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.”
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.”
“And your point?”
Dallas raised his hands. “I’m just saying, you care about her. Adele has always been a sweet girl. It’s hard not to care for somebody like her, which means it’s easy to see who to go after when the time is right.”
“What does he have on her?”
“More like her family,” he admitted, pulling something out of his jacket pocket. “A list of names associated with the Saint James scandal.”
“The people he stole from?”
A head nod.
Passing it to me, I glimpsed over the names. Some were more familiar than others. “I should ask how you got this, but I’m not sure I care. What I want to know is what The Dick plans to do with it.”
His lips twitched. “Well, I’d have to explain how I got it in order to tell you what his plans were.”
I waited impatiently.
Another chuckle. “There’s a reporter named Nicholas McAllister. He works for The Times and has a long-lasting relationship with some well-off families. Pratt being one of them, naturally.”
Swiping my jaw, I set the list down and tapped it. “He was going to publish this.” It wasn’t a question. In fact, it was something Pratt would do, which was unsurprising to me.
Dallas bobbed his head once. “You remember those reports from when the trial first started? The reporter is the same one on the bylines from back then. Nick McAllister. What’s convenient about those articles was that none of them painted Murphy in a bad light, or anybody else who was suspected. It was all—”
“Anthony Saint James,” I concluded. Scrubbing my jaw, I sat back. “I take it the reporter is on Pratt’s payroll then. Murphy and Pratt were known to be friends. Their kids practically grew up together.” The Dick always put his business where
