up until a few minutes ago, he would have said no, too.
But he did care about Isabella. He cared a lot. Maybe he needed to rethink how he could best help her get to where she needed to be.
"I'll think about what you've said," he told Rhea. "And then I'll talk to Isabella."
"That's all I ask. I hope you know that I have Isabella's best interests at heart. She comes across like someone who doesn't have a care in the world, but she's been hurt and now she's wary
. I understand being cautious. But I also know that sometimes we all need a push to step outside of our comfort zones."
He'd certainly needed a push to get out of his comfort zone. If Juan Carlos hadn't inserted that damned clause in his contract, he'd be conducting business as usual instead of getting tangled up in the problems of one very beautiful and passionately artistic brunette.
* * *
Isabella finished her dance class and then walked over to her aunt who had taken a seat in the back of the room. She'd asked Rhea to meet her so they could go over the financial details she needed to send to Nick.
"Thanks for coming down," she said, taking a seat.
"Of course."
"Did I see you speaking to Nick?"
"We had a brief conversation," Rhea admitted. "I asked him why he was interested in my broken-down studio."
"What did he say?" Isabella asked.
"He said he wanted to help you fund your dream."
Her heart turned over at the words. "That was nice of him."
"He seems to be nice man. And he likes you—a lot. How do you feel about him? Is he just a student? A business partner? Or is there more between you?"
"I'm not really sure. I haven't known him very long."
"And yet he's already willing to put down quite a bit of cash to help you out."
"I don't think it's that much money where Nick is concerned." She paused. "Why does it matter to you where I get the money? You want out of the studio. I'm trying to find a way to make that happen while I can hang on to a place that means a lot to me."
"I just hate to see you settle, Isabella."
"I'm not settling. I'm making a realistic and practical decision."
"Exactly. Where is the passion, the heart?"
"It's in the studio," she retorted. "But I don't want to argue with you about it. I just need to provide Nick with our financial reports. Can you help me?"
Rhea pulled a thick manila envelope out of her bag. "The tax returns from the last two years are in here. I've also given the accountant permission to speak to Nick and his assistant."
"Thanks," she said. "What about the other buyer?"
"I've told her that I can let her know next Monday."
Isabella was relieved to have a few more days. "Who is the buyer?"
"Karen Halley."
"Of the Benton Hills Dance Academy?" she asked in surprise. "Why didn't you say that before?"
"You didn't ask. In fact, you didn't seem to want to know."
That was true. Not having a face to put on the unseen buyer had made that person seem less worrisome, but now that she knew it was Karen Halley who wanted the studio, she was definitely concerned.
"Karen has been wanting to open a West Coast studio for the last ten years," Rhea continued. "Having her out here would give our local dancers the opportunity to work under a first-class choreographer."
"And Karen would have access to a lot of extremely good talent," she murmured.
"It's a win-win," Rhea said.
"I'm sure Karen could find other space in the city."
"She's been looking for a while without much success." Rhea got to her feet. "I don't want to argue about it, Isabella. I need your offer by Monday. If you can't come up with the cash, I'm selling to Karen, because she's given me the same deadline. If I don't sell to her by then, the deal is off. I can't end up carrying this business anymore. Maybe that sounds cold to you, Isabella, but it's the way I feel."
"I understand. You've worked hard for a very long time." She stood up and gave her aunt a hug. "I don’t want this studio to come between us. I love you. We're family."
"And family should look out for one another," Rhea said. "I'm not convinced that selling you the studio is in your best interests."
"I think I'm old enough to make that decision."
Rhea smiled. "Sometimes I still think you're twelve years old."
"But I'm not."
"No, you're not. Let me know if you need anything else, Isabella."
"Thanks. It's all going to work out the way it's supposed to."
"I hope so," Rhea returned. "The studio has always been the place where dreams are born. I just don't want it to be the place where dreams die."
And with those ominous words, Rhea left the ballroom.
Isabella sat back down for a long minute, trying to shake off the bad feeling that had come over her with Rhea's parting statement. She knew what she wanted. She couldn't let her aunt's doubts change her mind—could she?
Shaking her head, she got to her feet and told the assistant dance instructor she'd be back in a few minutes. Then she headed to the elevator. She still had the card key for the fifteenth floor and soon she was approaching the desk of Nick's assistant, Paula.
