“In that case, it’s really no contest,” I say as we walk side-by-side up the corridor. “You should wear the Retrofête mini dress. The royal blue looks great with your hair, the shoulder-baring, asymmetrical neckline will be more visually interesting in photos and on video, and you said Xander is a leg man. So he’ll be a fan of how short the dress i—”
“Vanessa!” A silky smooth baritone greets me when I step into the reception area, and my eyes slide from Astra’s face to Natasha’s desk where I see Ian standing, looking like a million bucks in a custom-made charcoal gray suit, lavender dress shirt with contrasting white collar and cuffs, a plum-colored tie, and a pale gray pocket square with a winged puff fold. I told you he was a snazzy dresser!
At six-foot-three with a linebacker’s shoulders, trim waist, and legs that never seem to end, Ian could have easily been a model except he was born into the very wealthy Ellingsworth family, which owns one of the top international auction houses in the world, so his career was predetermined long before he sprouted up and became heartstoppingly gorgeous. It’s okay, though, because he really loves what he does as Deputy CEO of Ellingsworth’s, traveling back and forth between Los Angeles and the company’s other offices in London, Paris, and New York, overseeing and facilitating everything from corporate services to private sales of fine art, jewelry, furnishings, and collectibles.
“Ian! This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.” He’s been handling some big auction for the estate of a recently deceased duchess in London for the past two weeks.
“I decided to come home early. I was jonesin’ for a bite of my gingersnap!” With a roguish grin, he strides across the few feet that separate us, sweeps me into his arms where I’m enveloped by the seductive scent of his spicy cologne, and starts nibbling on my neck.
His little love bites along with the scrape of his neatly trimmed beard on my skin make me chuckle because I’m very ticklish. “Stop!” I push against his chest ineffectually in between spurts of laughter, but that just encourages him to go lower to my collarbone and add loud, munching noises like he’s the cookie monster devouring a bag of Chips Ahoy. “You realize we’re not alone, right?” I query before he can feast his way down to my cleavage.
“More’s the pity,” he rumbles sexily before lifting his shaved, perfectly shaped head and glancing over at Astra who’s wide-eyed and gaping at our amorous display. Natasha is sitting at her desk, her chin perched on her hand, with a dreamy expression on her face. She’s been crushing hard on Ian since the first time they met and he told her he loved her name because he had a thing for Rene Russo’s character in the Rocky & Bullwinkle movie when he was a kid.
“Sorry, ladies,” he apologizes to our unwitting audience. “You know how it is when you’ve been away from your special someone for too long. I just can’t keep my hands off this beauty.” To emphasize his point, he slides a large hand down to my backside and shamelessly squeezes the right cheek.
I relocate his wandering hand to my hip just as the phone on the reception desk rings. However, Natasha is too busy making heart eyes at Ian to do anything about it.
“Are you going to answer that?” I prompt my receptionist.
She blinks at me. “Huh?”
“The phone.” I point at the trilling device.
Rousing from her lust-induced stupor, she straightens up and says, “Oh, right!” and picks up the receiver, catching the call before it rolls over to voicemail.
While Natasha’s busy helping the caller, I turn to Ian and say, “Let me introduce you to my new client. This . . .” I gesture at the blonde across from us. “. . . is Astra Langdon. Astra, this is my . . .” I suck in a breath when he dips his head down to playfully lick the outer rim of my ear. “. . . very naughty boyfriend, Ian Ellingsworth.” I smack him on the arm to get him to put his tongue back in his mouth.
“When it comes to men, the naughtier, the better as far as I’m concerned,” Astra purrs, sounding like a tigress who’s just spotted a striped stud she thinks will make a good mate. She slinks forward to offer Ian her hand. So much for Xander, the man she’s getting ready to propose to!
Ian bestows a dazzling smile on Astra, letting her know her appreciation of him has been duly noted. The man does enjoy the game of flirtation.
