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She sighed. “Shit.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Do you know if there are copies of the files?”
“I have no idea. This is the first I knew of it.”
Charlie drilled her long polished nails along the table. The band behind us announced they were taking a break. Their set was over for the lunch crowd.
“If you want to hire me, Vanessa, I’m going to need to see what’s in there. And that includes the shit on your fiancé.”
I nodded. I hadn’t brought myself to read through it yet. I was praying I wouldn’t have to. Maybe Charlie could spare me from it. I knew Dylan’s reputation. He never shied from it. He loved to party. He loved women. And there was no question he loved sex.
“How should I get it to you?” I asked.
“I can come to the compound later tonight. Does that work?”
“Sure. I’ll be there. Just tell George at the gate.”
“Got it.” She rose from the table. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I watched as she walked out the door. She might be the only chance I had of getting on top of the scandals.
Twenty-Eight
Vanessa
I had every intention of going back to the office after my meeting with Charlie, but I couldn’t face the staff, or the players.
I drove through the main gates of the McCade compound and wound around to the back of the property.
Zeus was waiting for me at the door.
“Hey, boy.” I scratched behind his ears. It was close to a hundred degrees. Not necessarily the best time to play ball, but I let him outside to give him a chance to run around.
I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I needed a glass of chilled white wine. I closed my eyes, feeling the cold air wash over me. My skin was hot.
The wine glugged as I poured it into the tall crystal. I pulled open the French doors and stepped onto the patio. I had a reflecting pool that paralleled the length of the living room and kitchen. I turned on the overhead misters and planted myself in the shade.
The cold wine seemed to cool me from the inside out, while the frosty mist coated my skin. This felt amazing.
I laughed out loud when Zeus ran toward me, but jumped in the pool instead. I couldn’t blame him. It was Texas hot out here. The kind of heat that made grown men melt.
Shit. My men were out there in this heat. They had afternoon practice. Isaac had mentioned there were a list of complaints. At the top of the list, under money, was an indoor practice facility. The Warriors were the only team in the league who didn’t have one. Living and playing in Texas made that criminal.
I watched Zeus make laps in the pool, trying to snatch his tennis ball as it bobbed under the water and then resurfaced in a jerky pop. It didn’t look like he was climbing out any time soon. I wandered back inside, keeping the door cracked for him.
I refilled my glass, feeling the wine start to soothe me. Being in that bar today and listening to the singers talk about their song writing, their passion, reminded me I had neglected mine. I hadn’t made time for it.
I took the stairs, feeling the irresistible draw to my studio. My fingers were itching. Tingling almost.
The corner room upstairs was filled with natural light. I had a special thermostat installed to keep the room at an ideal temperature for my paints and the canvases.
Even with the sunlight streaming in, it didn’t feel like summer. It was like early spring. Cool and bright.
I moved from easel to easel. This was all I wanted to do. I wanted to paint. It was what I was trained in. I had studied in Paris and Rome. I had traveled Europe with my grandparents’ blessing because it was what their country club friend’s grandchildren did. To them it seemed young and bohemian. They didn’t take stock in how much I needed the culture and history of Europe in my art.
My own practice was a combination of all those experiences. Watching great painters. Spending nights staying up all night talking about art. And yes, some of those were incredible romances. Artists that took me to bed. Some who vowed to paint me first, but ended up painting me the morning after. I smiled, picking up a brush.
