“You are smart, beautiful, and Anton cares more about what you think than you know. Just talk to him.”
She sighed deeply and nodded curtly. “I will. Thanks, Mia.”
“It will work out as it’s supposed to but only if you’re honest with yourself and Anton. He can’t know how you feel if you don’t tell him. And he’s definitely not going to change anything unless he’s aware of your needs and the fact that you’ve got other opportunities to consider.”
“Do you think he’ll be mad?” she asked as we walked to the elevator. I pressed the button, and it whirred to life somewhere above us.
“You know him better than I do. I think he’ll be very concerned that you’ve not gotten through to him and you’re considering leaving without giving him the opportunity to make things right. From what I gather, you’re the only one he listens to.”
Heather shook her head. “Nope. He does what he wants when he wants.”
“I think that’s a bit harsh and a smidge untrue.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe.”
I smiled and walked through Anton’s penthouse as the doors opened. “Come on girl, let’s see what the devil is up to with Ms. Dancing with the Stars.”
Heather snorted. “Girl, don’t let her hear you say that. She’s liable to kick your ass! I heard she’s got a mighty hot temper.”
“Heather, honey, so do I. So. Do. I.”
Chapter 5
When we entered the penthouse, Anton and Maria were not sitting idly at the table. No, they were in the center of the living room having a dance off.
“Then your character does this...”Maria did a series of complicated steps, rolled her body, circled her hips, touched the floor and bounced back up into another body roll followed by slamming her high-heeled foot down making a loud snap sound. “...right at the ride it baby ride.”
Anton mimicked exactly what she did, only when he did the moves, all three of us were mesmerized. Standing in a pair of loose linen pants and absolutely nothing else but a diamond encrusted heart dangling around his sweaty torso, he was a thing of beauty. Masculine living, breathing, art at its finest.
Heather cleared her throat. Two sets of eyes zeroed in on the two of us.
“Need us for anything?” The timid sound of her voice annoyed me. That was nowhere near getting her any credibility with the two hot-head, type A personalities before us.
I butted in bravely. “What Heather means is, she has some ideas she was working on with the last choreographer that she’d like to share with the rest of the class.” I glanced at Anton, and he watched me and tilted his head. I made a hello-come-on gesture with my eyes and slight shifts of my shoulders.
It took a minute, but he finally got the message. He picked up a hand towel that was dangling over the couch and wiped the sweat off his face. “Oh yeah, H? How come you didn’t say before?” His eyebrows narrowed in an unspoken accusation.
Heather’s mouth tightened and her jaw locked. “Anton, I tried many times to tell you my ideas. You told me to work out anything with the choreographer, and you’d see the end result.”
That’s when Maria and I both took in the staring contest the two of them had going on. “Mi amiga, since you have hired me as the new choreographer, how about you tell me your ideas and we can bounce them off one another over dinner. Suena bien?”
“I can call in some takeout?” I offered.
“That’s my job,” Heather sighed.
I shook my head. “Not tonight it’s not. How does sushi sound?” I practically danced in my pants, which really was more a jumble of limbs complete with a shoulder shimmy. Maria watched the display and then groaned whispering in Spanish, so low I could barely hear it, “Tengo mi trabajo por de lante.”
“What did she say?” I pointed an accusing finger at Maria while speaking to Heather. Maria’s eyes lit up with mischief and a saucy grin.
Heather clapped me on the shoulder and handed me her credit card. “Relax. She just said something about having her work cut out for her. Nothing offensive.”
Shooting daggers her way, I snarled. “I’ve got my eyes on you.”
Both Anton and Maria laughed and walked towards the kitchen. “Drink, Mia?” Anton called out.
“Yeah, whatever you’re having is fine.”
I turned and headed to the sitting room. I pulled out my phone bringing up the Grub Hub app. Right off the bat Yummy Chinese and Sushi Bar popped up with over a hundred Yelp ratings as well as an average of five stars. And the kisser…free delivery! Winner winner, sushi dinner!
