The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (30 page)

“Never feel badly about being happy,” Cassandra exclaims, crossing the terrace to drop down on our lounger. “We didn’t create this fucked-up world. We deserve our drop of celebration. We did it. We should celebrate.”

I nod, though I don’t feel like celebrating anymore.

Her stunning smile fades from her face. “Besides, come Monday we’re in the corps, and we’re going to work like we’ve never worked before. On stage and off stage. Dancing and raising money at the galas. If NBBC doesn’t get new patrons this might be the last and our only season. My father says they’ll have to shut the doors.”

I stare at her, stunned. “You’re kidding, right?”

She shakes her head dramatically. “No.”

Xavier studies us from over his glass. “Why do you think we asked what Jacob did? For a hundred thousand dollars Jacob could get on the board.”

I’m startled when Jacob starts to laugh.

“Only a hundred thousand? Let me grab my checkbook,” he says, choking out the words between chuckles. “Only the check won’t be any good because we don’t have any money. This apartment isn’t even ours. It belongs to a friend. We don’t have anything.”

Glancing quickly over my shoulder, the expression on Jacob’s face turns me cold. He just lied to them and I’m not exactly sure why.

“Jacob”

“Shoulders down. Extend. Use all the music,” Sofia orders in her thick Spanish accent.

Barre work.

Endless barre work.

I sit on the folding chair outside the studio viewing window, turning my phone in my hand. I don’t look up. Barre work is my mental rest period since Sofia Ramos de Pérez instructs solo during the early morning hours before Milo Bassard arrives on the scene to ruin every remaining second of the day.

I do a fast check of my watch, surprised it’s no longer morning. Noon and I haven’t seen the jerkoff yet. Maybe Milo won’t show today. Nope, I’m never that lucky.

Eight weeks.

That warning tension in my body hasn’t lessened when he’s near. I still want to punch him when he’s within a foot of Krystal, and worse, my wife doesn’t want me inside NBBC anymore because she’s decided my extreme dislike of Milo is nothing more than jealousy and I need to get over it.

Wrong—though I am jealous of any guy who touches my wife and it bugs the hell out of me whenever she talks about the great Bassard because, fuck, Madison was right about the brainwashing. It’s been eight weeks and Krystal now idolizes the abusive egomaniac—but that’s not what this is. It’s the IED feeling, that first warning I get when something isn’t right, and I can’t figure it out or fucking shake it.

I stare at my phone, considering for about the hundredth time since Krystal started at NBBC if I should make the call. It’s what I’d do if I were only her bodyguard and not her husband.

Why am I not doing it?

Yep, I know why—that jealousy comment.

I exhale slowly, trying to decide if it’s worse to piss off Krystal should she ever finds out about this or worse not to do what my instincts are screaming for me to do.

It’s stupid to debate this any longer. There’s no risk in doing it. There’s only risk if I’m right in what I’m thinking and don’t check it out. Besides, I can trust Jared to keep this confidential if I tell him to. Krystal won’t ever find out.

I stand up, taking a moment to stretch, and do a fast check that Krystal’s still busy in the studio before I head down the crowded hallway toward the street.

Swiping on the phone, I hit the Black Star Security icon. I pace in a small circle by the entrance to NBBC as I listen to it ring.

“Jake, my boy. How’s life in Manhattan?” Jared says good-humoredly and I can tell by the echo I’m on speakerphone.

“Not as sweet as in LA.”

He laughs. “Missing the west coast, are you?”

“Hoping Miss Harris”—my throat contracts for a second since I hate calling my wife that—“will want to visit the family soon so I can get a little fresh air and the beach.”

“I can send Brayden out for a few weeks if you need a break.”

“No—”

“Jake, if you need a break, you need a break. We take care of our men here. And fuck, you’ve been in that hellhole three years straight. Crazy Town, that’s what we call Manhattan these days. I know it’s not the best contract. We all need mental health days. You should take some. Let me talk to Brayden and get back to you.”

“No, that’s not why I called.” My insides grow agitated the way they always do every time my boss tries to reassign me for a breather, since it’s an inescapable reminder that no one in our lives knows I’m married to Krystal. “Pick up the phone, Jared. I don’t want to talk on speaker.”

