“Unfortunately.” She let out a weary sigh. “Weekends are supposed to be lovely and relaxing, aren’t they? So why are mine always jam-packed with activity? By Sunday night, I’m ready to collapse.”
In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d make it through tonight’s shift without falling asleep in the middle of pouring a drink. She’d gone to bed at five in the morning, after Seth cajoled her into a quickie when she got home from the club. The resulting orgasm had been delicious—but getting only four hours of sleep, not so delicious. To compound the exhaustion, she’d spent the entire morning and afternoon at the school, teaching three back-to-back classes.
And her day wasn’t even close to being over. She still had to take the kids out for their Saturday pizza dinner, drive home, get them bathed and in their PJ’s before Kim got there, go to the club, and then tend bar until two in the morning.
Someone kill her. Now.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Andre remarked. “I swear, you’re Superwoman.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, drive safe. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early. I’ll be the one asleep at the barre.”
Andre laughed. “See you tomorrow, Superwoman.”
They parted ways, Andre heading for the front door, Miranda continuing down the hall toward the back office where Elsa Fisher was waiting.
Elsa was in her midforties, a ballerina who’d immigrated to the States after touring the world with a renowned German dance corps. She taught advanced ballet and contemporary dance to the older students, while Miranda worked with the younger ones. Ginny and Andre, who rounded out the teaching staff, worked with all ages.
“Hey, Elsa, what’s up?” she asked as she entered the office.
Elsa rose from the desk chair, a frown pinching her thin lips. “The father was here again. He wants to discuss Catherine’s future at the school, but he refuses to talk to anyone but you.”
Miranda shook her head in annoyance. “But Catherine is your student. I already explained to him on the phone that you’re the one to talk to in regards to growth and development.”
“He insists he must discuss it with you, the owner. He was waiting for you after Catherine’s private lesson, but your class ran late so he left. He told me to let you know he’ll be phoning you tomorrow.”
The billionth sigh of the day shuddered out of her lungs. Okay. No big deal. For some reason, Catherine Porter’s father was chomping at the bit for a few minutes of Miranda’s time. Clearly he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she’d just suck it up and have a brief conversation with him tomorrow.
“All right. Thanks for letting me know,” she told Elsa. “I’ve got to take off now. You’ll lock up after your evening lesson?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She waved good-bye and left the office, heading for the empty studio where she’d left her daughter. When she poked her head in, she saw Sophie sprawled on a pile of blue mats, playing with the new doll they’d picked out a couple of days ago. Miranda had taken the kids to the mall after kindergarten for the sole purpose of replacing Sophie’s beloved Belinda; fortunately, Belinda’s successor, Emily, was a big hit so far.
“Time to go, Soph,” she called out. “We have to pick up your brother.”
Sophie hopped off the mats, tucking Emily under her arm as she dashed over and threw herself into Miranda’s legs with a hefty whoomp.
Miranda laughed and stared down at her daughter. “What’s this about?”
“Do you still love me, Mommy?” A pair of big brown eyes gazed imploringly at her.
“Why on earth would you ask me that, sweetie? Of course I still love you!”
Relief flooded her daughter’s face. “Promise?”
“I promise, Soph, I still love you. I will always love you. Always and always and always.”
“Pinky promise?”
Miranda promptly squatted down to the floor and stuck out her pinkie. After a second, Sophie offered a pinkie in return and they sealed the deal.
“Now,” Miranda said, incredibly disturbed by this entire exchange, “can you tell me why you thought I didn’t love you anymore?”
“’Cause you ignored me in class t’day when I tried to show you my plié.” Sophie pouted. “And yesterday you only read one story after dinner and you usually read two and Jase said maybe you were tired ’cause our house is underwater and then he said maybe we would hafta live with Sef forever but I said we wouldn’t ’cause Sef is mean ’cept sometimes he’s not mean, sometimes he’s nice, but then he stops being nice when he sees that we see he’s being nice.”
It took a few seconds to make sense of everything her daughter had said. Rising to her feet, she took Sophie’s hand, then picked up the two dance bags she’d left by the door. She decided to address one point at a time.