“A pleasure, Ms. Langdon.” Unwrapping his arm from around my waist, he gives her hand a firm shake, then releases it at the three-second mark as good executives are trained to do. “You’re in excellent hands with Vanessa.” Ian drapes his arm over my shoulders. “She’s one of the best in her field for a reason. I’ve never met a woman with a more creative . . .” He pauses to press his warm lips to my temple, letting the word hang in the air long enough that it can be inferred he’s not just talking about me professionally. “. . . mind.”
“I’ve been very impressed with her work so far,” Astra declares, which is gratifying to hear.
“That’s wonderful. Now, if the two of you . . .” Ian’s chocolate-colored eyes dart back and forth between Astra and me. “. . . have concluded your business for the day, I’d love to steal my girlfriend away. We have a lot . . .” He directs a heated look at me. “. . . of catching up to do.”
“Of course. Don’t let me keep you lovebirds from reconnecting.”
“I’ll give you a call day after tomorrow with a progress report,” I tell Astra as Ian turns me away from the reception desk.
I see Astra mouthing the words, “SO hot!” and giving me a thumbs-up before she’s out of my line of sight.
Ian and I stroll arm-in-arm down the hallway, and he’s just leaned down to whisper something in my ear when we run into Cole who’s leaving his office with a vision board for another client I’ve had him working on. “Don’t you two look all loved-up and adorable!” he exclaims.
Threading his fingers through mine, Ian says, “It’s a cliché, but it’s true. Absence always makes my heart grow fonder for Vanessa.” He lifts my hand and places a feather light kiss on top of my knuckles.
Cole sighs. “True love; so inspiring! You’ll probably want to cut out of here early tonight, boss. So I’ll just put this . . .” He holds up the linen pinboard. “. . . in the conference room and we can go over it in the morning. Have fun!” He waggles his eyebrows at us, then scurries off.
A few seconds later, Ian and I cross the threshold of my office, and he makes a show of kicking the door shut. Once we know there are no longer any eyes on us, we break apart and I head over to the chair behind my desk. “You were laying it on a little thick out there, don’t you think?”
“Was I?” Ian queries with a mischievous glint in his eye as he folds his big frame into a guest chair that suddenly looks small and delicate with him sitting in it. “You said your employees had been questioning why I hadn’t been around in a while, so I decided to make an appearance and put any rumors of a breakup to rest. I timed my arrival so that I’d be sure to catch you with your last client of the day. I think it’s fair to say that Ms. Langdon was suitably impressed.”
“By you,” I retort, taking a seat.
“By us and our love and devotion to each other. For the record, I thought my performance was quite restrained. If I was really your boyfriend and we’d been apart for two weeks, I’d be suffering from such a bad case of blue balls I would have dispensed with the small talk out there . . .” He jerks a thumb to the side, indicating the reception area. “. . . thrown you over my shoulder, and brought you back to your office so that I could bend you over this desk and have my wicked way with you.”
“And they say romance is dead,” I deadpan.
“Probably because I’ve done my best to kill it,” he parries with a smirk.
If you’re wondering what I’m doing in a fake relationship with a non-believer, here’s the scoop. Ian and I met when I was still working with Jacqueline, and he was one of her clients, not because he was the slightest bit interested in being matched with someone he could spend the rest of his life with, but because his p
arents had been hassling him about settling down. He is their only child and sole heir to Ellingsworth’s, so it behooves him to procreate and continue the tradition of passing the business on to the next generation. The problem with this is that Ian is omnisexual, meaning he’s attracted to all genders, and monogamy is not his bag. He thrives on variety and is put off by the thought of a committed relationship.
Ian did try to conform and be the one-woman man his parents expected him to be when Jacqueline paired him with a venture capitalist named Nina, but he was totally miserable and broke things off with her a month later. By this point, he and I had become good friends, so he confessed all to me. Even though I encouraged him to be honest with his parents about his sexuality and marriage and children not being in the cards for him, Ian insisted they’d never understand. After meeting them, I knew he was right. Not that Nicola and Andrew Ellingsworth are overly conservative or close-minded (they are an interracial couple after all), but they’ve been happily married and devoted to each other for thirty-six years, so they want that same type of lifelong partnership for their one and only son and are really keen on having grandchildren.
