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  "Just think about it. Don't say no. This is too big of an opportunity to dismiss out of hand. You have to give it thought."

  She didn't want to think about going back to that life, because there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to be the star she'd once dreamed about being. But there was another part of her that wanted to stay where it was safe, where she wouldn't fall—literally or metaphorically.

  "What are you two talking about?" Rhea asked, interrupting their conversation.

  Isabella was startled to see her aunt. "I didn't hear you come in."

  "You two were engrossed in conversation. What's going on?" Her curious gaze moved from Isabella to Ricardo. "Anyone want to share?"

  "The Tylers are opening a new musical in San Francisco in a couple of months," Ricardo replied. "They want Isabella to audition, and I think she should."

  Isabella sent Ricardo a killer look, but he didn't bat an eye. He obviously wanted Rhea on his side, and there was no doubt that her aunt would be there.

  "That's amazing, Isabella," Rhea said. "Their musicals are always fantastic."

  "I'm done with that part of my life. I want to teach. I want to run a studio. I don't need to perform any more. And I'm not good enough. I couldn't be what I was."

  Rhea frowned. "You've completely healed from that injury, Isabella. Maybe you would need to put in some long hours, but you could get yourself back in shape. This actually comes at a good time. The repairs will be very expensive, Isabella. I've talked to my buyer, and she's willing to buy the studio as is for a lower price. I'm meeting with my accountant tomorrow to run the numbers. I don't think I can keep throwing good money after bad. This place has been a wonderful home for all of us, but sometimes you have to move on."

  "I think I can buy the studio, too," she said. "I have someone willing to invest. Can you at least give me a few days to see if I can pull that together?"

  "Who would want to invest in this place?"

  "Nicholas Hunter. The man I'm giving tango lessons to."

  "Seriously? Why?"

  "Does it matter?" she countered, seeing the same confused look on her aunt's face as she'd seen on Ricardo's.

  "I think it does. The man has already agreed to give you a ballroom to run our classes in for the next few weeks. Now he wants to buy the studio? What are you giving him in exchange for all this good will? I know it's more than dance lessons."

  She saw the worried gleam in her aunt's eyes. "It's not that," she said sharply.

  "Then what?"

  "Nick needs me to go to Argentina with him and dance the tango for some business investor. It's part of a deal he's trying to make. I told him that would be difficult for me because of my family history. But apparently this deal is going to be worth millions if not billions of dollars, and he's willing to throw in some things to make me more willing to go with him."

  Rhea's jaw dropped in shock. "You're seriously thinking of going back to Argentina? Have you spoken to your mother about that?"

  "No, I haven't. I'm an adult, and this is going to be a quick trip, two to three days at the most. I'm not planning to see my father."

  "Your father hurt you and your mother. I don't think you should see him. He's not going to magically turn into a better person. He's still going to be the man who abandoned you. I hate to be blunt, but we both know that's true."

  "But I don't know why he abandoned me. Mom doesn’t ever want to talk about him, and you've never been forthcoming on the subject, either."

  "It's your mom's story to tell—if she wants to tell it. You should talk to her."

  "I plan on doing that, but I'm still going to make my own decision."

  "I understand," Rhea said, not sounding too happy about it.

  "Good, now getting back to the studio, can you give me a week?"

  "I'll think about it. I don't want to lose the offer I have. But I will talk to you before I make a final decision. I'm going to get some papers out of the office," Rhea said, vanishing down the hall.

  Isabella glanced over at Ricardo. "I know you think I'm making a mistake."

  "I think you're afraid," he said. "If you want to buy the studio, and you've found someone to give you the money, great. But you should still speak to the Tylers. Find out all your options, then make a decision. Otherwise, you're just running scared."

  "I'm not scared. I know what I want."

  "Then there's no danger in meeting with the Tylers. Tell them no to their faces. They gave you your first break on Broadway. Don't you owe them that?"

  She let out a sigh as Ricardo's final point hammered home. Being loyal was one of her biggest faults. "I'll think about it."

  Ricardo nodded with approval. "Good. But after you think about it—go down to the theater where they're holding auditions this week. Walk onto that stage and look into those lights and then tell me you don't want that anymore. Only then will I really believe you."

  * * *

  Isabella was still thinking about Ricardo's words when she went to the Grand View Towers Hotel a little before eight on Sunday night. In fact, she couldn't think about anything else, especially since she'd also gotten a long text on her phone from Donna Tyler expressing interest in having in their new show. She hadn't replied yet, because she didn't know what to say.

  She'd really thought she was done with the stage, with performing, with chasing the Broadway dreams that had driven her life, but if she were going to consider going back, dancing for the Tylers would be the perfect scenario.

  But even if she wanted to make another run at a starring role, could she do it? She'd definitely lost some of her muscle tone in the last year. She didn't work out the way she used to. She'd be winded in three minutes.

  Frowning at that thought, she walked into the empty ballroom and told herself to focus on the present. Classes were starting in the morning and this was her new studio.

  Nick's staff had done a great job. The hardwood floor was shined and polished. Mirrors had been set up all around the room, and two ballet barres had been installed along three of the walls. There was even a stereo system set up with speakers hung in the four corners of the room. It was perfect.

