Color Me Pretty

by Celeste, B.

  I stopped moving and glared. “I’m not used to this. Judith normally—”

  “I’m not Judith,” she pointed out. “Come on, it’s not that hard. You need to get into the music. Wait for the next chorus and then start again. Bounce each step and use your hands to clap with every count if you need to. Then, with the second one, stay on your toes instead of flattening your foot. It’ll help you move faster so you don’t go offbeat.” She showed me what she was talking about by giving me a sideview of her sneakered feet.

  The second time was better, the three moves melding together even if I was slower than the song. It was when she introduced three more moves that was supposed to build off the first set that had me frustrated over the stiffness in my body. The way she stopped me gave me flashbacks to some of my first dance classes with Judith. That woman was tough—nightmare worthy, even. I remembered some days when I begged my mother not to go because I didn’t want to be yelled at. It was my mother who told me I would be fine because I was a natural.

  “Ms. Judith can’t scare you if you don’t let her, sweet Della. You’re made for this.”

  It was thirty minutes in when I called a water break and watched as Tiffany moved across the floor to a different song. Unlike me, she faced the mirrors and watched herself, her hips bouncing along, her booty kicking out, and her legs gliding across the hardwood with the squeak of her shoes. She had serious moves and a flawless rhythm down to the music.

  I wiped off my mouth. “How long have you been doing this?”

  Tiffany turned to face me, wiping off her forehead before shrugging. “A long time. I’ve always been interested in more contemporary dance but was always trained in classical and ballet. My obsession really started after we did Swan Lake. I saw a video online of a hip-hop version. Like a mashup, you know? I thought it looked cool, so I taught myself the steps. I never stopped after that.”

  “If you prefer contemporary, why not make the switch? Is it because of your parents?”

  Her shoulder lifted. “Partly. It isn’t like I hate ballet, I just feel more in tune with contemporary. It’s like my body feeds from the energy that the moves make. Plus, it’s easier not to pick fights with my mother about these things. Choose your battles and all that.”

  My lips twitched. “Does she know you dance to this? She’d probably be impressed if she saw the way you moved.”

  The noise that rose from the back of her throat told me I was wrong. “We don’t all have the same kind of mother you did, Della. Mine is all about the competition just like most of the other dance moms. The more publicity, the better.”

  I cringed. “Publicity isn’t everything.” My mind went back to the article that was missing in action. It made me itch, anticipating the worst like it was coming at any second. I should have taken Lydia’s calls and asked what she knew, but if she really wanted to tell me she would have left a message instead of sending Theo after me like I suspected.

  Something smacked my face. I frowned at the hair tie that had bounced off me and onto the floor before looking back up at Tiffany. “You suck at paying attention today. What’s up? Is it the mirrors, because I’m trying to teach you stuff that doesn’t require a lot of turning. I mean, we’re going to learn some songs that we’ll practice in front of them but not today. Baby steps.”

  I shook my head. “I appreciate that, but it doesn’t have to do with dance. Although, you’re kicking my ass. I knew it wouldn’t be easy getting back into this, but learning how to work my body to all new music is…”

  Tiffany cracked a grin. “Finally, something I’m better at than you,” she teased. “So, if it’s not dance, then what?”

  “I really don’t—”

  “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.”

  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 it didn’t belong and acted like an ally at his convenience. Knowing Adele danced with a lot of the kids of families in the same social circles made making connections easier, especially if somebody needed a fallback guy like Anthony was.

  Dallas nodded along. “Yet, the Saint James family is who is being targeted. Anthony can’t be taken down any further than he already was, but Adele…”

  My jaw ticked. “Why her? Why now?”

  His head tilted. “I think we both know the answer to that, boss. Richard knows where your loyalty lies and it’s not with him, or else you would’ve had him as a partner by now at IM. The more I dug into Pratt, the more I saw his investments in businesses outside his area of expertise. He’s in it with Murphy, which means—”

  “He paid off the reporter to make Murphy owe him,” I said, rolling it around in my brain. It made sense. He all but threatened to do the same with me, except I wasn’t involved in the lives that he and a few others were. Unlike Anthony, I kept my nose clean. I kept my social circle small. Non-existent. The most he had on me was my aching dick that always stood to full attention whenever Della was around these days. Not necessarily comparable in the grand scheme of drugs, money laundering, and a fuck ton more that I refused to even acknowledge given their nature.

  “This reporter, McAllister, did you speak to him directly?”

  Dallas rested his hands on his stomach as he got comfortable in the chair. “Persuaded him to give me the list himself, but I’d put my money on it not being the only copy.”

  “And what did he say about Richard?”

  “Very little.”

  I figured as much. “Presumably, Pratt has another copy of the list. Wouldn’t be surprised if it makes the news yet. Did he say anything about other outlets getting it?”

