Two pairs of horrified eyes watched as I came to. “Mia…” Heather gasped, her hand over her mouth.
“Lucita, I…perdóname. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you somehow?” Anton’s voice was tinged with distaste and something that I could only name as fear.
Shit. This was not going well. Why did I have that flashback? What the hell triggered it?
I shook my head. “No, no, sorry guys. I think I’m just tired from traveling, and I haven’t eaten, and I drank the martini so quickly…yeah, I’m sure that’s what it was.” Had to be.
Anton’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Let’s get you fed. I will not tolerate my team not having their needs met. Come. H, let’s go to our favorite.” He held out his hand to me and I placed mine within it. The familiar stirrings of excitement were still there but now with the edge of nervousness. From the simple act of holding his hand. What. The. Fuck. This is not you, Mia. I needed to figure this out and quick. But how?
Not knowing what else to do, I followed Anton and Heather out the door, my mind in a tizzy and the circle of fear still nipping at my heels.
***
Dinner was awesome. Delicious Gnocchi al Gorgonzola they called it at Il Gabbiano, the upscale Italian restaurant Anton took us to. I was completely underdressed, but so were he and Heather. As we walked into the place, several of Anton’s security team was hot on our tails. We entered as though we were royalty. The restaurant manager spied us and made his way over as if he was barefoot walking on steaming black coals. He sat us with no waiting at a corner table with a beautiful view of the Atlantic ocean. Anton ordered several appetizers with a flourish and a pristine white smile. His pale green and brown gaze dazzled every woman within a twenty foot radius and garnered the attention of the other patrons. Both Heather and I ordered antipasti, me wanting something devilishly decadent and filled with a bazillion calories, so I ordered my all-time favorite, puffy pillows of goodness, gnocchi covered in crème sauce. It was absolute heaven on the taste buds.
Anton ordered a shrimp and pasta dish, and ate his food with speed and efficiency, as though it would jump off his plate back into the ocean. When I questioned his feverish eating, he frowned, wiped his mouth and looked out over the Atlantic. Heather studiously changed the subject before he could answer. Apparently she knew something about this particular hot button item that I didn’t. I glanced at her, and she shook her head minutely. The conversation turned to the music video and what the plan was.
That’s when I had to drop the giant atomic bomb that I had absolutely no skills in the art of dance, what-so-ever.
“None?” Anton’s eyebrows pinched together. I shook my head and bit my lip. He lifted a hand, scraped it across his five o’clock shadow, and inhaled. “We’ll have to do something about this. You”—his hand gestured from the top of my head to the end of the table—“are perfecto eh…perfect as the seductress. H, you couldn’t have picked someone better. We must solve this little issue.” He rubbed his hands together. Anton’s pupils darkened. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” He was speaking to Heather, not me.
Her lips tipped up and she tapped her index finger against her lips and shrugged. “If she’s available. The dance company in San Francisco just finished, and that wicked man who was stalking her group of friends is gone.” She shimmied in her seat. “The news has cleared. Perhaps having her come on as the choreographer would fix the problems you’re having with the backup dancers. I’ll give her a call, see if she’s interested in saving your ass. You know it’s going to cost you.”
Anton laughed. “Doesn’t everything, H? I want her. I’m tired of dealing with this stupid fucker, and her contemporary work is best. Add the Latin fusion, she’ll know how to spin the angles right. I want all eyes to be on Mia. Want her mouthwateringly desirable on the video. Every man will want her, and no man will have her.” He grinned salaciously and popped an entire shrimp into his mouth and dropped the tail onto the side plate. Anton was beaming, obviously excited about his new idea.
“So uh, who’s this choreographer?”
Heather sipped her white wine and wiped her mouth. “A really gifted contemporary dancer who’s been on stage with the San Francisco Dance Company the last couple years, so we haven’t been able to steal her away.” She pointed one finger at Anton while holding her wine glass. “Anton fell in love with her body and the way she moves when we saw her show last year.”
That information surprised me. “You’re into theatre productions?” I butted in.