“Hey, Two Buck.” Smithson’s wide-legged strut was even more pronounced than usual. Maybe he was feeling the effects of their morning on horseback. “Hope you brought your wallet.”
“Do you need change for the slots?” He reached into his pocket, emerging with a handful of loose coins. It was a sincere question, but Smithson looked annoyed, especially after one of his sidekicks laughed.
“I’m not playing the nickel machines, Chuck. It’s blackjack time. A man’s game.”
In Charlie’s experience, it was much more of a woman’s game, but he didn’t see any point in arguing with Smithson. The two of them were never going to see eye to eye, even if they were seated across a small table from each other. Which did not sound like Charlie’s idea of a good time.
“Actually,” he started to say, looking around for a bathroom or other likely excuse.
Smithson leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Your dad made me promise not to let you be a wallflower.”
And here Charlie had assumed Smithson was torturing him for his own amusement.
“Let’s go, bro.” He draped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, ignoring his flinch. “It’ll be fun. Smart guy like you, I bet you’ll clean up.” It was clear from his tone that he did not, in fact, believe that Charlie had a prayer of holding his own.
It seemed there was one thing he and Smithson agreed on after all.
Chapter 25
Jean stepped onto the grassy shoulder to allow the slowly approaching vehicle to pass. She’d gone for a walk assuming everyone else had already left the premises, only to find herself caught in a rural traffic jam (one human, one automobile) within minutes of abandoning her wagon.
“Nothing to see here,” she said through her fake smile. “Keep on moving.”
Like everyone else in her life, the driver ignored Jean’s wishes, pulling up alongside her and rolling down a tinted window. Her first thought was that Hildy must have commandeered a luxury sedan. She seemed like a person who would change cars for the evening the way other women swapped handbags.
“Need a ride?”
Jean blinked at Adriana Asebedo, alone in the back seat. The sensible answer would have beenno, I want to commune with the dusty gravel and my sad feelings, but once again Jean’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Where to?”
“Deadwood.”
“Why not?” Resisting temptation had never been Jean’s strong suit, which was why she seldom tried. Might as well do a little recon behind enemy lines. And if that failed, it would be worth it for storytelling purposes. When the hell else was Jean going to be in a car with a megacelebrity?
The front passenger door opened and one of Adriana’s burly security guys stepped out. “Phone?”
She shook her head. It looked like he wanted to pat her down,so she turned out the pockets of her sleeveless tunic, lifting the hem to show there were no hiding places in her faux leather leggings, unless he wanted to do a cavity search.
He opened the rear door, waiting until Jean fastened her seat belt to close it behind her. For a guy with a neck the size of a tree trunk, he gave off strong nanny energy.
“So what’s your story?” Adriana asked, before Jean could sort through her mental list of Top Five Conversation Starters for Pop Stars. “Are you one of them?”
“The booze crew? No. I’m an artist.” It felt good to tell the truth, like wiggling your bare toes after peeling off sweaty socks at the end of a long shift.
Jean half expected Adriana to zone out after that perfunctory show of interest or turn the conversation to herself. Instead the other woman studied her in silence.
“Did you design that?” She pointed to the tattoo peeking from under the strap of Jean’s tunic.
“Yeah.” Jean stuck her arm out to give her a closer look. “It’s my drawing. I didn’t ink it on myself.”
Adriana lightly touched the outline of the plumeria with the tip of her finger. “Cool.”
“I know.”
The singer smiled, more in understanding than amusement. And why not? They were both creative people, and art existed on a higher plane than a romantic rivalry—if that was even the right word, since Jean wasn’t sure they were competing for the same prize. Maybe she should quit pussyfooting around and straight up ask.Seen any other good tattoos lately? Like maybe a snake?
“So why are you here?” Adriana asked, before Jean could throw a metaphorical glass of water in her face.
