Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I’d made my own mess when I’d trusted Mike, and I’d be damned if I let anyone else clean it up for me.
Somehow, I’d find a way to make this work, even if it meant staying with a devilishly handsome man, a guy who might crumble all the walls I’d built, to get back on my feet.
“Riley, let me help you,” Veronica said, softly. “Let me help you, please.”
“No, hon. These are my problems. I appreciate your emotional support, but I can’t accept financial or physical support from you, not when you’ve got Nessy in the first grade this year and all the added expenses with the car.”
“Riley—”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. You know, I’ve been through worse than this. I’ll get through. I just have to knuckle under and find a way to make this work. To drum up more excitement for the studio.” Which was tricky. Pole dancing was popular, but the supply more than met the demand in Miami. “This will be the break I need to find a new apartment, get my life in order, and start preparing for the baby.” Which was the opposite of what I wanted.
I’d been ready for a child for the past five years, and it just hadn’t happened. It was stifling having to wait longer, after I’d been so close.
Two months ago, the future had been a bright speck at the end of my dark tunnel. I’d been in the process of getting over Mike, and I’d come up with the plan, and the studio had been breaking even, at least. And now?
Ugh.
That was the best description for it.
Just ugh.
Veronica’s voice cracked. “I want to help you like you helped me.”
“I know,” I said. “Trust me when I say I’m not giving up on my plans. I’m not going to let go of any of my dreams, not the dancing or the baby. I’ll work it out.” Even though I’d have to choose. Paying the loan at the end of the month meant losing all the money I’d saved up for the baby plan. And that meant having to save for longer—but that was like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in the bottom.
I rose, and her hand fell from my knee. I smiled down at her. “Come on, you’ve got a dance class to teach, and so do I.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the women, in all shapes and sizes, who entered the hall chatting to one another, wearing their workout clothes.
“OK,” she said, then caught my hand. “Riley, just promise you won’t do anything you regret. I know what it’s like to be desperate and scared, OK? Promise me you’ll come to me before you make any rash decisions. Please.”
I squeezed her fingers. “I promise, hon. Thank you.” The words came out with strength I didn’t have inside. It cost a lot of energy to keep up the façade of control, of calm, in front of Veronica, but it was worth it.
She was a little sister to me and my sage all wrapped into one.
I grabbed my handbag then headed out of the studio room, down the hall, and into the next one. My students were already waiting—the Monday advanced class was small. Three women and one guy, Trevor, who always wore a magenta headband and a pair of high heels.
I smiled at them all. “Ready, guys?”
“Baby, I was born ready,” Trevor tittered.
I laughed at that and forced myself to feel the levity, then I made for the stereo in the corner. I put on my favorite Christina CD, strapped on my heels, stripped off my sweater, and took my position at the pole, one hand clasping the metal, the other free at my side.
It was time to lose myself again. To forget.
Even if it was just for an hour.
Chapter 5
Jax
I strode down the long hallway outside the dance rooms, past closed doors and the gentle thump of music, toward the office door at the end of the corridor. It’d been locked yesterday, and I’d been drawn in by Riley’s little performance instead.
Today, I was on a fucking mission.
Buy the studio. Claim the girl.
Once that was done, I’d get back to my life of dominance, and of ruling over the real estate landscape of Miami.
I halted in front of the office door, a cheap brown wood labeled with a plaque proclaiming OFFICE on it, and knocked once.
“Yeah?” A voice called out. A woman’s voice.
Surprising. I’d expected a man to own a joint like this, a gay man, in fact. That’d been the case at the last studio I’d bought.
I turned the doorknob and opened up, working that cocky swagger I’d cultivated over the years. My walk was my power—it showed people exactly what to expect. Ownership. And unswerving obedience, from them to me, of course.