Indiscretions of a God

by Sunniva Dee

  Luka’s head isn’t in the game, though. I need to talk with Gianni about that. Sure, he pulls shit off as always, but he doesn’t stay behind for the after-parties, and Belen isn’t happy with his commitment. Then again, there isn’t much Belen is happy about these days. She’s especially unhappy with Morgan but for completely different reasons. It’s not hard to see her brain spinning with fear that she’ll lose her status as the face of Lucid Entertainment.

  “You might want to throw her a bone, Boss,” Gianni said.

  I wasn’t inclined to do so. The less secure people feel in their position, the harder they work to keep it. “What do you have in mind?”

  “PR wants some new shots for internet ads, and a few snippets for cable. Might want to use her for that.”

  “We could easily find good shots of Morgan,” I said straight-faced, enjoying Gianni’s warning stare in response. “Look through your footage after edits are done on Annabelle’s Escapades.”

  “You know you’re playing with fire, right?”

  I flashed him a grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  I haul ass down to the church to get there before Tatiana is out. Belen calls as I park in the back, and I pick up as I walk.

  “Hey, lover. Where are you?”

  “Busy. What do you need?”

  “A-w-w.” She whines it out. “Just wondering, you know. I’m heading to the club and wanted to see if you’d come along.”

  I round the corner and see Tatiana at the front of the church. She’s actually there, dressed in some pink ensemble, a skirt and a tank top. Wow, I’m liking this.

  “Isaias. Are you there?”

  Her hair. Those long brass-colored coils. I want to get my fingers in them. “I don’t go to the club unless it’s for business, and I’m not working tonight.”

  “No?” There’s hope in Belen’s voice. “Gianni wants a retake of the fight scene, but he’s postponing until tomorrow so I can leave a little early. I can head over to your house and make dinner for us?”

  I lift a hand in acknowledgment to Tatiana. She sees me but doesn’t wave back. Her gaze doesn’t shift away, though.

  “I thought you were going to the club.”

  Annoyed, she makes some small sound at the back of her throat. “I’d rather make dinner for you.”

  “I’m busy. Be at Lucid early tomorrow. If Gianni wants a fight scene retake, he’ll need to get it done before the set of Sexman is up in Studio 2.”

  “About Sexman. Have you thought any more about letting me take over the lead? Ana isn’t the right choice for that film. You know she’s too nice—she freaking even looks too nice. Baby, pretty ple-e-ease?” Belen doesn’t sound adorable when she begs. Her bitch mode is the only thing that keeps me bringing her home. Well, that and her sharp elbows, which merit respect.

  “Anyway. Gotta split, Belen.”

  “You know, I don’t need you to keep me warm at night,” she barks. “I’ve got other guys, and they’re not even on your payroll. Seven of them, actually. Luka’s roommates.”

  “TMI,” I say and hang up. She’s getting too attached. I’ll definitely need to yank her down. Tomorrow, I’ll demote her in Sexman. She’ll be one of the prostitutes he kills in the first scene. A few more changes of the kind, and she might be humble enough to work out for me again.

  I put her on temporary block, because she’ll rage-call me. Then, I slide the phone into my pocket and take the steps up to meet Tatiana.

  “Hey. You look beautiful,” I say, voice low and intimate.

  “Thank you.” She runs those crystal-clear eyes over my shape, taking in my appearance. My style is dark elegance. I pay a shopper for this so I don’t have to worry about it. Everyone wants to work with the successful rich guy, because you’re either their peer or they want to be your peer.

  I narrow my eyes. “You like what you see?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she counters instantly. I guess she’s learning to expect the unexpected from me. “So Coffee Expressive’s? Starbucks isn’t good enough for you?” She crosses her arms, and it makes her boobs lift. They’re C-cups and firm, I can tell.

  “Starbucks is good enough for me, but I have employees who go there, and I want you to myself. This way.” I open a hand, showing her toward the back of the church and the Flying Spur.

  “You embrace the material world” is her comment. Her words might be laconic, but she caresses the front of my cat with adoring fingers.

