“No, but I distinctly remember a pile of discarded bar sketches in Colombia. They’re a start.” “They’re also in the trash. In Colombia,” he pointed out. “I’m guessing if you had them there, you’ll have some lying around here.” I arched an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your house. You still have a trophy for winning Biggest Flirt at prep school.” “Hey, that trophy is made of solid fake gold. It’s worth its weight in sentimentality.” Xavier’s teeth flashed white against his tanned skin. “But you might be right about some old sketches lying around.” “That’s why people pay me the big bucks,” I quipped.
