“I pride myself.”
He smiled. Her passion for her work and loyalty to her fans were unmistakable. Passion was what drew him to people, their enthusiasm for their jobs or their hobbies—whatever gave their life joy and meaning, whether it was making a great marinara sauce, collecting Louisville Sluggers, or singing opera. Nothing bored him more than bored people. Life was too great for that.
She scratched the back of her calf with the toes of one grubby foot. “I’m sure you receive gifts.”
“I got a good deal on a Maserati.”
“I’ll have to mention that to Rupert. Anything else?”
“The occasional loan of a vacation home, plus more liquor than I can drink and too many restaurant meals comped. It’s ironic how often people who don’t need money get the breaks, while the ones who could use a helping hand come up empty.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Not exactly the viewpoint of an entitled jock.”
He shrugged. “There’s a big link between genetics and athletic ability. I got lucky.”
She studied him a moment longer than necessary before gazing at her feet. “I need a shower. I’ll see you in the morning.”
It felt like the end of a good date, and he had a crazy urge to kiss her. An impulse she obviously didn’t share because she was already on her way to her bedroom.
He opened the terrace doors and stepped outside. He felt restless, itchy. The Diva was too cavalier about these gifts for his taste. He’d had to deal with a couple of overzealous fans like Rupert, and one of them had turned into a verified stalker. He drummed on the terrace rail, turned back inside, and went to the piano. The note that had come with the flowers lay faceup on top.
La Belle Tornade,
You are my gift from the gods.
Rupert P. Glass
Thad grimaced. The crumpled envelope the desk clerk had given her when they’d gotten back to the hotel lay next to the florist’s card. She must have forgotten she’d set it down.
This envelope was postmarked Reno. He wasn’t prone to opening other people’s mail, but his instincts told him to make an exception.
He pulled out a single sheet of plain white paper printed with block letters.
This is your fault. Choke on it.
The Diva’s bedroom door opened. “What are you doing?”
“Opening your mail.” He held up the note. “What’s this about?”
She glanced at it as she snatched it from him. “The opera world is full of drama. Stay out of my mail.”
“This is more than drama,” he said.
She lifted her chin, but he noticed her hand was shaking. “It’s personal.”
“I’ll say.”
“It doesn’t concern you.” She turned toward her bedroom.
He cut in front of her. “It does now. If you’re involved with crazies, I need to know in case we run into any of them in the next four weeks.”
“We won’t.” That strong jaw of hers set in a stubborn line that told him she wouldn’t say more. She ripped the note in two, dropped it in the trash, and headed into her bedroom.
4
Thad returned from his run the next morning to the dazzle of The Diva’s vocalizations coming through her closed bedroom door. He found it hard to imagine how any human being could produce such extraordinary sounds. Last night, she’d said she was on vocal rest, but he suspected she’d been trying to dodge karaoke.
In the limo on the way to the airport, it seemed as if the previous night had never happened. He answered his texts while The Diva and Henri chatted away in French. Paisley looked as if she was trying to sleep. As much as he wanted to cross-examine The Diva about that letter she’d received, he restrained himself. For now, he’d keep a watchful eye.
Paisley yawned and pushed her aviators on top of her long sweep of blond hair. “That shirt is dope.” Her eyes looked bloodshot from what he suspected had been another night spent partying. “You could be a model.”
“He’s been there, done that,” The Diva said with the fake smirk she’d adopted to irritate him.
The shirt Paisley had complimented him on was salmon. Salmon, not pink. As for The Diva . . . Underneath her Burberry trench coat he caught a glimpse of a boring white sweater and dark slacks. Still, he had to give her props for those big earrings that looked like dangling squares of crumpled gold paper. And she did have a flair for dramatic scarves. Very different from Paisley’s jeans and leather jacket.
As they boarded the plane for the Los Angeles leg of their tour, Henri tapped him on the shoulder from behind. “Bien, Thad. I have a wonderful surprise for you this morning. I’ve invited someone to come along with us today.”
The dumbass jumped up from his seat. “Surprise!”
The Diva rushed forward. “Clint!”
Henri pounded Thad on the back. “So the two of you can talk about the football, oui?”
“Fucking oui,” Thad muttered.
Instead of greeting Thad, Garrett concentrated on The Diva. “You clean up pretty good, Livia.”
She smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“Henri’s a football fan. He invited me to come along today to keep T-Bo entertained.” The dumbass finally risked a glance at Thad. “She’s got shoes on. So much for keepin’ ’em barefoot and pregnant, right?”
Thad lunged forward, only to have The Diva step in his way. “Temper, temper,” she cooed.
Clint grinned. Thad had a reputation for keeping his cool, and he could see Clint was proud of having goaded him into losing it. His grin once again reminded Thad that the dumbass wasn’t nearly as dumb as he pretended to be. Nobody got to be the starting quarterback for an NFL team by being stupid.
Paisley, in the meantime, stood motionless in the aisle, lips parting, her stunned gaze fixed on Garrett. As Thad settled into his customary seat at the back of the plane, he realized he’d once again settled into second place, but this time, he couldn’t be happier.
To Paisley’s displeasure, The Diva buckled in next to Clint on the couch, forcing Paisley to take the seat across from him. Thad could almost hear Paisley’s mental wheels turning as she tried to figure out how to make her move. She waited until they were in the air. “Okay for me to take a couple of pictures to send my friends?”
“Sure,” The Diva said.
Thad smiled to himself. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out she was an unwelcome intruder in the lens of Paisley’s iPhone.
Sure enough, Paisley talked Garrett into a selfie, but The Diva looked more amused than offended. Garrett got up from the couch. Poor Paisley wasn’t used to male rejection, and she couldn’t hide her disappointment as he headed back toward Thad. Paisley didn’t understand that no woman on the planet could hold the numbskull’s attention when his mind was on football.
As Clint sidled in across from him, Thad didn’t bother to hide his irritation. Training camp wouldn’t start until July, and Garrett knew damn well Thad would give him one hundred percent then, so why did he have to hassle him now? It wasn’t like they could run drills on the plane.
A weird moaning sound penetrated the plane. Thad’s head came up in time to see Olivia’s hand pressed to her mouth. She was staring at the newspaper she must have picked up from the fresh stack in the cabin. She snapped open her seat belt and rushed back to him, the newspaper in her fist. “Look at this!”
He looked.
The photos were on the second page of the Phoenix Examiner’s Lifestyle section—one of the formal photos he and The Diva had posed for, along with a paparazzi shot of him carrying The Diva out of the bar last night.
Opera Singer and NFL Star
Make Sweet Music
Noted mezzo-soprano Olivia Shore and the Chicago Stars’ backup quarterback Thad Owens enjoyed a little PDA last night. The football star and the opera singer have been doing more than promoting a new line of watches for noted French watchmaker Marchand Timepieces. In an earlier interview at their hotel, the cagey couple showed no sign that their relationship was anything other than business, but it looks as if they’ve crossed into more personal territory.