Donna raised her thin eyebrows. “Can I come in?”

Pendeja. Natasha’s fingers clenched on the doorknob, itching to slam it in Donna’s smug face. But Abuela had taught her better than that. Without a word, Natasha shifted to the side and held the door open.

Donna strolled into Dimitri’s living room and took a seat on the sofa, like she belonged there. “Nice place.”

Natasha shut the door. “Dimitri’s not here.”

“That’s fine. I came to see you.”

Of course she had. It had been obvious the second the door opened. Donna hadn’t seemed the slightest bit surprised to see Natasha opening Dimitri’s front door, propped up by a pair of crutches.

The bitch knew. That’s why she was here.

Still, no need to play all her cards yet. Natasha maneuvered around the furniture and took a seat in the plush brown leather armchair. It would have been easier to sit on the sofa, but she didn’t want to sit too close to Donna.

Once she was settled, she tried for a pleasant smile. “How can I help you?”

Much better than what she wanted to ask. What the fuck do you want?

Donna leaned into the cushions, resting her arm on the back of the sofa. Just making herself right the fuck at home. Her gaze flicked toward Natasha’s wrapped ankle and she sighed. “Didn’t I tell you not to get hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Natasha kept her breathing even, her face carefully blank. “I’ll be back on my feet soon.”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Flippant wasn’t the right move with Donna, but when Natasha was on edge, she got mouthy.

“I heard a rumor you were injured, so I stopped by your apartment to check on you. Since Gina’s gone, I wanted to make sure you had help.” Donna raised an eyebrow. “Seems like someone else is offering assistance, according to your building’s super.”

Coño. Manny had spilled the beans.

Donna kept going. “He said a big Ukrainian guy was picking up your mail, and you were staying with him. I figured I would find you here.” She spread her hands. “And here you are.”

Natasha said the first question that popped into her head. “Wait, you speak Spanish?”

Donna inclined her head. “I do.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t I ever know that?”

“It’s more convenient to have people think I don’t. You know how it is. Some people look at you differently when they know.”

“Es la verdad, pero no me importa.” Natasha continued in Spanish, testing the other woman.

Donna only shrugged and replied in English. “We all make our own choices for how we go about being Latina in this industry. You, apparently, have made yours.”

Natasha sucked in a breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raising a hand, Donna swirled it to indicate the space around them. “I get it, I do. It’s a hard industry, and an uncertain one. One bad injury, and it’s all gone. Or you age out. Whatever. It’s much easier to shack up with a rich guy, especially one who’s at that settling-down age, with family on his mind.”

“What?” Was this bitch for real? “¿Qué díces?”

“That will give you an out, if you want it.” Donna nodded at Natasha’s ankle. “If you want to blame it on the injury, play it up more, get a doctor to lie and say it’s worse than it is, they’ll let you out of the contract. Then you can keep on playing house with Dimitri.”

“What? No. That’s not what I want.” This conversation wasn’t going at all how Natasha thought it would, and Donna’s implications were offensive.

Worse, they mirrored what her mother said when she found out Natasha was living here. What happened, it got too hard and you’re looking for a man to make it easier? God, she had to get out of here, or everyone would think she was taking the easy way out.

“Then figure it out. Otherwise, you’re fired.”

Fuck. Natasha struggled to keep her tone calm. “Don’t worry. This is a temporary solution. I’ll be healed soon and back in my own place.” Whether that was the apartment she was currently playing rent on or not, well, that remained to be seen.

“See that you are.” Donna got to her feet. “Sleeping with one of the judges is way worse than sleeping with your celebrity partner. With Gina and Stone, people could tell they were into each other. But this? You know what people will say. At best, they’ll call you a slut. At worst, they’ll say you’re jealous of Gina and you’d do anything to win.”

“That is a fucked up thing to say, and you know it’s not true.”

Donna shrugged. “I’ve made it far in this industry by being able to predict audience reactions. I’m just warning you.”

And by manipulating people into doing what she wanted for those reactions, but Natasha kept that thought to herself.

“Don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.” Donna headed to the front door and paused. “A word of advice, Tash. I’ve known Dimitri longer than you have. The men in this industry . . . they’re not worth it. You’re a good dancer, a good choreographer. You have the potential to build a bigger career. Don’t throw it away for a guy who will never commit.”

To her eternal shame, the words, But he loves me, flitted through Natasha’s brain. God, she was so stupid.

Maybe he did love her. Who cared? Love was transient, unreliable. She had to think about herself. She couldn’t rely on him to fix everything for her.

“Bye, Donna.” Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.

“Make the right decision, Tash.” The door clicked shut.

Natasha sat for a minute, replaying the conversation in her head. After resetting the security code, she hobbled back to the spare room, which still held most of her stuff, and opened her suitcase on the floor. It was time she took control of her own life, busted ankle or no.

It was time to move out.