When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,44
something so idiotic?”
Her hand hurt from the punch she’d delivered. She’d ripped her dress, bruised her shoulder. She was drained and too shaken by what had happened to remind him they had no such agreement, and he should shut the hell up. He finally seemed to realize she was in no shape for a lecture because he draped his arm around her and said no more.
Henri canceled the evening events, and Olivia slipped away to her room. After she’d reassured herself that Arman wasn’t harmed, she took a long soak in the tub and slipped into her yoga pants and a loose top.
When she emerged from her bedroom, she found Thad sitting on the couch talking on the phone with a baseball game muted on the television. However annoying his lecturing might be, she knew his concern was genuine.
He quickly ended the call. “This is a hell of a way to avoid another of those client dinners.”
“No more lectures, okay?” She sat on the couch, leaving one seat cushion between them.
“No more lectures. As long as you promise not to take off again until this is settled.”
“I’m not irresponsible.” She held up her hand before he could argue the point. “That store is a treasure trove.” She told him about the autographed Josephine Baker photograph she’d bought and the Scarlatti manuscript. “I’ve been thinking . . . What if there was something in the store the thief wanted? Maybe even the Scarlatti? Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You’re suggesting this was coincidence? A thief decided to burglarize the store at the exact moment you were there instead of walking in like a normal customer, finding what he wanted, and bargaining for it? Are the old man’s prices that high?”
She knew her explanation was far-fetched, but she tried to defend it with a shrug.
Thad bore down. “How much was he charging for that Scarlatti manuscript?”
“I don’t know . . . A couple of hundred,” she muttered.
“Well, there you go. A big prize in the rare manuscript black market.” He plowed his hand through his hair, barely disturbing a single strand. “I know you don’t want to believe you’re a target, Liv, but look at the evidence. Threatening letters, an eerie phone call, the T-shirt, and now this.”
“The only people who hold a grudge against me are Adam’s sisters, and they live in New Jersey. Besides, that wasn’t a woman who attacked me.”
“They could have hired someone, and even you can’t deny that you’re somebody’s target.”
He was right, but she slouched deeper into the couch cushions. “Don’t you have some football buddies in town to go drinking with?”
“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
She started to tell him she had no need of a bodyguard, but that didn’t exactly seem to be true, so she told him to turn up the volume on the baseball game instead.
“You know anything about baseball?” he asked.
“I’ve watched A League of Their Own at least a dozen times.”
“An authority, then.”
“I’ll explain anything you don’t understand.”
* * *
As he came out of his room the next morning, The Diva was doing her daily vocalizing. The night before, she’d escaped to her bedroom after the sixth inning, leaving him alone with the remote control, a baseball game he didn’t care about, and his thoughts. When this tour had started two weeks ago, he’d anticipated doing nothing more than what he’d signed up for. Now, here he was, enmeshed in a situation he couldn’t control.
Yesterday had scared the hell out of him. They were leaving for Dallas today. From there they’d travel to Atlanta, Nashville, New York, and Las Vegas, before they ended up in Chicago, where they’d started. A couple of days of events there, followed by a two-week break before his final obligation, attending the Marchand-sponsored Chicago Municipal Opera gala. During that two-week break, Liv would be in rehearsals for Aida, and he’d probably head to Kentucky to visit his parents. No more interviewers asking the same questions, no more packing and unpacking a suitcase. And no more diva.
That didn’t sit well with him. He and The Diva were . . . pals. More than pals. Potential lovers if he had anything to say about it. She was funny and fascinating, stubborn and thoughtful. She knew as much about hard work and career dedication as he did. All he had to do was overcome her entirely rational objections to having an affair.
She’d hit the midpoint in her morning exercises, past the tongue trills