Love Tango. J.M. Jeffries

to hire Trudy Mendoza...”

      “I remember Trudy Mendoza. She’s the shark all the great whites sharks are afraid of.”

      “She discovered some financial misconduct and before her parents knew anything, she was out from under their thumb. The news was she was able to get her high school diploma early. She ended up at Berkeley.”

      Nick vaguely remembered the gossip, but hadn’t paid that much attention. The parents didn’t stay down long, because they specialized in managing child actors. Plus they had two more of their own biological children to exploit, not as talented as Roxanne who had been the big moneymaker, but still bankable.

      Nick said, “You think when her parents hear about her being on the show that they are going to be trouble?”

      “Nancy tells me,” Mike said, “they have been trying to get back into her good graces for years. She’s still a moneymaker if she wants to be. The public loves her.”

      Nick could see why. She was just the kind of person he liked. Besides being beautiful, she was smart and funny.

      “We have a nice lineup for the second season of Celebrity Dance,” Nick said. He liked diversity. Roxanne Deveraux would add just the right kind of spunk and sass that he liked. She could laugh at herself. That LeBron James line was funny. And that look of panic in her eyes when he told her he wanted her as his partner had been priceless.

      “She’ll work out,” Nick continued, suddenly anxious to get her to her first practice. Already he was planning their first dance. They always started with a waltz because it was simple. She would be elegant in burgundy silk with her hair up, showing off her long neck. He’d wear a white tuxedo and matching top hat. He found himself swaying as he imagined their waltz.

      “Nick. Nick. Nick. Where are you, Nick? Come back to me.”

      Nick came back with a start. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

      “I could tell,” Mike said with a wry tone. “I need to call the lawyers and get them working on her contract. You need to get back to the studio. The publicist is sending me urgent SOSs. He’s been receiving calls all morning regarding the guests for our summer season and when we’ll release the list.”

      Nick had to laugh. “I’ll go help him field the calls.”

      * * *

      In the car, Roxanne handed her keys to her sister, climbed onto the passenger seat and leaned her head back as Portia cleanly navigated out of the parking structure and onto the street heading for the freeway.

      “Thank you for the emotional support at that meeting.”

      “You were fabulous.”

      “You never did tell me what Mom and Dad want you to do?” Roxanne said, suppressing a yawn.

      Portia drove up the entry ramp and merged into traffic heading back to Pacific Palisades. “You know who Javier Gomez is, don’t you?”

      “I have absolutely no idea.”

      “You probably know him as El Gomez. He got his start in Mexico composing narco corridos and managed to make the transition to the LA music scene.”

      Roxanne stared at her sister. “What are narco corridos?” She had no idea who El Gomez was.

      “Mexican ballads that glorify the drug trade and the crime lords in Mexico. Mom and Dad want me to date him.”

      Roxanne sat up straight. “Are your parents insane?”

      “They are your parents, too.” Portia said with a laugh.

      “Only through the sharing of DNA. What...what...huh...what... The words just won’t come.”

      “He’s edgy and trending. He has three million Twitter followers and another five million on Instagram. And he’s a kid. I’m twenty-two years old and he’s eighteen. He still acts like he’s the hot man on the high school campus. He struts. All he has to do is point his finger at whichever groupie is following him around at that moment and she falls at his feet.” Portia shuddered.

      Roxanne opened the browser on her phone and did a quick search. A photo appeared of a good-looking teenager in a slick Latin sort of way. “He has a face tattoo.”

      “And a tongue stud, ear plugs and a nose ring. He has more jewelry on his body than I have in my jewelry box. And he’s four inches shorter than me and I’m not tall to begin with.”

      Roxanne scrolled through the photos and articles. “What do Mom and Dad think your dating this...this...man-child is going to accomplish?”

      “The Latin market is the fastest-growing market on TV—discretionary income and, well, just about everything. They think it would be good for my career. They want me to be the first black actress on a telenovela because I speak Spanish so well.”

      “I told you to take German in high school,” Roxanne said. Portia had been surprisingly good at languages and picked up Spanish in no time. “I repeat—they are insane.” And greedy. “What did you tell them?”

      “Words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I just got up and left.”

      “Is our brother on board with this?”

      “He hasn’t objected. It was originally Dad’s idea, and if I wasn’t driving, I’d add air quotes to ‘they’re all bros now.’ I’d feel like Esther the molester.”

      Roxanne continued to read. “Do Mom and Dad realize his uncle is Manuel Gomez? He runs the second-largest drug cartel in Mexico.” Her parents may have been the most difficult people on the face of the earth, but they didn’t condone drugs. For that, Roxanne had to admire them. She started laughing.

      “What’s so funny?”

      “I just went to my future place and had this image of your wedding. His side of the church, your side of the church and the DEA in the middle.”

      “Stop trying to make me laugh. Right now, I’m picturing my bridesmaids in jailhouse orange.”

      “Since I’ll be your maid of honor, can I wear horizontal stripes and carry a bouquet that could double as a prison weapon?”

      “Stop,” Portia begged. “I’m going to run off the road trying not to laugh.”

      “We can serve prison-gourmet food of chicken nuggets and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches,” Roxanne continued, the image in her mind growing more detailed. “And sit on hard benches and bang our plastic utensils on the table.”

      “We’re done,” Portia said. “My stomach hurts from trying not to laugh. But the reality is...he scares me. And what happens if being around him makes me a target, too?”

      Roxanne sobered. The more she read about El Gomez the more he frightened her, too. “They can’t force you to date him. You’re a grown woman. If you want to walk away, I can help. I have money and I can protect you.”

      “I’m fine,” Portia said. “I like doing the commercials and voice-overs. And I’ll deal with Mom and Dad.”

      Roxanne didn’t say anything to her sister—Portia needed her dream of escape—but their parents wouldn’t let her go easily. She might be only twenty-two but as the middle child, she was the family peacemaker with their parents using her as a buffer even between themselves. She didn’t like the chaos or drama that dominated their parents’ lives and did her best to soothe difficult moments, to keep things running smoothly.

      They would find a way to keep her trapped. Roxanne pondered what she could do to help, but nothing came to her. Sometimes she felt sad that she’d extricated herself from the chaos that was the Deveraux family and left her brother and sister behind. When she’d been sixteen, she’d been more worried about herself and anxious to get away. She never thought about how her parents would exploit Portia and Tristan. And now, with her parents all of a sudden encouraging their kids to run with people with hardcore criminal