Blush(70)

Once Cruz was done in the parlor, Mia planned on contacting the furniture company in New Orleans to have that room’s furniture delivered. Tomorrow, she had to go to the rented mailbox in downtown New Orleans to pick up the papers sent from David and Kent and have them notarized. Once those were returned to the investment company, and the money changed hands, she’d be the sole owner of Blush come Monday close of business.

Then she could go home. Maybe.

Sole ownership of Blush wasn’t a guarantee of her safety. And Miles still hadn’t ascertained who, if anyone, was trying to kill her. Maybe it was all a big tempest in a teacup, and they were being alarmist? Mia wished to hell she knew. If her death was to prevent the LBO, it would be too late once she signed the papers. And if it had nothing to do with the leveraged buyout, she had no idea who was trying to get rid of her. Would she ever know?

She sat on the foot of the neatly made bed. What if she never discovered who was trying to kill her? Would she stay in Louisiana forever? While this new life was surreal, her life in San Francisco had insidiously become the paler version of her reality.

Blush was her life. It was her birthright, her passion, her entire life from the day she’d been born. It was as if some unknown entity with enormous power had thrown her life up in the air like juggling balls, and they were falling back to earth in slow motion.

It seemed ludicrous to be trying to teach herself to swing around a pole when she didn’t know where she’d be after this weekend. Tomorrow, Friday, the buyout would be officially over. That was finite.

Bayou Cheniere, Louisiana, wasn’t where her life was. She belonged in the cosmopolitan city with her people around her, her meetings, her business dinners, and the opera.

And Cruz? How did he fit into her real life?

He knew all her secrets, and it felt right to trust him. She felt safe with him. What she’d do with that, Mia didn’t know. But for now it was good to know she had him at her back.

One more day and the LBO would be a done deal. Then Saturday and Sunday before the investment brokers received the paperwork back. Then she’d have to decide if she wanted to remain in Louisiana hiding, or go back to San Francisco and face this situation and take a more hands-on approach.

Decisions had to be made.

She always felt better when she’d made a decision and took action.

But right now, all she had to think about was mastering the pole. She looked over the detailed text description for the move that was being demonstrated on the video, and skeptically eyed the jar of iTack2, which apparently was going to help her stick to the pole like a baby tree frog. Now or never.

The pole felt cold against her bare arm and hooked leg as Mia perfected the first handhold. He’d called her “sweetheart.” Was that a universal endearment when he couldn’t remember the woman’s name? Her stepmother called everyone, even those she’d just met, “honey” because she never listened when introduced, so she didn’t know anyone’s name. She’d been married to Amelia’s father for almost three years and had called her stepdaughter by her name perhaps twice. Candice still called her “honey.” Even when she came to the office.

She paused, one ankle hooked around the base of the pole, her hands— Where was her left hand supposed to be? Leaning over the keyboard, Mia backspaced to see that section of video again. The moves were basic, so-called easy. Maybe she needed the knee-high, high-heeled boots the instructor wore?

To “Blurred Lines,” she imitated the slinky, catlike walk of the instructor and approached the pole again. “Okay, pole. Front hook spin. Ready?” Leg hooked on the pole, Mia hung from it like a monkey and executed a sort-of, kind-of spin around it. Her biceps protested. She did it again. And again. Easier each time.

She attempted a back hook spin and nearly dislocated her neck. “Skip to the next.” Fast-forwarding the instructional video, she slinked back to the pole. Thank God no one was watching, because she was pretty sure she looked like an idiot. She imagined Todd watching her, and could almost hear her cousin saying, “Dance like no one is watching. Feel the music.”

Okay, new music. She started up “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. The lyrics were rude, crude, and offensive as hell, and the beat primal and sexy. Mia blocked out the words and let the driving rhythm take her.

“God, that’s sexy as hell.” Cruz’s large hands circled her bare waist as he came up behind her. “I’d consider the class money well spent.”

Mia gave his wandering hand a small smack as he explored her breast. “I haven’t done anything but wrap myself around this thing. Come back later when I have half a clue.”