“You’re up early.”

Natasha lifted her head at Dimitri’s sleepy grumble. He entered the kitchen and ambled over to where she sat at the counter with her laptop.

“Morning.” She lifted her cheek. He kissed her, then sniffed the air.

“I made you some.” She pointed to the café con leche by the sink. “I’m still in the habit of getting up at the crack of dawn to teach yoga to people who are about to undo all that relaxation during their work day.”

He grunted and, after examining the elaborate swan she’d made on top, took a sip. Breathing a deep sigh, he opened his eyes fully and gestured at the crutches leaning against the counter. “How’s your ankle?”

“A little achy,” she admitted. “I think I overdid it yesterday.”

He scowled. “And you were thinking about going back to work tomorrow?”

She sighed and rested her chin on her fist. “I need to work so I can find a place to live before The Dance Off starts filming.”

His scowl deepened. “You can live here.”

“You know I can’t.” She sipped from her own cup.

He came up behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at apartments.” She scrolled through more listings she couldn’t afford the security deposit on.

He made a frustrated sound in his throat. “Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot.” She clicked on a studio apartment that claimed to be near Santa Monica.

“If Gina’s such a good friend, why did she leave you in the lurch? With your rent, I mean.”

“Oh, she tried to pay through the end of the lease. I told her not to.”

His cup clicked on its saucer. “Well, that wasn’t too smart.”

She turned and shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t. How were you planning to cover the entire rent on your own?”

“I had money when she left, and an acting gig lined up for the beginning of the summer.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter next to her, getting in her space. “So, where did all the money go?”

She cringed away from him. “I was trying to be a responsible adult and fix my credit, so I paid all my credit cards down at the end of the season and closed them.”

“You closed them?” He looked incredulous. “Why?”

“So I wouldn’t be tempted and end up back in debt.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Tasha, I know how much money you make. How were you in debt?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” She turned back to the computer, but his questions, and the prospect of not being able to afford any of the apartments she was looking at, made her stomach burn. “I like to go shopping. That’s what credit cards are for, right? Buy now, pay it off later. So, I paid them all off. But I wasn’t expecting my car to die. Or Gina to move. The acting job covered the car, but it cleaned me out. That’s why I ended up taking all these extra jobs—for the rent. I just never thought I’d have to move out, too.”

He exhaled slowly, then dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m trying not to be pushy, but I strongly suggest we have a conversation about building good credit and savings. I have a good financial adviser who can help. I know it sounds like a lot at first, but if I could learn it, so can you. Is that agreeable?”

Swallowing hard, Natasha kept her gaze on the screen and struggled to regulate her breathing. Thinking about managing money made her hyperventilate, which was why she didn’t think about it much. “Why are you so fixated on this?”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

At those words, she turned to look at him. He didn’t seem angry or judgmental. Just concerned.

“If you don’t address it, you’re going to end up back in the same situation again the next time something unexpected happens. And your solution to work so hard you run yourself into the ground isn’t a healthy one. Please, Tasha. I care about you. Let me help.”

His plea touched her heart, but didn’t dispel the fear. She shook her head. “I can’t afford to speak to your adviser.”

“Let me worry about that. I pay him so much, he’ll talk to anyone I ask him to. Will you do it? Just start with a conversation. That’s all. He’s good at answering questions.”

When was the last time someone had cared about her this much? Enough to not just help her do something, but to make sure she had the skills to do it again on her own?

She opened a new browser tab and checked her dismal bank account balance. Maybe he was right. “That still doesn’t solve the immediate problem.”

“Look, I know it’s easy to focus on the immediate when you’re in survival mode, but I want to help you manage your money for the long term. Don’t worry about an apartment for right now. No one knows you’re here, and I’m not going to kick you out.”

She counted on her fingers. “Kevin and Lori know. Nik knows. Gina and my mom know. Hell, your mom probably knows. I’m sure your brother told her.”

“He did.” His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he pulled it out to check the screen. “I gotta run to the airport to pick up my cousin. Don’t worry, he’s staying in a hotel.” He pressed his lips to hers for a quick, coffee-flavored kiss. “Just chill, all right? I’ll be back soon, and we’ll figure it out.”

He sounded so confident. And all the apartment hunting was stressing her out. She minimized the tabs with apartment listings. “Fine. Go get ready.”

Twenty minutes later, he rushed back into the kitchen and rummaged in the pantry.

“What are you doing now?” he asked, emerging with a handful of protein bars.

“Working on my reel.”

He paused by her shoulder on his way out. “You’re good at making videos and stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, I bought the editing programs and taught myself. Sometimes I post stuff on YouTube—dancing to popular songs, stuff like that.”

He grinned. “I’ll have to check them out.” He kissed her again, this time with a flash of tongue and the taste of wintergreen toothpaste, then was gone.

She continued scanning through a few of the videos she’d made recently, including the one where she’d rolled around in Dimitri’s desk chair. That one made her smile, and she started thinking about dancing in rolling chairs, or wheelchairs. The choreography would be a challenge, but if done well . . .

And that was an idea for another time. She made a note of it, then went back to her existing videos. She ran through the piece she’d changed the music in, making notes of what she could tweak. It was really coming together, and she was anxious for her ankle to heal so she could try it out. Maybe she could get Dimitri to dance parts of it, so she could see how it looked.

He would do it, if she asked. She was starting to think he’d do anything, simply because she wanted it. That knowledge both thrilled and terrified her. Her whole life, she’d grown accustomed to not asking for things. Living with a single mother and two seniors, money had been tight. She’d learned early that the toys she’d seen on TV weren’t things she could have, just like she would never have supportive, loving parents like the ones on her favorite sitcom. She’d been following Gina since they were fourteen, not just because they were friends, but because Gina had done the work to include Natasha in everything she did, from auditions, to college applications, to managing their apartment in Los Angeles.

Ay dios. Gina was the most amazing friend anyone could ever hope for. And Natasha had been too scared to call her.

What could she say, though? Hi Gina. Yeah, I’ve been doing really great since you left. I’m broke, injured, living with the guy I told you I wasn’t going to see anymore—oh, and I used to be an exotic dancer. How about you?

That would go over brilliantly, and Gina would have a million questions about Dimitri. No easy answers there, either. He said he loved her, and she was starting to believe him. But what did it matter, if loving him cost her everything—her job, her independence, her ability to prove to her mother that she was good enough?

The doorbell rang, interrupting her troubling thoughts.

Natasha yanked off her headphones and grabbed the crutches. It was going to take her three times as long to get to the front door with these things.

On the way, the rubber bottom on one of the crutches got caught on a throw rug, and she nearly knocked over a lamp. Whatever was being delivered better be worth the trouble. Cursing under her breath, she hobbled over to the door and wrenched it open.

Her heart leaped into her throat and she gasped.

¡Carajo! ¡Coño! ¡Puñeta!

La Diabla stood on the front steps, flashing her signature smile, thin and evil. “Morning, Natasha.”

Natasha swallowed. “Hi, Donna.”

Fucking Donna.