Cut to a year or so later, I was attempting to get my business going and build a client list, which was proving to be difficult because people were skeptical about a single woman being any kind of an expert on romance. I whinged about this late one night after Ian and I had polished off a couple bottles of Merlot along with some sushi from SUGARFISH, and he drunkenly suggested that we could solve both of our problems if we pretended to be a couple. It seemed like a crazy idea at first, but even when we were sober and clear-headed the next day, we could see the wisdom of doing it. He could give me the credibility I needed, and I could get Ian’s parents off his back.
It was easy enough to sell our relationship since we’d been close for a while and are genuinely very fond of each other. Also we laid down some ground rules right from the start so that we both knew what we were agreeing to. When he’s here in LA, or New York just to be on the safe side, Ian assumes the role of my ever-loving, faithful boyfriend, then he’s free to “play” when he’s on business trips in Europe. All of his dalliances are casual flings with like-minded people that take place behind closed doors, so that none of his family members or stuffy business associates will know he’s leading a double life. A side benefit of this for Ian is that he finds the illicit aspect of his hookups on the other side of the pond to be a real turn-on.
As for me, I can end our fauxmance whenever I meet a guy I think has potential and want to be free to pursue a relationship with him. The fact that this hasn’t happened in the almost two years since Ian and I embarked on this sham is, well, kind of sad, but I rarely come into contact with available men in my line of work and I’m so busy with Straight from the Hart that I haven’t had the time or energy to look for a significant other. I will, though. I’m only thirty-one for goodness’ sake. There’s no rush. And who knows? Maybe Mr. Perfect will make it easy on me and just fall in my lap one day. Stop laughing! It could happen.
“How was London?” I ask because Ian didn’t tell me much in his texts while he was gone.
“Rainy. Productive on the work front; pleasurable on the personal. I went to Le Boudoir a few times and did Liquid Love, which is always fun.”
As the name implies, Le Boudoir is a posh sex club at a supersecret location in London where all manner of debauchery takes place and according to Ian, the members are incredibly good-looking, so it’s basically his home planet.
Liquid Love is a “sensual experience” where men and women get naked, have olive oil poured all over them, and roll around en masse, touching and exploring each other’s bodies, sometimes blindfolded. Ian has described these sessions as being very erotic and enjoyable, but I don’t get it. Why is being greased up sexy? Don’t your hands and lips just slide right off the other people’s parts? How many shampoos does it take to get all of that olive oil out of your hair? And I don’t even want to think about it going in certain bodily crevices!
“Good, good,” I reply distractedly because I’m looking for my cellphone, which I could have sworn I left on my desk, but I don’t see the device anywhere and it’s not hiding under the file folder to my right. I’m about to check my purse when I hear the buzz of an incoming text and spin around in my chair to find the phone sitting on top of the lacquered, cream-colored credenza with etched brass pulls behind me. Picking it up, I see that the message is from Ian.
‘Missed you
“Awwwww.” I smile at him with affection. “Back at you. With you traveling and me being tied up with clients on the weekends, we haven’t had much quality you-and-me time lately . . . I’ve got an idea! If you don’t have other plans tonight, we could have a long, leisurely dinner at Curtis Stone’s new place. I worked with him on a surprise for his wife last month and it went over so well that he said I could have a table at any of his restaurants whenever I wanted.”
“You know how much I hate having to fix meals for myself, so count me in.”
“Great! I’ll just call the restaurant to let them know we’re coming.” I push back my chair and stand while scrolling through my phone to find the number I need.
Holding up his hand, Ian says, “Slow your roll, lady. We’ve only been in this office a few minutes. That’s not long enough for us to have had any kind of a satisfying reunion, which is what your staff thinks is going on back here.”