***
“No, no, no, you’re not getting it!” Heather’s words were biting and fueled by the top shelf vodka we’d been imbibing. She stood and walked to the center of the room. A third round of fruity martinis was laid out on the table in front of us, courtesy of a Mia’s-badass-bartending-skills special. I patted myself on the back and waited for Heather to make her point. “My vision was a very Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean meets Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl.”
Maria scanned the notes in front of her, bobbing her head from side to side, the new song Anton had written playing on repeat to keep the muse enchanted. “Si, si, I feel you. Mia can be strutting her stuff like so.” She mimicked a sexy, sultry walk. “Then Anton will follow behind her, keeping a bit with the Michael Jackson hip sway and fast feet but with his own hip-hop, Latin fusion style,” she said excitedly.
Anton pounced after Maria when she repeated the moves. While she swayed her hips, I paid close attention because this would eventually be my role when the cameras were on. “See Mia, come here.” I stood, rather tipsy, wiped my sticky martini fingers on my jeans, and followed her lead. She turned around and grabbed my hips as though she was a man dancing with me. “Now, pretend I’m not here and move your hips when I tap your side.”
We walked a few steps, she tapped. I swayed back and forth picking up her rhythm. “Now stop and bend down, and touch your toes slowly, as if you’re going to tie your shoe. Then caress your legs all the way up, past your waist and over your breasts.”
I did what she said. “Tan caliente,” Anton murmured. He pressed his hands against my hips and rubbed his groin along my ass. He wasn’t hard, but that icky vibe hit out of nowhere and I broke out in a sweat.
“An-ton,” I warned. My lip trembled, betraying the fear that must have been evident in my eyes, saying something I wasn’t able to vocalize, because his hands left me as if they’d been burned.
“Sorry, muñeca”
I turned around and placed a hand on his chest. “No, I’m sorry. We’re just practicing. It will get easier, I promise.” Closing my eyes, I sent a quiet prayer up above that I’d get past this touching thing and quick. My job depended on it.
From across the room, I could hear my phone beep announcing a new text message. Anton lifted his chin as if approving I take a minute. Hustling over to my purse on the counter I yanked the phone out and read the message.
To: Mia Saunders
From: Wes Channing
No way, no how, am I missing your birthday. Deal with it. I’ll be in Miami in a week. We’ll do it the easy way or the hard way. Whichever you prefer, sweetheart, but you’re not getting out of seeing me.
Little did I know I had an audience. Heather made no bones about reading the text over my shoulder.
“Who’s Wes? Your boyfriend?”
Who was Wes? That was an excellent question indeed. My friend, lover, boyfriend, man of my dreams? In a way, he was all those things and more. “Um, definitely friend, sort of a boyfriend, I guess. We haven’t really established any titles at this time. Just taking it slow. You know how it goes.”
She snorted. “Me? Um, no. I’m queen of the one-night stand. With my job, there hasn’t been room for a special someone, though I hope one day there will be.”
Anton looped an arm over Heather’s shoulder. “Oh come now, H. There was that one guy that was all over you a couple weeks ago. Remember? Stra
ight lost his shit when I entered your apartment unannounced.”
She groaned. “I remember, Anton. You don’t have to remind me.”
He laughed and smacked his thigh. “You were riding that fucking pony six ways from Sunday! Whatever happened to him?”
“You! You happened to him, Anton. Just like Reece, and David, and Jonathan. Every time I get close to a guy you seem to screw it up with your demands, your entering my loft without knocking. Frightening them away before I ever even have a chance at more.” She harrumphed and pouted.
Anton’s eyes screwed into white-hot points. “You’re shitting me? You’re blaming me for being unlucky in love?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I am not shitting you! When the nation’s biggest hip-hop artist trails into your home unannounced, looking the way you do and calling me baby, it doesn’t leave the best impression on future suitors.” Her hand came up to her forehead and she pressed her finger and thumb into her temples. “Why do I put up with this?” she grumbled under her breath.