  “I live in the material world. You like cars?”

  “Dad’s a mechanic. I’ve seen a few of these.”

  “Flying Spurs?”

  “Yeah. Is this a W-8? Or W-12?”

  “W-12.”

  “Okay. The W-8 lurches at lower gears. Is that the case with the W-12 as well?”

  I blink. “You’ve driven one?”

  She laughs under her breath as she gets into the seat. “Dad’s shop specializes in luxury cars, and he used to let me drive the juicy ones. The Flying Spur isn’t among my top ten, though. Too heavy. It’s a smooth, quiet ride, but just too cushiony for my taste. It can’t do the fun stuff, like haul ass through the canyons.”

  I rev the engine and wink at her. “Depends on who’s driving it. I hauled ass down here to get you. Also, I think you just cussed.”

  She’s momentarily speechless before she explains that: one, she’s off-duty as a nun at the moment—hence the clothes; two, “ass” is not a swear word. I tell her it depends on how it’s said and demonstrate by aiming a, “You goddamn ass!” at the closed side window to an unsuspecting guy with a dog.

  She purses her lips until she can answer without laughing. “That would be defined as swearing because of the first word.”

  “You mean ‘you?’” I tease.

  “Okay, the second word.” She rolls her eyes, and that’s fucking beautiful on her.

  “You can’t say it, can you?”

  “Say what?”

  Ah, she’s playing along. I tilt my head sideways, leaning toward her. With my eyes still on the road, I maneuver us out onto the street.

  “Goddamn,” I repeat to her. Quiet and reverent, it’s a sigh so intimate it’s how I’ll sound when our bodies fuse together for the first time. I flick her a side-glance. There’s a new tinge to her cheeks, and her throat bobs on a swallow. Oh, I’m getting to her.

  My chest feels light. It’s nice to play with this off-limits piece of candy. Maybe that’s what it is. She’s just off-limits, harder to get than everybody else. It’s not easy to find that exhilarating chase in women anymore. Isaias di Nascimbeni points, and Isaias di Nascimbeni gets. But here she is, a frustrating, beautiful female, my first “no” in years.

  “Please.” I nod at the menu. “You’re too skinny. You do eat dinner, right?”

  “Yeah, but someone wore me down and took me out for coffee instead of letting me go straight home today.” She rolls her eyes again. Fuck, so cute.

  “Grab a bite here, then.”

  “Nu-huh, what are you talking about? Look at these prices.”

  “These goddamn prices?” I ask silkily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat.”

  “Ha, no. I can pay for myself.”

  “You probably can. I’m sure nun salaries rock, but I insist.”

  “Nope, because that would mean we’re on a date. We’re not on a date.”

  “I beg to differ on both accounts. I’m paying, and I’m pretty sure I worked hard enough for this to happen to call it a date. Ryan?” I jut my chin up to get the employee’s attention. “Give us a strawberry gazpacho with hot ciabatta on the side, a green zebra, the spicy chipotle pumpkin hummus with warm pita, and plenty of olive butter, please.”

  She turns to gawk at me. “That’s a lot of food. Crazy food too. Who’s going to eat all of that, and do you know what it is?”

 
I sigh, content. “Two sets of utensils, please.”

  She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else. From the corner booth I seat her in, I point across the street to Mintrer’s.

  “That’s the restaurant you didn’t want to go to. Funny how it all worked out, right? You’re still eating with me, and we’re only feet away from where I wanted to go in the first place. Only now we’re having coffee instead of wine with the food. What does that tell you?”

  I have no idea what she’ll say, and I’m damn interested to hear her verdict.

  “It tells me you’re a man used to having things go your way. It also tells me you like wine and that you’re not comfortable with your, quote-unquote, win. But let me make it up to you.”

  Tatiana leans forward. With her hands under the table, her boobs almost touch the tabletop as she does, and I have to stop my gaze from drawing downward. “I’m very appreciative of these exciting new dishes you’re introducing me to. Since you didn’t get your wine, I’ll buy you a bottle on the way back home.”

