July (Calendar Girl #7) (7 page)

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 reminded 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.”

“What if she needs to go?”

He narrowed his brows and cringed. “I’m already famous. Working with me gives her more of a name than a new wannabe star.”

“And are you prepared to give her the clout she needs?”

“Clout?”

“You know, the respect. The role.”

His eyes and nose scrunched up. “Is that what this is about? Her not wanting to be my assistant?”

I wanted to say, “uh, duh,” but refrained as he was obviously clueless. “It seems to me that Heather is pretty smart.” He nodded. “Beautiful.” Again he agreed. “But she’s so much more than just your assistant. That night, you yourself said she managed everything right. Or at the very least had a hand in everything.”

“Yeah, so? What’re you getting at? Lay it out for me,
Lucita
.”

Taking a bite of gelato and letting it melt on my tongue, I swallowed and put down my spoon. “I think she wants to be your business manager slash agent. I don’t know enough about the industry to say exactly, but if she’s setting up your shows, running your team, taking care of you”—I picked up the spoon and pointed it at him—“then it sounds to me like she’s already doing the job without the pay, respect, or title under her belt, and floundering to try and get it all done alone. Maybe she needs a PA!” I snorted.

Both of his hands came up to his face, and he slid them over his forehead and down past his nose and lips betraying his frustration. “You’re right, Mia.
Cristo en una cruz, tienes razón.”
I could pretty much figure it out without asking for a translation.

“The girl has no life beyond you. You know, she told me that she didn’t have any friends except you. That you were her only family. Her best friend.”

“She said that?” His eyes darkened, and he cupped his chin in the palm of his hand. I nodded. “Hell, H has always been my best friend.”

“You ever tell her that?”

“I assumed she just knew.” His tone revealed how destroyed he was by the knowledge of Heather’s unhappiness.

I laughed. “You know what they say about people who assume right?”

His eyes hardened and one side of his lip curled as he shook his head.

“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Get it! Ass-ume!”

Anton shook his head and plowed into his green ice cream once more. “You’re a nut. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time, but usually, my best friend Ginelle comes up with more colorful language.”

When I said the words ‘best friend’, Anton’s form slumped again. He picked up his unfinished treat and tossed it into the trash. A hard line formed between his brows and a slight scowl marred his handsome face.

“Let’s go. You have rehearsal, and I need to talk to my girl.”

Internally, I did a mighty fist pump followed by a touchdown dance.

Then I looked at the Super Duke I was riding and did it all over again.

“Again!” Maria roared. “No. Stop the music.” She waved her hand up high in the air, and the music cut out.

I stood in the corner waiting for my turn to be battered. I’d been working on the same scene all day. Mostly, I did an ultra-sexy walk, followed by a hip swivel one way, then the other, bend down, back up, shimmy the tits and arch back. Eventually, Anton would be following behind me, doing his moves with the backup dancers. Some of the moves I learned would be consistent with whatever he was learning and going to do with his body. In all honesty, it was nothing compared to the paces that Maria was putting these other dancers through, and I was already beat. It had been a long fricking day. I needed a shower, food, and bed. Besides, tomorrow was my birthday, and Anton had given me the full day off. That also meant that Wes would arrive.

Equal parts excitement and trepidation warred with one another as I thought about my laid-back, movie-making surfer. I wanted to see Wes so bad I could feel the ache in my teeth. However, I also didn’t want my heart to be broken when I told him I was ready to be exclusive. A one-woman gal. His gal. Hopefully.

In order to do that though, he’d have to cut Gina DeLuca loose. No more casual sex with the nation’s hottest movie actress. Even the mere thought of her made the green-eyed monster rear her disgustingly ugly head. If we were going to do this, we had to commit.
Fuck.
Commit
. That was one word I hadn’t said in a long time or place anywhere near the opposite sex. Mostly because every time I did, I got screwed over one way or another.

“Mia,
hermosa
, come here.” Maria pointed to a spot on the floor where a black X had been placed. This was where I needed to stop and do my own body roll against Anton in the video. She made sure I knew exactly how many steps it took, where each one of my limbs needed to be, and how all the other dancers would be placed. Between her and Heather, they had all the dancers lusting after me, dancing around my form while I walked, sat, and leaned against a wall. There were several different pieces I had to learn, but most of them, I had down. She was a kind choreographer with a bottomless well of patience. Every time I messed up the other dancers would scowl, knowing they would have to do it again. Maria, however, had no problem running them through their paces over and over again. She insisted it perfected their parts.

Maria positioned me and then pretended to be Anton’s character. “Go through your moves.” Her eyes cut to the dancers. “I’m not doing this because Mia needs help. You all are slacking. I don’t care if you’re tired. I don’t care if your muscles are sore and your feet hurt. You want to be in the biggest hip-hop video to date?” Her blue eyes turned ice-cold as she clocked each one of them with a glare. “This is what it costs.
Trabaja por el
. Work for it!” She repeated the admonishment in English as she often did. “Now Mia, start from the beginning.”

I went back to the corner of the room and took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and set my sights on what I wanted to accomplish. This was my first music video. My face would be on televisions, Internet feeds, and cellphones all over the globe.
You so got this girl. Nail it for Maria, for the dancers, for Anton…to hell with all that, I’m nailing this shit for myself!

The music came on, the lights dimmed, and I swayed my hips and shoulders from side to side. Very Jessica Rabbit. When the right note hit, I strutted across the floor. Before I could move more than five steps a pair of masculine hands were on my hips.