Anton’s shoulders slumped and he lifted her chin. “H, baby, talk to me?”
“Talk to you! I’ll talk to you. I’ve been offered another job. One I think I’m going to take. How about that for idle chat!” Her voice was loud in the cavernous room.
“What! You are not fucking leaving me!” he roared.
Oh no. Both Maria and I backed up a couple steps until we hit the edge of the counter. Heather lifted a pointed finger. “I’m tired of you not listening to me. Not promoting me!” Her voice rose, and I lifted my martini to my lips. Maria did the same as we watched the fight unfold.
“Listen to you? You’re the only one I listen to!” he countered. “And you’ve never asked for a promotion! What do you want? More money? Done!”
Heather’s face contorted into a grimace, an expression so wrought with pain even I could feel the heat of her ire. “It’s not always about fucking money! Uggh, you’re so infuriating.” She yanked on her hair and spun around to face the wall of windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. “Maybe it’s best that I move on.”
Anton took two steps and put his hands on her shoulders. “No. I won’t let you go.” The words were laced with regret.
“You may not have a choice. This is my life,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“You’re it for me. I can’t work with anyone else.”
“And I can’t be your assistant any longer.”
He grimaced. “You’re not my fucking assistant. True, you handle me but you handle everything! What do you want from me? Just ask H, and it’s yours. I can’t go where I want to go without you there by my side.”
Maria nudged me. “Are they fucking?” If I didn’t know better I would have assumed the same thing. I shook my head. “Maybe they should be,” she remarked.
“Nah, its sibling rivalry. Kind of like a fight with your BFF. Do you have any friends?”
A huge grin lit her face and made her impossibly more pretty. Bitch. I wanted to hate her, but she was way too cool and had proved herself a force to be reckoned with. She was also utterly professional on top of being good at what she did. “Three soul sisters. Those bitches own me. Drive me absolutely loco. It’s like that, only these two have never told one another of their importance. We’re seeing the aftermath of that error.”
Her lips formed a silent “O” as we continued to watch the smackdown. Unfortunately, it ended all too quickly with Heather storming off and slamming the condo door. Damn, I must have missed the good part.
“Shit!” Anton yelled. “Terca puta mujer!” he added.
I looked at Maria. “I think that’s our cue.”
She nodded. “When a man is hollering about a crazy stubborn woman, it’s best that we don’t get in the way of him letting off that steam.”
We tiptoed silently out of the kitchen and left the condo. We were both staying in one of the furnished apartments for guests so we got out at the same floor.
Maria went one way and I went the other. “Hey,” I called out to her.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I’ll be able to do the job well enough?”
“Of course you will. You’ve got me to teach you.” She winked, opened her door, and waved.
***
The engine rumbled underneath my bum as I pulled out of the garage and onto the streets of Miami. Anton rode the Icon Sheene. The bike was black with chrome accents. He wore black jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket. I rocked my own pair of Lucky Brand jeans that were well worn and soft in all the right places. Namely the ass. The junk in my trunk looked damn good in these jeans, and I knew it. My hair was braided and tucked into the leather jacket I wore over the top of a red, white, and black, White Stripes concert tank I’d gotten when Ginelle and I caught their show in Vegas back in the day. “Seven Nation Army” is still one of my favorites.
I sat on the KTM Super Duke, tricked out in orange and black. It hummed between my thighs caressing my sweet spot better than a lover could. There was just something absolutely beautiful and freeing about riding a bike.
Anton made hand gestures leading me through the city of Miami and South Beach. At red lights, he’d tell me brief tidbits about different sections.
“This is where the locals and tourists shake their culos.” He pointed to a never-ending stream of clubs down Washington Avenue. We then traversed our way down Collins Avenue where he pointed out the many restaurants and hotels.