  “Yeah?” I lean forward too, and—good: she doesn’t avert her eyes. “Where are we drinking it?” My guess is her sisterhood’s home isn’t going to let her bring men and alcohol into her room.

  “We’re not. I’ll be taking the bus home, and you’re bringing it home to your lair.”

  “It’s been six days. Longer than a week, and people forget.”

  McRoy bites his lip, red eyebrows sinking over his frown. “I don’t know, Isaias. I’ve tried to connect with their manager, but he’s not calling me back. I think it’s a dead end. Probably wouldn’t be bad to focus our efforts elsewhere.”

  “Right, you’re not here to give me business advice. All I need is for you to follow instructions, and as far as this goes, I’m handling it myself. Find out what studio they record at, and I’ll visit them in person.”

  “Sir, I still think you should have talked with Bo Lindgren, the band leader when they were all here.” He lifts his hands at my glare. “Sorry, Boss. Not my place.”

  “Sometimes I wonder why I keep you around.”

  “History? Ties to your family? Connections?”

  I glare again, and he flattens his palms against me, keeping them up.

  “Just get me the address.”

  The frown has disappeared off McRoy’s face by the time he returns to my office. “Got the address on the first try! Turns out Sgt. Green was part of their escort on the way from the airport. They’re recording at Gearhead Studios in Sema Canyon. They sleep at the compound too, in the guesthouse.”

  “Good job. Thanks, McRoy. I might keep you a bit longer.”

  “You won’t fire me,” the idiot says. “You never do.”

  I’ve only called the drummer once since our whiskey chat. I left him a quick voicemail two days ago in case he’d lost my card. When my call goes to voicemail again, I say, “Hi Troy. Isaias di Nascimbeni here. I’ll be in Sema Canyon for a meeting tomorrow and wanted to come by with a little something for you. I think you’ll like it. Should be there around four.”

  I hang up and visit Gianni onset. He’s got three girls on a bed, Marco is there, and so is Luka. Belen is busy throwing a diva fit. Guess I arrived just in time.

  “Lover! I’m so glad you’re here. Look at how the spotlights are set up. It’s like they don’t want me in focus! Since when is it all about the guys in a movie? And those stupid side characters. No offense, but it’s me they want to see. I mean, you pay me a lot of money, and how can I be at my best when I’m not even being—”

  “Belen? Zip it. Whatever Gianni wants is your law: light, positions, dialog, every-fucking-thing. And if you don’t, you’re off this gig so fast your head will spin and Morgan will take your place.” I nod to Gianni, who lifts his hands, helpless.

  Belen’s mouth opens and closes. She’s so outraged only small guttural sounds escape her. I should thank her for launching step two in my yank-down plan for her. All I had to do was stand back and watch her throw herself in front of the metaphorical train.

  “You’ve got five seconds to get in position,” I murmur.

  She crawls back up on the bed, pulling her G-string to the side. She might have a less than desirable personality, but there’s no denying the pretty pink flesh she reveals.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Nascimbeni. I gotta say it takes some doing to stay hard when your girlfriend acts up every couple of minutes. Not everyone’s a machine like Luka.” Marco tips his head toward his colleague, nicknamed the Russian God in the industry.

  “She’s not my girlfriend. Belen, let me be clear: time is money, quality takes are expensive, and I’m not losing any more of either on paid help.”

  She gasps, boobs jiggling freely as she sits up. I let my gaze run over her before meeting her glare with a steely one of my own. I wait. Thankfully for her, she swallows her fury.

  “Are we good here?” I ask.

  “Sure are,” Marco says. Luka doesn’t answer, but the other girls nod and mewl out sexy little “Yes, Mr. Nascimbeni”’s.

  Yesterday, I took Tatiana to Coffee Expressive’s. I’m picking her up again tonight. Last night, she allowed me to drop her off at the St. Catherine’s building, but when I told her I’d give her a lift again tonight, she turned me down bluntly and profusely.