  The door opened and Nick strode in. She liked the energy in his step. He didn't walk like he was going to the executioner as he'd done the first time he'd showed up for a lesson.

  He'd finally put on some denim, but his dark gray jeans and maroon-colored shirt were probably as expensive as a three-piece suit. She couldn't help wondering if he ever wore ripped jeans or a sweatshirt. Maybe she just wanted him to look a little less attractive, less appealing, but that probably wouldn't happen even if he put on sweat pants and a wrinkled T-shirt. Nick had a masculine presence that would always draw a woman's eye.

  "What do you think?" he asked. "Will the room work?"

  "It's perfect. Thank you so much."

  "You're welcome."

  "Are you ready to dance?" She had a lot of things she wanted to talk to Nick about, but she also wanted to respect his lesson time. She'd agreed to teach him the tango. That had to come first.

  He grimaced at her question. "I doubt I'll ever be ready, but let's get started. The sound system is set up for plug and play."

  "I see that. Let's go over some of the steps first, then we'll put on the music."

  "I thought you wanted me to concentrate more on the music than the steps," Nick countered.

  "I'm changing it up a little. You have a very organized and practical mind, and I don't think you'll truly be able to relax and enjoy the music until you feel confident in your steps. So let's begin." She held out her hands to him.

  As his fingers closed around hers, she had to fight back a little sigh of pleasure and concentrate on what she'd come here to do.

  Twenty minutes later, Nick was able to put several combinations of steps together, so she turned on the music. The first few minutes were once again a disaster, mostly because Nick was rushing to be good, she realized. He didn't give himself time to learn. He wante
d to be perfect as fast as possible. But he wasn't perfect, which led to frustration. She could see it in every tight determined line in his face.

  She stopped the music. "This isn't a fight, Nick. There are no winners."

  "Not true, Isabella. I dance this damned dance, and I win. I fall on my face, and I lose."

  "I won't let you fall," she promised.

  "I wish I could say the same. Your feet have already taken a beating."

  "My feet are tough, and you won't drop me. I'm not at all worried about that."

  "You should be."

  "No." She shook her head and took both of his hands in hers as she gazed into his eyes. "When you hold me, I feel your strength. I know I can count on you. I want you to really lead this time. Take me where you want me to go."

  Desire flashed through his eyes at her words, and she shivered. She was playing with fire, but Nick needed fire and passion. He was afraid to let it out, but if he didn't, he wouldn't succeed the way he wanted to.

  "Okay," he said. "Let's do it again."

  She turned on the music and moved back into his arms. "It's all you, Nick. I trust you."

  "I'm going to try not to let you down."

  "One-two-three," she began, and then Nick took the lead as she'd asked him to do. He still stumbled and hesitated every now and then, but she didn't try to take over. She let him continue and eventually he got better. By the time the dance was over, she didn't know who was more surprised—Nick or herself.

  "That wasn't that bad," he muttered.

  "Not bad at all. You just have to trust me as much as I trust you. That's what partnerships are all about. We have to play to our strengths and carry each other through the weak moments. That way at the end we're both still standing."

  He gave her a thoughtful look as he considered her words. "You're not just talking about dancing, are you?"

  "Of course I am." But what she'd said was true of all kinds of partnerships. "I think we're done for tonight. I hope you're feeling more optimistic."

  "Actually, I am. Can we meet tomorrow?"

  "I have back to back classes all day and night. Tuesday afternoon and Tuesday evening are free, though."

  "Then we'll do it then. I'll check my schedule and get back to you on a time." Pausing, he added, "Can I buy you a drink in the bar?"

  "That would be nice."

  Nick turned off the lights as they left the ballroom, and they walked down the stairs to the lobby bar. The lounge was fairly empty—only an older couple at one table and two younger men at another.

  Nick waved her toward a table by the fireplace, which gave off a warm, cozy heat. While it was almost summer, the day had been colder than yesterday, and the night had brought with it San Francisco's infamous fog bank.

  The waitress gave them immediate attention, obviously knowing Nick was the owner. Their drinks arrived quickly along with a platter of cheeses, crackers and fruit that she didn't remember either of them ordering.

  "I always eat well when I'm with you," she said lightly.

  "I think the staff is trying to impress me," he returned. "But the food was a good call on their part. I worked up an appetite."

  "Me, too." She spread some French Brie onto a cracker and popped it into her mouth. "Delicious."

  "What did you do today?" Nick asked.

  "I went to the studio for a few hours, met with some contractors and talked to my aunt."

  "Is your aunt still planning to sell, or has her buyer disappeared?"

  "She wants to sell now more than ever, and her buyer is apparently willing to take the studio over as is and do the repairs as long as the purchase price reflects the difference in money."

  "They must really want the studio."

  "I guess." She realized now that she should have asked Rhea more questions about the buyer. She should know who she was competing against. "You told me that you might be interested in investing. How serious were you about that?"

  "I'm always serious about investments. What are you thinking?"

