Slapping her hands together, Cat rubbed them briskly. A cackle of gleeful laughter burst from her. Ay, 9:00 a.m. “go” time couldn’t get here fast enough.
Chapter Twelve
The door to Galán’s palatial bus opened with a quiet hiss. Alberto, dressed in his typical dapper suit—this one navy—and shiny black dress shoes, waved to her from the top of the stairs with a welcoming smile.
Cat finger-waved back, surprisingly pleased to see the friendly gatekeeper/assistant/conscience of the perturbing star, who’d been gallivanting around Guadalajara while ghosting her since Sunday. Today that frustrating behavior would come to a stop.
Determination giving her a little extra oomph, she tap-danced up the steps.
“¡Hola! So nice to see you, Catalina,” Alberto greeted her, shuffling back to make room. Probably hoping to avoid the disaster from her last bus-storming visit. “I caught some of your social media posts. Looks like you’ve had an enjoyable week with the others.” The older man leaned in for a hello kiss on the cheek as she reached him.
“Sí, it’s been fun.” She waggled a reproving finger at him. “Pero no me están pagando por divertirme.”
“What? Who says you’re not getting paid to have fun? Such a travesty!”
Cat spun around at Patricio’s booming voice.
Arms crossed in front of his broad chest, biceps straining the short sleeves of his tee, feet planted wide like Mr. Clean’s yummy evil twin in black and with a full head of gorgeously thick, wavy hair, he stood in front of the closed pocket door separating the front lounge area from his private quarters. Home to the recording studio on wheels she had yet to get her eyes on.
Not for long, though. She was done with him avoiding her all the time.
Bueno, other than when he’d sneaked into her hotel room and nearly melted her panties off with that almost kiss. His minty breath caressing her lips. The warmth of his hands—
¡Basta! She was not reliving that anymore. Nor was her imagination taking their rendezvous anywhere further. Like, to her bed. Or her shower. Or the desk—
She gave herself a mental head thunk and another “Enough” warning. Just like she had reminded Blanca last night, even thinking about getting involved with a mariachi was a fool’s errand!
That was not Catalina’s mission this morning.
“Actually, there’s a real travesty you and I need to discuss,” she threw at Patricio, jutting her chin to look down her nose at him. Despite her height disadvantage of almost a foot.
“Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life—isn’t that what they say?” He flashed his roguish grin and winked. All teasing and playful, like he hadn’t left her high and dry, stuck sidestepping George’s text asking for a progress check yesterday.
“Oh, I love my job. No question about that.” Mimicking his crossed arms, Cat advanced on him, stopping a few feet away, where the cream carpet met the kitchen’s wood flooring. “My issue’s with coworkers who are a pain in the ass when it comes to collaborating. Ditching work to jet off for fun and frolic and tequila-making side hustles.”
Behind her, Alberto snickered.
“Who would do such a thing?” Patricio tsked and slowly shook his head, but the twitch of his lips belied his mock concern. “Tell me who it is, and I’ll set them straight.”
“Oh, no need. I’m a pro at handling big egos and patronizing behavior.” Cupping a hand around her mouth, she leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “You know what they say, the bigger the ego, the smaller the—”
“Ahhh, such a sense of humor. I’d love to hear more of your unscientifically proven theories, pero we have a lot of work to do. There’s no time for tomfoolery today.”
“Tomfool—oye, you’re the—”
Clasping her shoulders, he turned her around to face the front of the bus. “Catalina, say hello to Gordo Sanchez y Carmen Rivera. The talented duo is here to discuss the design for your new charro.”
¡Madre de Dios! Spotting the two guests for the first time, Cat back-stepped in surprise. She bumped into Patricio, her shoulder blades pressing against his firm chest with a breath-sucking jolt.
The Carmen Rivera and Gordo Sanchez. Here. On Patricio’s bus. Waiting to meet with her!
And she’d been so incensed by Patricio’s flippant attitude, she’d completely overlooked the famed fashion designers when she barged in.
Gordo—a total misnomer because there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his wiry body—was around Cat’s age. Sprawled on the short couch, dressed in his signature ripped jeans, well-worn Doc Martens, and a long-sleeved, old-school Selena concert tee, the fashion phenom gave Cat a two-fingered salute. Carmen, an icon in her industry, sat at the booth table, her brunette hair slicked back in a low chignon that drew attention to the sharp cheekbones, ski-slope nose, and pointy chin of her lightly lined face. A navy cardigan with pearlized buttons tucked under the Peter Pan collar of her pale-blue blouse exuded a prim-and-proper style that, under normal circumstances, should have conflicted with Gordo’s scruffy tour-crew vibe. Instead, together the two created the surprising yin-yang fashion power duo known as RS Designs.
Several papers with sketches of charros and charro pieces were scattered across the tabletop in front of Carmen. Notes in a neat script adorned the white space around the drawings. Swatches of material attached by a clip flapped from a corner of each page.
“Un placer,” Carmen said, her voice a husky smoker’s alto. She gestured to the open booth seat across from her, inviting Cat to sit.
Dios mío, talk about a pinch-me moment! Cat barely stopped herself from blurting out, “No, the pleasure’s all mine!”
Carmen Rivera had been dressing the who’s who in- and outside the entertainment industry for as long as Cat had been ripping pages out of fan magazines to tape on her bedroom wall. Telenovela stars. Grammy winners. Royalty on the big screen and in real life.
Up-and-comer Gordo had joined Carmen’s design house several years ago, bringing a young, hip vibe. Together, the two had merged to create highly sought-after haute couture that Cat and her sisters salivated over but could never afford.
Y ahora . . . excitement danced a cumbia in Cat’s chest . . . now they were creating an RS Designs charro for her.
She twisted at the waist to throw Galán a wide-eyed holy shit glance. He gave her shoulders a supportive squeeze that shouldn’t have made her heart flutter but did. Only, there was no time to worry about her reaction. Instead, she hurried to shake hands with Gordo, then joined Carmen at the table.
Patricio chuckled as he settled next to Alberto on the longer couch along the other side of the bus. Probably laughing at her newbie giddiness. Whatever.
Her earlier icy-hot frustration with him melted in the glow of her delight.
“It is such an honor to meet you both.” Cat angled to press her back against the bus’s sidewall so she could include Gordo, seated on the small couch behind her.
“¡Ay, chica, por favor!” He playfully slapped her hand on the padded backrest between them. “A chance to meet the singer-songwriter who’s stealing the show from El Príncipe? Girl, I started packing my carry-on as soon as Padua called.”