Of course, we rode down Ocean drive. One side was all boxy art deco styled buildings that Heather had pointed out when I arrived almost two weeks ago. The other side was a vast span of grass dotted with palm trees all the way up until the grass met the sand and then nothing but ocean.
We stopped at a tourist and local haunt called Gelato-Go. I’d never had the stuff but Anton swore by it.
We entered the small café, looking a bit out of place. I think that worked best for Anton because he was usually so recognizable. He wore his sunglasses inside and didn’t take them off. I pushed mine on top of my head to survey the options.
“So, gelato is like ice-cream?”
He nodded. “It is. Italian-style ice cream, only it’s not made with traditional cream. It’s made with milk. It’s also churned far less leaving it with little air in it making it seem more dense. I prefer it because the flavors are more robust, and it’s healthier.”
I scanned each option. The chocolate seemed far too dark making me think it would end up tasting like the bitter ass cannoli’s you get in Italian joints. Blech. I hated cannoli’s.
A wiry, thin fella approached me. His hair was high and slicked back in a very stylish way. He wore a shirt that said, “Gelato-Go, Fresh every day, healthy, light, low-fat, delicious and creamy.” The name tag he wore boasted “Fresh Francesco”, and although he could very well be Italian, it was hard to tell one way or the other.
“Bella signora, how may Francesco help you today?” His accent was definitely Italian. That solved that mystery.
“I don’t know. My friend here”—I pointed to Anton who looked more like the terminator than his alter ego Latin Lov-ah—“said your gelato was to die for. Since I’ve never had gelato before, what do you recommend?”
Fresh Franny grinned manically. “Oh, signora, you are going to love everything. We make fresh every day, homemade, and with less sugar and no fattening cream. You be keeping that body for years to come eating our treat!” he promised and I laughed.
I pointed down to the green one that had flecks of things in it. “What’s that?”
“Oh, good choice. Our very famous pistachio. We ship the nuts in from Sicily to make ours extra special.”
Anton leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “It’s pretty amazing and very flavorful. I’d probably recommend something a bit more simple. Do you like caramel?”
“Does a gambler love money?” I gave him my patented, are-you-shitting-me look. He chuckled. Oh, how I loved that chuckle. It reminde
d me of good times and another smokin’ hot dude who would be here tomorrow. “I’m pretty sure that ninety-nine percent of the population loves caramel. If they say they don’t, they are lying. Usually driven by their need to avoid something that often makes them gain weight by just glancing at it.”
Francesco watched patiently as we discussed the merits of every flavor. How strawberry was a far too boring flavor to get if I was going to try something I considered new and unusual. I wanted to go all out. Go big or go home, as they say. “Fresh Franny, I’m going to go with the caramel dulce de leche, please.”
“Excellent choice!” He filled the biggest serving bowl full of the creamy dessert.
I was pretty sure my eyes were the size of pizzas when he handed it to me. “I should have told you the little one.” I declared sizing up the giant dessert.
He shook his head, his hair jiggled with the effort but stayed perfect. “Everyone comes back for more. You go big.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Anton, of course, ordered the pistachio, which pissed me off. He warned me off it, and then he ordered it! “Punk!” I swore at him.
“What?” He pushed his shades up into his hair and took a giant spoonful between his lips. Mmm, I could watch him eat ice cream all damned day. He looked that flippin’ good. Suddenly, I was too warm. I took off my jacket and placed it over the back of the chair. He did the same.
For a while, we sat in silence and enjoyed the best freaking gelato ever. Of course it was my first, but I couldn’t imagine anything better right then. The texture and silkiness was a cross between ice cream and frozen yogurt. Either way, I was a big fan.
“What are you going to do about Heather? She still mad?”
“Furious, and she’s barely talking to me.” He frowned and then took another bite. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t let her go.”
July (Calendar Girl #7) Page 5