  Thing is, the wariness I saw in her eyes came from her having enjoyed herself, and if that isn’t like a red flag to a bull, I don’t know what is. The strawberry gazpacho made her close her eyes with happiness, and she licked—licked her knife to get the last taste of Coffee Expressive’s hummus. Sure, it’s a great hummus, but goddamn.

  Suspecting she’d find a way to leave before I got there, I’ve had a guy on her all day. She arrived at ten in the morning, did some random church stuff throughout the day, and ate her packed lunch. But Bruno called me a couple of hours ago with a different kind of intel.

  “Isaias? It’s the nun. She’s acting strange. The priest left the church, and she’s alone here now. He’d locked his office door, and you know what she did?”

  I sighed. “I don’t.”

  “She picked the lock and went through his desk. One of the drawers was locked, and she picked that one too. Found something in there, took a picture of it, and put it back again. At one point, she was bending to look under the desk. And guess what?”

  I scrunched my eyes shut for a second. Bruno and his rhetorical questions. “Tell me.”

  “She took her... uh, nun hoodie off. Guess it was in the way or something? Just thought that was odd. She put it back on again afterwards, though. By the time the priest returned, she’d tidied up and locked the door after herself. It was as if she’d never been there. She was fast too.”

  “Wow, interesting.” I rubbed my chin. “Thanks, Bruno.”

  Now, he’s calling me again. It’s six thirty, an hour before she usually gets out.

  “She’s done.” He’s panting. “She left too, but you know what she did?”

  “I do not.”

  “She went right inside again. She was wearing her nun outfit, so maybe she’s changing now?”

  “All right, you need to slow her down.”

  “What? I can’t do that without giving myself away.”

  “Come up with something.” I cut the connection, get in the car, and speed down the hill to the Valley.

  Eight minutes later, I slow down at the west corner of St. Tatiana’s. I exhale my relief. Bruno is nowhere to be seen—good—but Tatiana sits on the steps to the church... holding something.

  I get out and walk up to her. “What’ve you got there?”

  “A kitten. It wasn’t breathing right. I think it’s doing better now. It’s so tiny.” She doesn’t look at me. I think she should.

  “Wow, that thing is tiny. Where did you find it?”

  “In the restroom of the church. I heard a gurgling so
und, and I looked, and there it was, under the sink, just limp and breathing quickly. I have no idea how that happened. I didn’t even notice it when I went in.”

  My cell buzzes. I let Bruno’s call go to voicemail while I stroke the little bundle of fur with one finger. Instead of leaving a message, he shoots me a text.

  Got lucky. Guess what happened?

  I don’t even answer.

  Kid giving away kats. Phew.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Hold on,” I say to Tatiana. “It’s after regular business hours for most vets, I think, but let me check with the E.R.”

  “Animal E.R.?”

  I nod. Lift a miniature paw. The kitten reacts by pulling its claws in. Rubbing it, I call Bruno. “Hello, we have an emergency situation with a small kitten,” I growl at him.

  “Ah yeah, genius, right?”

  “Not exactly, no. I’m standing here with the young lady who found it. A stray kitten, it seems, and we can’t get it to wake up. It breathes shallowly. I’m wondering if it has inhaled poison. Should we bring it in?” Also, what the fuck were you thinking, asshole.

  “It’s just a regular Unisom Sleep Tab. My mother left a bottle of it in my car. Guess how I did it?”

  I’m so done with his rhetorical questions. “We’ll talk more about that later,” I grit out.

  “Pulverized it and put it on his tongue. Knocked him right out! He’ll be fine, though, in a few.”

  Few what, hours? Days? “Thanks. We’ll bring him in.”

  I hear him say, “In where? Not to my house?” before I hang up.

  When I look up, Tatiana’s eyes are glossy.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  Well, this wasn’t what I’d planned for the night. I’m giving Bruno an earful in my head while I drive to the emergency clinic with a silent Tatiana at my side. She’s cradling that kitten like it’s a baby. Belly up, it breathes fast, but then again, I guess little animals do that. The last thing I need is for Bruno to cause a cat death and the saddest novice in the Valley.