Expecting Max to raise his hand and sheepishly make his apologies, I turn in his direction and smirk at Jaslene, who’s on his other side. He just stands there, though, dutifully listening to Raul and smiling at his classmates.
“Psst,” I say to him. “Wrong class, buddy.”
He stares straight ahead. “No, it’s not. I’m a first-timer, too.”
Jaslene groans. “You two are a mess.”
I fire off my questions out the side of my mouth. “What do you mean? Didn’t you tell me you were taking this class already? Are you kidding me right now?”
He whispers his response: “No, I said I take a class. I’m here. It’s a class. And I’m taking it. All true. Just so happens that I’m as much of a novice as you are.”
I flick my gaze to the ceiling and count to ten. My choices are clear: I can get mad, or I can get petty. It’s not a difficult decision. I choose to be petty. Now I just need to figure out how.
Max waves a hand in front of my face. “Hey, no need to go glassy-eyed. Truth is, I’ve been wanting to take this class for a while. It’s right around the corner from my place. And since you mentioned that you were stressed, I figured I could check out the class and you could benefit from it as well.”
That pacifies me—but only a little. I’m still annoyed that he got me here under false pretenses, so retribution is in order. “It’s fine, Max. We’re here. Might as well make the most of it.”
“Okay, everyone, pick a partner,” Raul says. “That’s the person you’ll face off with as you practice the ginga.” He turns to Jaslene and gives her a sweet smile. “I know you’re nervous, so you’re welcome to work with me.”
Sure, Jaslene may be nervous, but I suspect Raul’s offer isn’t solely motivated by that fact.
My best friend looks to me for my okay, and I nod.
Seeing that everyone’s quickly pairing up, I tip my chin up in Max’s direction. “What do you say? Want to ginga with me?”
Max pretends to clutch his nonexistent pearls. “Don’t you think that’s being a little forward? I mean, we barely know each other. Shouldn’t we go on a date or something first?”
I hiss at him and he straightens.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
We follow Raul’s instructions as he guides us through the footwork, a series of easy steps that incorporate the familiar rocking motion capoeira is so well known for. Max and I face each other, our bodies swaying as we step back, move from side to side, and swing our arms to protect our faces.
“As you get more comfortable with the ginga, you should feel free to add your own expression,” Raul tells the class. “A little more movement in the hips. A little playfulness in your legs. Next, you can try the meia lua de frente, which is basically a front kick with a transition to a ginga, and a second front kick with the other leg back into a ginga.” Raul demonstrates the kick several times. “Just repeat the steps and get comfortable with the movements.”
The bateria slows the pace of the music, and as I repeat the steps in time with the berimbau’s rhythm, the ginga begins to take on a surprisingly soothing quality. But as I wait for a sense of total peace to blanket me, my mind replays how I got here. Max isn’t even a regular in this class. What an asshat.
“This is great, isn’t it?” Max asks as he sways in front of me. He’s sticking to the ginga, choosing not to incorporate the kicks Raul encouraged us to practice. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“You think so?” I ask. “Well, let me try a meia lua de frente on you, then. Can’t be that hard, right?”
Max grins. “Go for it.”
We continue the ginga movement several times, and then I spring into action, sweeping my leg back and over in an arc right in front of Max’s face—just like my brother, Rey, taught me.
Max, who’s unprepared for the kick, jerks back and falls on his butt. Grumbling about vindictive people, he struggles to his feet as Raul walks over to us.
“That was excellent,” Raul tells me. “You’ve done this before?”
I nod. “At home only. My brother took a class a few years back. Used me as his practice buddy.”
Max rubs his butt as he straightens. “Funny that you never mentioned that.”
I give him a smug grin. “My brother wasn’t an instructor. We did it just for fun. It wasn’t a class. So, yes, I’m still a first-timer. Would you like to go again?”
Max ignores me. “Raul?”
“Yes, friend?” Raul says.
“May I have another partner, please?” he asks.
“Come,” Raul says with a grin. “Lina and Jaslene can pair up while you and I work together.”
I snort at Max and wave goodbye to him as he walks (escapes) across the studio floor with Raul. Max was right: Capoeira is an effective stress reliever. I’m feeling better already.
Chapter Nine
Max
Late for the firm’s weekly staff meeting, I enter the conference room and take the first available chair. As I lower myself onto the seat, I’m reminded that my right butt cheek’s still sore from the ass-whooping Lina treated me to last night.
Seconds later, my mother sweeps into the conference room as if she’s an army general making a rare appearance among her enlisted soldiers.
She settles in at the head of the table and leans back to read a sheet of paper her assistant is holding in his hands, then her gaze jumps from person to person, until she’s made eye contact with everyone in the room. “Okay, folks. Let’s talk developing business first.” She whips her head in Andrew’s direction. “What’s going on with the Cartwright Hotel Group?”
This is one of those rare moments when I don’t mind that she’s inclined to check in with Andrew first. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him.
Brother dearest loosens his tie as he stalls for time. “The Cartwright account?” He clears his throat. “Um, well, let’s see, things are going great. Wouldn’t you say so, Max?”
I glare at him across the table. He’s the emperor of his own prickdom. A master at burdening others with his bullshit. Lina is his ex-fiancée, not mine, and yet he wants me to tackle the unenviable task of hiding her involvement in this project. But as usual, I clean up his mess.
“We’re covering new ground with this assignment,” I begin. “In essence, the client’s designed a long-term interview for two people vying for the position of wedding coordinator. I’m working with one. Andrew’s working with the other. We’re each due to present our pitches in five weeks.”
“That’s interesting,” my mother says. “It’ll be a great way to home in on your different approaches to the same mission.”
Yes, exactly. Glad to know she sees this, too.
Her gaze sways between Andrew and me. “Just remember the goal is to ingratiate yourself with the client, too. We want all of the Cartwright’s marketing work if that’s possible.”
“We’re on it,” Andrew says unhelpfully.
The rest of the staff report on their work, and we break just before eleven. I’m checking my phone for new emails as everyone shuffles from the room. When I look up, Andrew’s still sitting there, eyeing me pensively.