  "That I would need a really big loan to match whatever my aunt is being offered. I'm probably not a great risk. I don't have a lot of money in the bank. And I still don't know the extent of the water damage or how much it's going to cost to get the studio back into working condition."

  "You just gave me a lot of reasons for why I shouldn't help you. That's not the way to make a sale."

  "I don't want to lie to you. I can't even imagine why you would want to invest except that you really want me to go to Argentina, but if you're willing, I'd love to talk more about how we could set up a loan."

  Nick stared back at her for a moment. "Do you have an accountant who does the studio books?"

  "Yes. I can get you whatever financial information you need."

  "I'll also need the estimates on the repair work and anything else you can tell me about how you envision your expenses going over the next one to two years."

  "I can pull together everything I have, but I have to tell you that my aunt has given me maybe a week to match her offer, and I'm not sure I'll have that long."

  "Drop off what you have tomorrow, and I'll take a look. I can't make a decision until I see the numbers."

  "Completely understandable. I feel awkward and uncomfortable even asking you to do this, because it's a lot, and I know that it's probably more of a charity gesture than a sound business investment. I'm just feeling a little desperate."

  "We'll talk more after I review the information."

  "Okay, good," she blew out a breath. "So what did you do today?"

  "I had some business to take care of."

  "So no time for fun?"

  "Not until now," he said with a smile.

  "What do you do for fun when you're not working, if there's ever a moment when you're not focused on business?" she asked curiously

  He shrugged his shoulders. "The usual stuff. I read the paper, watch a ball game, work out."

  "And see your friends?"

  "Sure."

  "Who are your close friends?"

  "Martin is probably the closest to me. We've been working together for ten years."

  "What about childhood friends or college pals?"

  He shook his head. "I haven't kept up. I have no idea what anyone is doing."

  "Then you must not be on social media," she said dryly. "I know the daily routines of people I haven't seen in fifteen years."

  "You waste your time online?"

  "Occasionally. I like seeing photos of my friends and keeping up with what's happening in their lives. But nothing takes the place of actually seeing them in person."

  "You have a good group of friends." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Who didn't I meet last night at the bowling alley?"

  "Laurel. She's Andrea's twin sister. She got married last year and has been traveling a lot with her husband. You also didn't get to meet Maggie. She's the one who works at the Stratton, and the other missing person is Jessica. She and her son moved to San Diego last year, so lately the only times I've seen her have been at bridal events."

  "So she was the first to get married?"

  "Yes, but we weren't at her wedding. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment courthouse affairs, and it ended in divorce. That reaffirmed our promise to have big weddings with all of our friends together."

  "You think a courthouse wedding is why she ended up divorced?"

  "No, but I think the fact that they were in such a hurry and didn't really want to take the time to plan a wedding might have played a factor. However, I know that a big wedding doesn't guarantee a happy marriage."

  "Sometimes a big wedding dooms the marriage. The groom realizes he just married a bridezilla."

  She laughed. "Are you speaking from experience?"

  "One of my friends married a very hyper, crazy girl who put him through hell during the wedding plans. I wasn't sure they were going to make it down the aisle. They did marry but were divorced three years later. I don't think the marriage
ever lived up to the hype of the wedding—at least not in her mind."

  "What kind of wedding would you want?" she asked curiously.

  "I have no idea. Probably whatever my fiancé wanted."

  "You'd let her call all the shots? That sounds a little risky."

  "The risk would be in picking the right woman." He sipped his wine, then said, "What about you? What's your dream wedding?"

  "Something small, intimate, outside, I think. I kind of picture myself barefoot on the beach, but that's probably not practical."

  "It sounds nice, especially the small, intimate part of it."

  "Well there will be seven bridesmaids," she added with a laugh. "So it won't be that small."

  "I hope your groom has seven good friends."

  "If he doesn't, I'm sure I can talk some of my bridesmaids into walking down the aisle with their husbands or boyfriends."

  "You've got it covered."

  "Except for the groom, it's all worked out," she said with a grin.

  He smiled back. "I'm sure Mr. Right will come along."

  "I'm not looking for Mr. Right, just the right man for me. But I'm not in a hurry. I have a lot of other things to worry about at the moment. In fact, I should probably get going. My first class tomorrow is at nine."

  "I'll drive you home."

  "No, this time I really insist on getting a cab. It's out of your way, and you're already doing so much for me."

  "I'm getting something in return." He paused. "So we'll be leaving for Argentina on Friday."

  Her gut clenched at the reminder that in a few short days she'd be heading back to the country where she'd been born. "Okay. And we'll be back on Monday?"

  "If that's what you want. If you prefer to stay longer, that's fine, too. Have you given any thought about whether or not you want to contact your father while you're there?"

  "I've given it some thought. I just haven't come to any conclusions."

  "Well, you still have a few more days."

  She might need a few more decades to make that decision. Unfortunately, she wasn't going to have that long.

  Chapter Ten

  Nick spent most of Monday trying not to go downstairs and see how Isabella's dance classes were going in the ballroom. He had far more pressing business to take care of, and if she were having any problems, she had his assistant's number and she could call for help, but she hadn't called. He hadn't heard a word from her since he'd put her in a cab the night before.