Sally arches an auburn brow. “It means you’re too easy on people who push you around.” She glances back at the men—who are still arguing outside the car—before looking back at me. “It’s hard to watch.”
She’s talking about Moira. I don’t want to talk about Moira.
“I think we should be focusing on Mr. Hebert.”
And then a great roar tears across the lot. Sally and I jump, look to the Range Rover and see Mr. Hebert, half-sitting, half-sprawling across the back seat.
“That didn’t sound good,” Sally whispers.
“No,” I say, watching Mr. Hebert stretch out over the long bench seat. “It didn’t.”
We approach the Range Rover, and Sally, ignoring Beau, hands the ice pack to Ramon who gives it to Mr. Hebert.
Beau leans into the open door. “I’m coming with you.”
“You are not coming with me,” Mr. Hebert grumbles. “I don’t need an escort.”
“Someone should stay with you. What if you need surgery?” Beau asks.
“Oh, are you going to do it?” Mr. Hebert snaps. Even though I’ve only worked with him three times, I’ve never heard him speak with impatience. Is it the pain or his pain-in-the-ass-nephew who brings out his sharp tongue?
But Beau just chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I’m just gonna make sure they put you back together well enough to keep you dancing, old man.”
This shuts up Mr. Hebert—for a minute. “Lock up the studio and follow us.”
Beau nods. “I was planning on doing that.”
Ramon glances between me and Sally. “One of you needs to ride with him,” he says, gesturing to Beau. And now that he says it, the situation hits me. Mr. Hebert is stretched across the whole back seat, leaving just the shotgun spot available.
I look at Sally, who shakes her head, wide-eyed. “I’ll Uber.”
Ramon looks at her, brows creased. “You’re not taking an Uber.” His voice is edged with something new. Possessiveness? Protectiveness? Whatever it is, it’s laced with testosterone. And when did that happen?
Sally blushes. She must hear it too. I think I need to keep a closer eye on the two of them. This development can’t be good.
“No one’s taking an Uber,” Mr. Hebert gripes. “Sally’s riding up front with her boyfriend, and Iris will ride with you, Beau.”
“That’s not her boyfriend,” I protest.
At the same time Beau says, “Wait. What?”
Meanwhile, Ramon and Sally’s eyes meet, and they smile at each other. “Sounds good,” Sally says.
“But—” I start, but what else can I say? Anything I say is going to sound juvenile and petty. I don’t want Ramon and Sally riding together because I think they need a chaperone? I don’t want to ride with Mr. Hebert’s nephew because he was rude to me? I’d rather my best friend ride with him even though they’ve already had words and she was glaring daggers at him?
Yeah, no. I’ll just shut up and ride with him. But one quick glance his way tells me I’m not the one who needs convincing. He’s glowering at his uncle.
“What?” Mr. Hebert asks, provokingly. “It’ll be good for you. You should get to know her since you’re going to be her new teacher.”
“What?!” Our questions chime in unison.
Mr. Hebert only points to his elbow. “Iris, you might recall that I signed a contract. La Fête is obligated to provide four more weeks of dance instruction plus five weeks of scripted choreography.”
“So?” Beau scoffs.
“So unless you wanna see me break that contract and get sued—and believe me, if anyone would sue, it’d be that manager of hers—” His words send shame pouring down my chest like a bowl of oatmeal. And I’m just as hot and uncomfortable. “You will properly introduce yourself to your new client and start working out a plan for your upcoming lessons.”
One glimpse at the stone cold look on Beau’s face, and I want to crawl in a hole. We just met. What did I do to make him hate me so much? Besides injure his uncle? And cancel his class? And hijack his evening?
“Maybe,” I squeak, “we could talk about this later.”
“Good idea, darlin’. Rusticating in the back of this SUV isn’t doing much for this injury.” Mr. Hebert shoots a look at Ramon. “Drive, son. Lafayette General.”
“I take orders from her,” Ramon says, nodding to me. “What’d you say, Iris?”
Competing thoughts arm wrestle in my head. None of them good.
I shake my head as if the movement could clear it. “Go. Mr. Hebert needs a doctor. Just go.”