I hear a squeak like he’s leaning in that massive leather chair in his office and then a click.

“What’s going on?”

“Can you run some background checks for me?”

“Sure.” He starts clicking away on the computer. “You sound concerned about something. Anything I should know about?”

“No. Probably just me feeling a little overly paranoid and jumpy.”

“How deep a background check do you want?”

“As deep as you can go. Anything. Everything. FBI. DOJ. Financials. The whole enchilada.”

“You got a list?”

“Nine names. Milo Bassard. Cassandra Mendez. Xavier Padilla. Sofia Ramos de Pérez. Also the five board members for the Nelson Bassard Ballet Company. I don’t have that list with me. Just look it up. And this is between you and me, OK? Keep it confidential. Don’t even tell Alan. And don’t bill it to the family. Bill it to me.”

“Bill you? Are you trying to be funny? Listen, I know what I pay you. You can’t afford this. Not if you want FBI, DOJ, and financials instead of a standard screening. No need to pick up the tab if you’re thinking you’re being overly cautious or worried you might have to explain the charges. If it’s Krystal you’ve got a blank check for anything you need from the family. There’s no authorization required when it’s about Alan taking care of his family. What’s up with the billing request?”

My jaw tightens.

Wrong, Jared. This is about me taking care of my family.

“Please, just do what I asked. OK?”

“Sure, man. No problem. Is everything OK, Jake? You sound a little tightly wound.”

“It’s this fucking city.”

“Like I said, I can have Brayden on the next flight out there and you home for a couple of weeks of R & R.”

I run my palm across the back of my neck, then squeeze. It feels like iron. “Can’t do that.”

“Ah—you can. I’m your boss. You get paid vacation and you haven’t taken any since you started work. And I said you can.”

I can’t leave my wife, and she’s never leaving here.

“I’m good.”

“Well, if you change your mind.”

“I won’t. I’ve got to go, Jared.”

“Wait. Hold up. Bree wanted me to get a new checking account number from you. You closed the one we were sending your payroll to. She says she’s mailing you paper checks, but you’ve not cashed any in months. She asked me last week if you’d quit. Are you getting the checks?”

Fuck.

“Yep, I got them.”

“OK. You want to tell me why you’re not cashing them?”

“No. Not really.”

There’s a long silence that makes my taut muscles even tauter.

“Listen—”

Oh fuck. Jared’s
I’m your friend
voice.

“—you’ve lived with Krystal for three years. The relationships we have with our employers, the way we have them to do our jobs well, can get overly confusing. I get that. You wouldn’t be the first bodyguard I’ve employed who’s fallen for their asset or maybe did more and now feels guilty about it. It happens, Jacob. Graham Carson married his employer and he’s the best of the best in elite security. These things happen and whatever consenting adults do, that’s their business. But this one is a little different. This is the employer’s daughter, so you better come clean fast if there’s something I need to know before the family finds out so I can help you.”

“There’s nothing to tell. How long will it take to get the background checks I’ve asked for?”

“A couple of days.”

“Send me everything you get as soon as you get it. I’ve got to run.”

I click off the phone and shove it back into my pocket. Well, that went fucking great. Damn it.

Leaning against the concrete building, I take a moment to rein in what I’m feeling. I’ve been too on edge since Krystal started dancing with NBBC and the last thing I need is another argument with my wife.

Five minutes later, I’m halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor when I hear clicking heels hurrying behind me and my name being called.

I turn to find the company administrator on the step below. Rebecca leans against the rail, trying to catch her breath.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says with an awkward cackle. “I never got Krystal’s paperwork back. Usually I don’t have to chase people down. Ballet members can’t wait to get paid. But eight weeks—nothing, and I really need it.”

“I’ll talk to Krystal tonight, make sure she fills it out, and get it back to you in the morning. Is that OK?”

