Daughters Of The Bride(67)
“Tadeo,” he said and held out his arms.
The two men hugged. Tadeo slapped him on the back.
“What are you doing here, bro? This town, it’s not you.”
“It grows on you.”
“So does fungus. It’s so small. There’s no shopping or restaurants. What do you do for fun?”
Quinn flashed to Courtney. There was plenty of fun to be had with her, and a good portion of it didn’t include sex. How often could a man say that about a woman?
“I get by.”
Tadeo put down his guitar case. “I meant what I said about Prince.”
“No, you didn’t. What are you doing here? Are you and Leigh fighting again?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“What happened this time?”
Leigh and Tadeo’s fights were legendary. They loved hard and loud. Marriage and three kids hadn’t changed that. Anyone hoping that time would mellow the passionate couple had been disappointed. Although Quinn had to admit they were never boring. But their relationship was a little too high-energy for him.
“She’s trying to cramp my style,” Tadeo complained as he sank into one of the club chairs. “If I write music all night, I can’t get up and take the kids to school. She’s got to be reasonable. I’m an artist, man.”
“You’re also a father.”
“That’s what she said.” Tadeo glared at him. “Did she call you?”
“She didn’t have to.”
Tadeo shook his head. “I’m not going back. This time it’s for good. I’m outta there. She keeps me on too tight a leash.”
“You’d be lost without your leash.” Quinn glanced at his watch. It was nearly one in the afternoon. “I’m going to order some lunch. You want something?”
“Sure.”
Tadeo looked over the room service menu, then Quinn called in the order, including food for Wayne and Zealand, who were due back shortly.
“Zealand texted me about the new studio,” Tadeo said. “I’m down with that. Show me the plans and I’ll give you my ideas.”
“What makes you think I want your ideas?”
Tadeo sat back in the chair. “I’m the artist here, bro. I get to have the attitude.”
“I sign the checks.”
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot that part.”
Quinn chuckled, then got out the floor plan of the building. He explained the modifications they were going to make.
“There’ll be rooms where we can write?” Tadeo asked. “I need to be writing and I can’t do that at home.”
“You’re living in LA,” Quinn pointed out. “Do you plan to commute up here?”
“I can stay in the hotel. It’s nice. Leigh needs to remember I’m a man.”
“She needs to kick your ass, which I’m going to guess will be happening soon enough. If she calls me, I’m not lying about where you are.”
“You don’t know where I am.” Tadeo sounded smug.
“You’re in my living room.”
“I meant you don’t know where I’m staying.”
Quinn would guess the singer would get a room at the hotel, but he didn’t bother stating the obvious. Nor did he continue the discussion. One thing he knew for sure—the more talented the artist, the bigger pain said artist was in his ass. Tadeo was one of the best. Marriage to Leigh had mellowed him, but not enough for the singer to ever be considered just like everyone else.
Quinn supposed he was a little strange himself, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Before he could decide, someone knocked on the front door.
“Room service,” a familiar voice called.
He opened the door to find Courtney pushing a large cart.
“Either you have company or you’re seriously hungry,” she told him.
He took a second to study her. The chef-style jacket suited her. He’d liked the bangs from day one and was pleased she’d kept them. The ponytail was practical and sexy—his kind of combination.
“You look good,” he told her. “I miss you.”
She blinked. “Wow. Right to the heart of things. You look good, too, and I—” She glanced over his shoulder. “You do have company.”
“Tadeo, this is Courtney,” Quinn said without turning around. “She works for my grandmother. Courtney, Tadeo. He sings.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tadeo said, then cuffed Quinn in the arm. “I’m more than a singer. I’m a songwriter. An artist. I’m the next Prince.”
“So you claim. I’m less sure.”
Courtney laughed. “I can see you’re really busy. Let me get this set up and I’ll leave you to it.”