Then I slide the phone across the desk and turn my attention to my computer.
Clearly, Gemma’s going to need a little more convincing.
I should probably let it go, but I’ve never been known to take no for an answer.
Let’s see what I can find out about Brent Hartley before I take Gemma Cane out for that drink.
Chapter Three
Gemma
When rehearsal wraps up for the day, Nancy continues to struggle with her timing. Since it’s Friday and we’re out of official rehearsal time, I offer to stay a little late and work with her on perfecting her moves.
Ordinarily, I’d want to get home to Parker, and I do, but Nancy isn’t like my other belly dancing students who are mostly taking the class as a fun workout. She’s an older lady who always wanted to learn to belly dance when she was younger, but she was too self-conscious about showing her tummy. After surviving cancer, she realized there are plenty of things to be afraid of, but a bare stomach isn’t one of them. She’s so proud of herself for finally putting herself out there and having fun without worrying what people think about her. She even has her grown son and his wife and kids coming to watch her, so she wants to be perfect at the recital.
I text Parker that I’ll be working late and stay to practice with Nancy until she finally nails the rhythm. When we stop for a water break before she leaves, she gives me a hug and thanks me.
“You’re gonna knock ’em dead, girl,” I assure her, smiling as I uncap my water bottle to take a drink.
She beams at me as she makes her way over to grab her purse. “Thank you for staying late, honey. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was fun,” I assure her with a smile. “I’m so glad you took my class this summer.”
“So am I,” she says, shimmying her hips and making me laugh.
When Nancy leaves, I turn off all the lights and prepare to leave as well. I grab my phone and see I have several missed texts from Parker, so I swipe the screen and open the message chain to see what I’ve missed.
Mostly there are just texts of her asking when I’m coming home, but she must be getting hungry because the messages are getting hilariously weird. She sent me individual pictures of ham and slices of cheese with sad faces drawn on in purple marker in markup mode, then she sent three sobbing emojis with the added caption, “Me because I don’t have jamón y queso in my tummy right now.”
I grin and text back, “I’m sorry! Nancy and I JUST finished. Mommy is on the way to save the day right now!”
She sends back party emojis instantaneously, and I smile, slipping the phone into my purse and drawing out my keys.
Movement in the dark auditorium makes my heart drop and wipes the smile right off my face. I clutch my car keys, my heart stuttering, and try to remember what I’m supposed to do if I’m accosted in the dark by a stranger.
There shouldn’t be anyone else here. I stayed late with Nancy, but she left, and everyone else went home when rehearsal ended.
Before I can have a full-blown heart attack, the man moves out of the shadows, and I realize it’s not a stranger at all—well, not atotalstranger.
It’s Hayden Atwater.
He looksdevastatinglyhandsome in his expensive three-piece suit, stepping out of the shadows like somebody’s nightmare.
My insides flutter, but I need him to leave, and I guess before that, I need to know what the hell he’s doing here.
“This is a closed rehearsal,” I say with a frown, casting a confused look at the row he just emerged from.
Was he sitting there watching me?
“Rehearsal ended”—he checks his Rolex—“about an hour ago. Do you often stay late to help little old ladies learn how to rock their hips?”
My cheeks flush, and I look down at my water bottle to avoid looking at him. “No, not usually. I don’t generally have elderly ladies in my belly dancing class, or any of my classes, really.” Rather than continue to explain myself to him, I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Wanted to see you dance. You ripped me off yesterday.”
A short laugh bursts out of me. “Irippedyouoff? You ogled me and did nothing, and I had to payyou$350.”
“You didn’t have to,” he reminds me. “I offered to take you out for a drink and wipe the slate clean.”