Miranda had just picked up her son from his baseball coach’s house when her cell phone rang. The words Private Caller flashed on the screen. Since her car was an older model that didn’t have that handy Bluetooth system, she had to settle for clicking the speakerphone button.
“Hush, guys,” she told the twins, who were giggling in the backseat. Then she raised her voice and said, “Hello?”
“Miranda? It’s Eric Porter, Catherine’s dad.”
Fucking hell.
She stifled a sigh, wishing she’d let the call go to voice mail. She and Porter had been playing phone tag for the past few weeks. The man was determined to arrange a meeting with her—and only her—but their schedules never seemed to line up.
“Mr. Porter, hi,” she answered. “How was Miami?”
“Please call me Eric. And as for Miami, I’m still here, and it’s wonderful.” He chuckled. “The conference I’m attending, not so much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Actually, she wasn’t. She didn’t care about this man’s business dealings in any way, shape or form, but he was the father of a student, so she was forced to feign interest.
“I tried to call you last night,” he said. “I couldn’t get through.”
She stopped at a red light and checked the rearview mirror to make sure the twins weren’t causing trouble, but Sophie was quietly playing with her doll and Jason was flipping through a stack of baseball cards.
She returned her attention to the aggravating phone call. “I was bartending last night. As I mentioned before, I have another job, so I’m usually out of touch four nights a week.”
“I understand.”
His voice was so warm and genuine she felt bad about all those times she’d cursed the man. “I assume you’re calling so we can figure out another time to meet.” She injected some warmth into her own voice.
He chuckled again. “I’m hoping we can actually make it happen this time. I’d like to discuss Cat’s future with the school and hear your thoughts about whether she has what it takes to pursue dance as a career.”
If you overlooked the borderline-annoying persistence, Miranda had to admit that his eagerness to be involved in his kid’s life was admirable.
“What’s your schedule like next week?” he asked. “Next Sunday maybe?”
She thought about it. “I teach two morning classes on Sunday, and then I have plans with my children for the afternoon. I’m back at the school at five to teach another class, and that usually runs until about seven.”
“Can I interest you in dinner then?”
Dinner? She’d been hoping for a quick chat in the studio after the lesson wrapped up.
“Um…”
“There’s a little bistro right down the street from the school. I imagine you’ll be hungry after class, so we can grab a quick bite.”
She hesitated again. The twins would be at home with Kim, so she supposed she could ask the babysitter to stay for an extra hour, hour and a half. She didn’t particularly want to have dinner with the man, but it could potentially be good for business. According to Elsa, Porter was incredibly wealthy, and that meant he had wealthy friends who could afford to pay for dance lessons for their kids.
“Sure, that sounds great,” she relented. “But just a quick bite. I’m not sure what my babysitter’s schedule is.”
“No problem. I won’t keep you too long,” he promised.
After they arranged to meet at the school the following Sunday, Miranda hung up and glanced over at the twins.
“You guys okay back there?”
“Yup,” Jason said.
“We’re counting how many times the car thumps,” Sophie chimed in.
She frowned. “What are you talking abo—”
Thump. Thump.
Her words died as she heard it loud and clear. Oh shit.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbled.
“Mo-om, that’s a bad word!” Jason said accusingly.
She ignored the reprimand and focused on gradually reducing her speed. The phone call had distracted her from the fact that the steering wheel was pulling to the right, and that her front tire was so flat it was a miracle the car didn’t tip right over.
Miranda winced when the wheel began making a loud noise, metal scraping over concrete. Shit. She hoped the rim hadn’t been damaged.
Damn Eric Porter.
“Why are we stopping?” Sophie demanded as Miranda turned onto a side street and pulled over at the first available opportunity.
“We have a flat tire, guys.” With a sigh, she unbuckled her seat belt and flicked on the emergency blinkers. “Stay in the car. Mommy’s going to investigate.”