Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

“You’ve avoided both Ren and me for days. I was shocked you even texted me last night confirming today. I was sure I’d have to come to your place and drag you out by your hair. Did you even go to class this week?”

I rolled my eyes and set my water back down against the wall beside hers. “It’s family stuff. Things at brunch last weekend didn’t go like I’d hoped. And, yes, I went to class.” Well, I’d gone to Ribbons. I couldn’t have her hating me more by skipping, no matter how much I had wanted to. The way she’d watched me throughout class had been unnerving, like she knew something. I’d made a run for the door as soon as time was up, and I was sure that made her day.

Tiffany’s brows arched in silent inquiry. I weighed my options, going back and forth on whether to tell her what was happening. I needed to talk to somebody about it because my next appointment with Ripely wasn’t for another week. I’d probably explode by then.

So, I told her what Lydia said about the reporter. How Sophie blew up. What I was worried about. Tiffany never interrupted once or even looked like she pitied me. Though her eyes softened a little when I admitted that I didn’t want my name included in another smear campaign. I’d felt bad saying that out loud because it made me feel as selfish as Sophie, but it was true. I’d barely slept all week. My appetite was gone, and I had to force myself to eat what little I had. Stress was reverting me back to old habits and I felt myself slipping.

“Damn,” she breathed. “That’s rough, Della. But if the article didn’t come out, maybe the reporter decided not to add more fuel to the fire? It’s happened before.”

It happened before because people were paid off. While I wouldn’t be surprised if Sophie had opened her checkbook to continue the silence, I wasn’t sure if that was why.

“Do you think other people have the list too or was it some exclusive with The Times?” she wondered aloud.

I shrugged. “Anything is possible, but if more than one paper had it then it probably would have been published by now. Which means…”

“Somebody influenced the guy.”

I nodded.

Tiffany thought about it for a second before brushing it off. “Maybe it’s better that way. It means your family doesn’t have to go through more shit, right?”

Right. Except if somebody paid the reporter off, that made us no better than what Professor Ribbons and hundreds of other people thought about us already. That didn’t settle well with me.

“Enough of that. Time for me to kick your ass some more. Maybe in a few months you’ll actually be able to move your body without looking like something is stuck up your ass.”

I eyed her. “Gee, thanks.”

She winked. “Try to loosen your body up, Della. Every dance has a story behind it, right? We learned that with ballet. Those moves were focused heavily on one emotion. We need to find your story in this music.”

I frowned in doubt but didn’t argue with her about it when she restarted the music. By the end of the two hours we spent in the studio, I’d done a one-eighty turn with my hip out only to land face on with the mirrors.

Swallowing, I forced myself to stare, to really look at the girl whose shoulders were weighed down with the weight of the world. I wondered what story she had to tell, what could be told with my feet and music instead of my hands and paint. It wasn’t until a towel smacked me in the face that I broke the stare and turned to Tiffany.

…and I laughed.

Chapter Fourteen

Theo

“Did you do as I asked?”

The dark-haired man across from me put one ankle over his opposite knee. “Have I ever let you down before? Shit, West, you padded my account for life with this job.”

Scoffing, I leaned forward and rested my arms on the edge of my desk. He wasn’t wrong. Dallas got a hefty sum for looking into Richard Pratt. He’d proven to be helpful when I’d asked him to do the same with other people in the past, so I knew he could be trusted.

“I could take some back, if you’d like.”

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; Dallas grinned. “I didn’t say I was miserable with the dollar amount to my name. It definitely helps the family now that we’ve expanded it.”

Ah. The baby. “How is Cody doing?”

“Happiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” He seemed lost in thought, a wide smile on his face that made me stare at him a little longer than normal to figure out the emotions—contentment, peace. I couldn’t see how a screaming newborn could give a man that, but he was happier than I’d seen him in all the years he’s worked for me. My face twisted when he said, “You ever consider having a family of your own someday? Settling down?”

I eyed him. “We’re not here to talk about me, are we?”

His chuckle was light. “No, I suppose we’re not. However, we are here to talk about Richard Pratt, who just so happens to have a lot of dirt on one Adele Saint James. Seems like he’s after her for a reason.”