She smiles. “She’s signed her corps contract and releases. I need only basic information. Address. Contact list. Banking. Her file is on my desk. Do you think you can run down there and do it now?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“I need to get this to Sofia. She tried to dance instead of instruct.” She holds up bags of ice and an Ace bandage. “Did you know she was Milo’s most famous prima before she tore a tendon that ended her career? He made her a star.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, she was. And we’re lucky to have her at NBBC. Leave the papers on my desk when you’ve completed them.”

She darts past me on the stairs as I turn to go down to the first floor where the company offices are. It’s empty when I enter and I cross to Rebecca’s desk and sink down in her chair. Flipping open the file, I reach for a pen.

Oh shit, some of this I can answer and some of this I can’t. Social Security number, nope. Banking information, nope. Emergency contacts. I can do that section. I have Krystal’s entire family in my phone. I start tapping the pen against the desk. They want four. Why the fuck do they want four? What happens if I don’t give them four and put down only me?

I scan the rest of the questions, and flip the page only to find more. Exhaling, I lean back in the chair. Why is this bothering me? I filled out a packet like this for Jared. It was definitely more detailed and invasive, but my gut reaction is to tell them as little as possible about Krystal.

Current address—I fill in the box.

Prior address—nope, they don’t need that. I X it out.

Emergency contacts two through four gone with a giant X through them, and I put my information on line one. They get one relative’s name—me. Fuck them.

I shove the papers, unfinished, back into the folder and reach for a Post-it note to tell Rebecca I’ll return it in the morning.

“Damn it, Alberto. I told you the money is not a problem. I’ll have it this season. We’re going to have our best year ever.”

Milo Bassard’s voice.

I turn my head.

His office door is open.

“You gave me the same assurance last year, and last season half the seats were empty. Your situation is more critical than empty promises. You’d be dead now if we weren’t family.”

“Can we stop with the theatrics, please?” Milo says anxiously.

“Theatrics? No. You should know better than that, Milo. New York has made you foolish and forgetful. You forget how things are done where you were raised.”

Through the half-open door I see Milo pacing his office, running his hand through his perfectly styled hair.

“I need you and you need me. Let’s not forget that, Alberto. Our issue is resolved. I have a new star. I’m unveiling her at the gala. The checkbooks will open once the world is introduced to my new Ángel. The money will be back into the account before our first opening and this misunderstanding will be but an unpleasant memory for the both of us.”

“Make sure it is a memory very soon, Milo. Next time—no warning—we come to New York.”

A squeak, the kind a chair makes when being sat upon.

“Come to the gala,” Milo says, a noticeable loss of tension in his voice now replaced by smugness. “See for yourself. You were a great patron at one time, Alberto.”

“My sister no longer dances and I was never a patron of the arts.
Yo soy la cabeza de mi familia
. That is why I helped you and Nelson fund the opening of the company. And it was business. You should not have forgotten that, Milo.”

“You are an admirer of beautiful women. You should come to the gala. This girl will make you want to be a patron again. She is my most precious discovery. My new star.”

Milo laughs in a way that runs my nerves like a jagged knife.

I hear clicking heels outside the office.

I grab the file and head for the door, and run straight into Rebecca in the hallway.

She frowns. “You’re taking the file with you?”

“Yes, I’ll have Krystal return it in the morning,” I say, quickly brushing past her before she can ask questions.

On the fourth floor I go to the viewing window for the studio. Krystal’s not there. I move briskly up and down the hallway, checking rooms. I go to the lockers.

Krystal is sitting on a bench, staring at her phone and crying.

“No, Daddy, I’m fine. I didn’t call with bad news. I called with spectacular news. There’s something I have to tell you.”

Alan exhales a loud breath. “Don’t scare me like that, sunshine. FaceTiming with tears in your eyes. You scared me to death.”

“Well, they’re happy tears. Can I tell you my something wonderful?”

Alan laughs. “Tell me your something wonderful, love.”

Krystal smiles. “I should have told you this a long time ago, but hear me out and don’t get angry.”

“Krystal…” he says in an affectionately chiding way. “When are you going to learn you can tell me anything? In fact, I’m almost positive your mum and I already know what you’re going to tell us.”

Krystal’s eyes fly wide. “I hope not.”

Alan laughs. “You kids only think you keep things from us. We know everything.”