Page 39 of Wicked Dance
She stabs at her phone a moment. “You really should start using a different fake name when you get reservations. It only took my team fifteen minutes to find this one.”
“Why are you even in San Antonio?” Blitz asks.
“Because you are, of course!” she says merrily. She lifts her phone again. “I’m hearing that you didn’t smile in that shot. Please do better this time.” She holds up her phone.
“Just stop,” Blitz says. “I’m going to have you kicked out of here.”
“Good luck with that,” Giselle says in the false, bright voice. “I think the maître d’ likes me. He did admire this dress.” She stands up and turns for him, running her hands down her waist and hips. She’s in a red dress too, form fitting and plunging low.
It’s actually remarkably similar to mine.
She recognizes this about the same time I do. “Did Blitz pick that out for you?” Giselle asks. “His taste runs a little racy. You do seem a little innocent for the look.” She clucks her tongue. “Blitz, Blitz, Blitz. You are corrupting her, aren’t you?”
“That’s enough, Giselle. You’re not welcome.”
But Giselle isn’t through. She squeezes onto the seat. “Nobody’s heard from you about the producer’s decision. You only have a few weeks until rehearsals begin.”
Blitz’s jaw clenches. “I’m not taking calls right now.”
I keep my mouth shut, but my mind is whirling. They made a decision? Why don’t we know what it is? Normally Hannah would be here and forcing Blitz to listen to her.
“Well, your manager is trying to reach you,” Giselle says. Her phone buzzes, then again, then again. She picks it up and smiles. “And your public is waiting.”
I have a feeling I know what she’s done. Told Twitter where we are.
“Why can’t you just move on with your life?” I ask her.
Blitz tries to bite back his smile, but I can see he’s pleased that I confronted her.
Gisselle swipes her finger across her screen. “Because it isn’t time yet, dear. Blitz, you really need to school her on Hollywood politics.” She sets the phone down on the table with a slam that startles a waitress passing by with a tray.
“I’m not interested in politics,” I tell her. “We’re just here having a quiet Valentine’s dinner and you’re ruining it.”
“You know, I had a few dinners ruined by Blitz myself,” Giselle says. She looks at the crème brûlée, still perfect and brown inside its lovely white and silver dish. She picks up Blitz’s spoon and cracks the top. “Don’t get used to having him all to yourself. He belongs to his fans.”
She shoves the spoon in the dish and tries a bite. “Sugar rush,” she says. “So fattening.” She glances at my dress. “You better watch that figure.”
With that, she slides out of the booth and flounces away, her hips swinging. A waiter stops to let her by and she blows a kiss at him.
“Great, just great,” Blitz says, tossing his napkin on the table.
“Are you going to call Hannah to ask her the situation?”
“Obviously I’m still involved if I’m expected at rehearsals in a few weeks.” Blitz pulls out his phone. “And rehearsals mean dance numbers, and obviously Giselle is still in.”
I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist. “This can all wait for tomorrow,” I say. “Let’s forget them for a moment.”
Blitz nods and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I can’t believe she just showed up here.”
“In a matching dress, no less.” I’m still smarting over that.
Blitz slides his arm around me and pulls me close. “Everybody loves a red dress on Valentine’s Day,” he says. “I’ve never even seen the one she was wearing. Giselle is good at poking people where it hurts.”
“You still have that naked picture of her?” I ask. “Because I have a caption or two to add myself.”
Blitz smiles and kisses my forehead. “I adore you, Princess. You go straight for the jugular.”
I do, I realize. That isn’t good. I can’t fight Giselle on her turf. She was right. I don’t know anything. And I don’t want to know.
