She heard the final strains of the cool down music, a collective whooping, and the slaps of high fives. Where Patrick went, the party followed.
Not that the party was for her.
She sighed over her paperwork. Tax forms. 1099, W-2. If only running a business could just be about the music and dancing, but it was a lot doing everything herself. She glanced at a yellow sticky note stuck to the bottom of her computer monitor that saidsocial media??
It had been there for half a year.
She would absolutely not indulge in self-loathing. She had built this business almost entirely by herself. Even her beloved father had not initially been supportive, but look at her now.
In the reflected glow from the computer monitor, she could see deep purple bags beneath her eyes, tension in the set of her jaw.
It was far too early for self-criticism.
“Hey.” Patrick smiled at her from the doorway. He had changed into a bright-yellow tank top with Zumba emblazoned in neon blue that hung loosely off his muscles, which were shining with sweat. How did he have time to get those abs? She barely had a moment to practice her dancing.
He held a towel to his forehead to mop up some of the sweat.
Lucky towel. “Good class?” She kept typingGinstead ofS. Over the years, she had gotten quite skilled at decidedly not acknowledging his innate hotness.It’s just Patrick. The guy who had once let his dimple be colored peacock blue. So what if he had the body of an MMA fighter?
Anita clacked hard on the Enter key.
There was that sexy little dimple again. “Yeah. Those ladies have a lot of energy. I don’t know how Toni keeps up with them.”
“Toni drinks green juice three times a day and hasn’t had a simple carbohydrate in four years.”
“I always knew I’d be undone by my love of hoagies and soft pretzels.” He stepped into the office and sank into the chair across from her. Even his sweat smelled good, like pine forests and mint, the scent compounded by the close proximity of the room. How frustrating.
“How was New York?” Maybe she could just avoid his gaze to distract her from his scent. What was wrong with her? She had known him for over a decade. Why was she suddenly noticing his abs and his pheromones?
No. No pheromones. Do not think about pheromones.
Anita busied herself with the tax forms, which could have been written in Cyrillic. She could have sworn she knew what she was doing three minutes before.
Had he come back early just for her? No, that was impossible. He had far more important things to do.
“It was good. A lot of work. Deadlines and schmoozing. The writing went well, though. A lot of inspiration in NYC.” Patrick rested his hands on his well-toned thighs. “It was definitely weird leaving after Nikita’s murder.”
Her chest felt as though it had been submerged in an ice bath. Nikita. She had hardly been a saint, but the woman had been truly dedicated to Dancesport, and Anita had always appreciated her attention to detail. “We were all stunned.”
“Did they find out anything about her killer?”
“No. They thought it might be one of herpetits amis.” She shrugged. “So far nothing’s come of it.” She watched Patrick, who was leafing through the in box on her desk. Old habits. He had used to handle the mail for the studio. “Why? Are you getting into true crime podcasting?”
He chuckled. “I’ve got enough on my plate, thanks.”
“I thought diversity of media was important for an influencer.”
The corner of his mouth tilted upward, revealing just the slightest hint of clean white teeth. All the nerve endings on Anita’s arms stood to attention, her mouth almost salivating. Was she coming down with something? She should find her thermometer. “You think I influence people?”
Anita rolled her eyes, chalking up the butterflies in her stomach to her lack of a proper breakfast. “Did New York change you?”
Patrick winked, exaggerating the motion like he was in a bloated blockbuster comedy. “You can’t tell that I had my nose done? My plastic surgeon’s online reviews were spectacular.”
Anita rolled her eyes. Patrick had a terrific fear of needles. Besides, his nose was absolutely perfect. “Ha ha.” Anita liked the comfort of knowing his face. Of all the people in her world, Patrick was the one she hoped would never change.
Patrick picked up the large envelope she had hidden underneath a pile of grocery circulars. The letters on the return address glittered in black and gold. “The Keystone Star Ball, huh?”
Can’t put anything past the man. Anita frowned.