"Is Nick by chance available?" Isabella asked. "I wanted to drop off some tax information."
"I'm sorry, but he's in a meeting," Paula said.
She knew that was true because she could see Nick in the glass-walled conference room. He stood at the end of a long table, and seated around that table were at least fifteen people, reminding Isabella that Nick ran a huge company.
Why on earth would he want to invest in her studio, in her problems? He didn't care about dance at all. He was just doing it to make sure she got on that plane for Argentina.
Well, that was his choice. She wasn't going to feel guilty about it. She wasn't twisting his arm.
"If you'd like to leave your information, I'll make sure Mr. Hunter gets it," Paula said.
Isabella handed over the thick envelope. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."
"No problem. I know he's eager to see the entire financial picture."
Isabella had a feeling Nick's eagerness would wane when he saw the actual figures. But for now she was going to keep pressing forward.
* * *
Tuesday morning Isabella was back in the ballroom teaching classes, talking to students, and checking her phone every five minutes to see if Nick had left her a message or a text, but she hadn't heard a word from him since she'd dropped off the tax information Monday afternoon. It hadn't been that long, but the clock was ticking, and she needed answers.
When her lunchtime class ended, she checked her phone again. There was no message from Nick, but there were two texts from the Tylers and one from Ricardo, all asking her to come down to the theater and talk about the new production.
There was a small part of her that was tempted to go, but there was another part of her that told her not to weaken, not to give in. She had a life now, and it was good. She needed to stay focused on things she could control, and having the opportunity to dance on a stage and be part of a production was something she couldn't control. She'd given her heart and her soul to the stage, and she'd been crushed in more ways than one. She was better off now. She just needed to stay the course.
Glancing at the calendar on her phone, she realized she had three free hours before her next class. She was debating what she wanted to do with that time when Nick walked through the door, and her heart skipped a beat in what was becoming a very familiar jolt of attraction.
"Isabella, I heard you might have a few hours free," he said.
"Who told you that?"
"I stopped by the studio earlier this morning. I wanted to take a look at the damage for myself."
"You should have told me. I would have gone with you."
"It was an impulsive decision."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't make impulsive decisions, remember?"
"You seem to be rubbing off on me."
"So what did you think?" she asked, pretty sure she wouldn't like his answer.
"It's all fixable with time and money."
Well, that didn't sound too bad, nor did Nick look particularly discouraged, another good sign.
"I want to talk to you more about it," he continued. "Ricardo mentioned to me that you had some free time this afternoon."
"That's true," she said, a little relieved that she would be too busy
to even consider calling the Tylers back.
"Can I steal you away?"
"Sure." She walked over to the chair and grabbed her bag and then followed him out to the lobby. His car was with the valet, and he quickly ushered her inside. "Are we going to lunch?" she asked.
"Eventually," he replied. "I need to make a stop first. There's something I want you to see."
"Sounds good. Did you get a chance to read through the information I left with Paula?" she asked as he drove away from the hotel.
"I did. It made for some very interesting bedtime reading."
"Put you right to sleep, did it?"
He smiled. "Not at all. I actually enjoy reading financial reports. They provide an excellent snapshot of a company, but unfortunately they don't tell the whole story."
"If you're missing something you need, tell me what it is, and I'll get it for you. I want you to have all the facts so you can make a good decision."
"I'm glad you feel that way, because I don't make any decision without having all the facts."
"So what do you need?"
"You'll see."
She didn't care for his answer, but it was clear he wasn't going to tell her more at the moment.
Her uneasiness increased when Nick turned into a parking garage just off Market. "Where are we going?"
He repeated his earlier answer, "You'll see."
"You're being mysterious."
"And you're worrying a little too much for a free-spirited woman who likes to go with the flow."
"I'm not as free-spirited as I used to be."
"I'm beginning to realize that," he said as they exited the car and walked out of the garage.
When they turned down the next street, she saw the front of the Orpheum Theater, and her pulse jumped. The Tylers were holding auditions at the Orpheum all week. Nick had talked to Ricardo earlier and Rhea yesterday.
Before I Do Amazon Page 10