  “No. But…” Dallas shifted slightly. “I confirmed the reason he reached out to Lydia Saint James. McAllister has a soft spot for her. Apparently the two used to be cozy once upon a time, which is probably the only reason he agreed to meet me after I reached out.”

  My laugh was dry. “Did this asshole honestly think he had a chance? If he was going to release the list, then that would ruin any hope for him and Lydia. She loved her brother.” How did they know each other anyway? Lydia didn’t live in the city. She kept her distance from the lifestyle because of how people lived. I didn’t blame her. Some days, I wished I’d done the same.

  Shaking my head, I stood and turned to look out the window that showcased the city skyline. “Money talks more than anything else, I suppose. It’s always worked that way.”

  “I don’t think he was doing this just because of money,” he commented hesitantly.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I looked at him skeptically. “Then what? Why would a reporter who has a sweet spot for Lydia go after her niece? They might not be close, but he would have to know he’d be fucked if Lydia found out what he’d been doing behind her back. Hell, if she finds out he was part of the reason the media decided Anthony’s guilt, she probably wouldn’t forgive him.”

  His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, his eyes not quite meeting mine. Whatever he knew, he didn’t want to tell me.

  “What is it, Dallas?” I growled at him.

  His shoulders tensed. “He didn’t outright tell me this, but I think he’s afraid of Pratt. He alluded to him getting into deeper things than we knew. Everybody knows the guy blackmails people to do his dirty work, but McAllister made it seem like he’d lost control.”

  My body went rigid. “How so?”

  “Again, this wasn’t something he told me directly. I think he was too scared to—”

  “Out. With. It.”

  “I have reason to believe that Richard Pratt was involved with the murder of Anthony.” He paused to evaluate my expression, which turned cold in an instant. I straightened to full height with my jaw locked so tight it hurt. “Listen, there were a lot of phone records at Rikers Island between Anthony and his lawyer leading up to his death. It was an abnormal amount which meant they probably had a lot to talk about. Things that Richard and others might not have wanted out.”

  “He was going to list names of conspirators.”

  One of Dallas’s shoulders lifted. “It’s probable. Hell, word around the district attorney’s office was that Saint James was never supposed to be transferred to Rikers in the first place.”

  My brows furrowed. “What?”

  “I don’t know how much truth is in it, but apparently he was supposed to go to Lincoln. The fact that he went to one of the most notorious prisons known for its brutality says a lot that backs up McAllister’s fear. It was in his eyes, Theo. The man knew not to cross Pratt. Makes sense if you think about it. Pratt has a hand in just about any business you could imagine. If he went too far, he probably doesn’t know how to quit and wasn’t about to let Anthony talk.”

  I let that soak in for a moment, my anger rising higher and higher until I was sure my face was red, and steam threatened to billow out of my ears. “It was a set up,” I murmured in realization, cursing, and scrubbing a palm down my face. “If Pratt hired somebody on the inside to take down Anthony so he wouldn’t talk about co-conspirators in the scandal, nobody would think twice about his death because of how many fatalities the prison has in an average week.”

  All Dallas did was nod with a grim look on his face.

  I cursed again before dropping down into my chair and exhaling heavily. “Adele can’t find out about this yet. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a pause as I stared down at the list of names. “I’ve been keeping your secrets for a long ti
me. If you don’t mind me saying so…”

  He captured my attention enough for me to glare at him. If he was going to threaten me, he chose a bad time to do it. But as soon as I met his eyes, I realized that wasn’t what he was doing. Dallas was a good man. How many times had Della told me that? They’d talked often on their drives together. She knew more about the man than I did, and he’d been under my employment for a long ass time.

  “You two have always been good together, willing to push the other. When I said that you cared for Adele, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Look at all you’ve done for her. Hell, you keep me on payroll to drive her around even though she rarely uses the services.”

  “Because she thinks you’re Sophie’s employee,” I pointed out. That and Della hated having a driver when she could walk places. Anything that reminded her of the privilege she was born into was something she distanced herself from. I respected it, even if it pissed me off she walked on foot or called fucking Uber instead of using Dallas. “It doesn’t matter what your opinion is anyway.”

  “No?” His brows go up. “At the risk of losing the money you gave me, I’d like to disagree with you. If my opinion favors whatever you two are doing, don’t you think others will too? You’re torturing yourself by thinking worst case scenario to keep her at a distance, but that’s only hurting both of you.”

  I glowered. “What do you know?”

  Amusement danced in his eyes as he stood, buttoning the jacket of his suit. “I’d say a lot considering you’ve paid me to keep an eye on her for all these years. She’s a good girl. Smart. But she’s hurting. Hurting real bad, sir. Always has been, but it’s gotten worse the last couple of weeks. Not to step out of line, but she reminds me of what she was like…before. When things got tough, that is. She’s a ghost of herself when I take her places, like her friend’s house.”