“Maybe it was just a quickie to tide us over until we could get home?” I speculate about our imaginary sex life.
“Please.” Ian shakes his head disparagingly. “Don’t insult me. No matter how sex-starved and hot for you I was, I would still take the time to do things properly.” He waves me back down in my chair. “Why don’t we kill some time and go over our schedules for the next six weeks?” He retrieves his phone from a pocket inside his suit jacket.
I sigh because I didn’t have time for lunch today and I’m really hungry, but Ian’s right, we have to keep this madly-in-love-can’t-stop-banging-like-bunnies charade going. If my employees don’t believe it, no one else will, so I bring up the calendar app on my phone. An important date at the end of April immediately jumps out at me because I hadn’t asked Ian about it yet.
“Will you be in town on the twenty-second? I’m getting an award from LA Woman Magazine, and there’s going to be a ceremony at the Taglyan Cultural Complex.”
“An award! Congrats! What’s it for? Cutest Redhead in Southern California?”
I snicker. “No. If such an award existed, it would go to Emma Stone. The one I’m getting is Entrepreneur on the Rise.”
“Even better! I’m proud of you, Gingersnap. And, of course, it would be my honor to escort you to this shindig. I’m supposed to be in New York for a pre-auction party with some numismatics with deep pockets that night, but screw it. I’ll have one of my assistants cover for me.”
“It’s a date then. Black tie, FYI.”
“Excellent. I always devastate in a tux.” Ian flashes me a cocky smile before adding the event to his calendar. “You should wear emerald green. That color would look amazing with your hair. No, wait, save the green dress for my birthday in May. My mother’s decided to throw a party.” And he does not look thrilled about it.
“Well, it’s your thirty-fifth, which is a milestone. So I think a big blow-out is in order.”
“Agreed, but Mum’s idea of a party is not the same as mine.”
“No sex swings at hers?” I tease.
“And now you’ve ruined sex swings for me. Thanks a lot.” He glares at me, and I crack up.
“I’m sure your mother’s party will be lovely and I’d be delighted to attend and give you besotted looks all night. Will this celebration be on the actual night of your birthday?” I see on my calendar that
May third is falling on a Monday. “Or the weekend before?”
“She’s doing it on the actual day, thank God, so I can still salvage my birthday with a real party the following weekend at one of my London haunts. Themed, of course. I’m thinking a bal masqué.”
“Masks and balls . . . how very you,” I say with an amused quirk of my lips.
“You can invite your family.”
My eyes widen with horror. “To the masquerade?”
“No, silly, to my mother’s snoozy affair. Although now that you mention it, I bet Viv would be totally down for the London party. She’s a wild one. I knew it the moment I met her.”
I shudder involuntarily. “Please refrain from making comments about my grandmother’s sex life, or I’m going to lose my appetite.”
He chuckles. “How about we discuss where I’m going week after next? Paris. You know how amazing it is to be in that city in the spring—cherry blossoms everywhere, strolling through outdoor markets, eating in sidewalk cafés, checking out the new designs at the fashion houses in the Eighth Arrondissement. You should come with.”
“Wouldn’t having your girlfriend . . .” I make air quotes. “. . . there cramp your style?”
He shrugs. “You can do your thing, and I can do mine.”
Paris is supposed to be for lovers, especially in the spring when the city is a feast for the senses with all the vibrant colors that can be seen in parks and shop windows, the sounds coming from the instruments of talented street musicians, and the glorious scents of the treats being made by pâtissiers and chocolatiers in preparation for Easter wafting through the air. My ex and I talked about going there for a romantic trip the whole time we were dating, but we never made it because we were both so focused on getting ahead at work. The thought of visiting the City of Love with someone I’m not actually in love with, then being ditched by that someone while he pursues other more exciting forms of entertainment is just too depressing.
Straight from the Hart Page 5