Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  “Thanks.” I’ll take a Young Nicole Kidman comparison any day! “And no, I didn’t ask you to race over here for something silly. I have HUGE news! Epic, jaw-dropping, game-changing, impossible-to-believe—”

  “Just tell me already,” he cuts me off impatiently.

  I do a quick visual sweep of the area to make sure no one’s close enough to hear what I’m about to say. Seeing a few couples strolling in our direction, I take Alex by the arm and tug him over to a corner of the garden where there’s not so much traffic and we’ll have some privacy.

  Running his hand through his hair to get the wet strands out of his face, Alex says, “All of this build-up better be leading to something good. Otherwise, I left my team to get their asses kicked for nothing.”

  “I’m sure they can manage without you for half a match.”

  “They had to sub in Thompson for me.”

  I wince because I remember how some of the less kind members of the Strikers used to call Tommy Thompson “Yertle” behind his back because of his turtle-like lack of speed on the field. “He hasn’t gotten any faster since the last time I saw him play?”

  “Nope. His wife had twins a few months ago, so Thompson gained twenty along with her during the pregnancy and now he’s got a dad bod slowing him down along with his flat feet.”

  “My apologies to your team then, but what I have to tell you really couldn’t wait.” Leaning in close, I reveal in an exaggerated whisper, “Nick Delucca and Georgina Knight are in cahoots!”

  “What?” He furrows his brow with confusion.

  “You heard me. The two of them have joined forces to keep Jax and Jaz apart.”

  He looks skeptical. “And you know this how?”

  “Now would be the perfect time for me to pull out my phone and say, ‘Ta da!’ because I recorded their secret meeting, which took place right here in this garden half an hour ago, but unfortunately my battery ran out right after I sent you that text. I can reenact what happened for you, though.”

  And I proceed to do just that, mimicking every gesture and facial expression the conspirators exchanged. I also relay the words I managed to hear.

  “Okay, so Georgina was so pissed off about Delucca failing to deliver on a promise he made her that she crashed this party to give him a tongue-lashing?”

  I nod. “And he dragged her out here so that no one would see them together.”

  “It doesn’t sound like he was able to mollify her either, which means we might be able to turn her.” Alex scratches his end-of-the-day stubble as he considers that option.

  “She’s an unreliable narrator, though. Jaz would never believe a word she had to say. And if we were to show her the video . . . once I get my phone recharged . . . you know that Delucca, dirty, rotten liar that he is, would find a way to spin it.” Adopting a silky smooth masculine voice, I proclaim, “‘Oh, Jaz, I didn’t tell you this earlier because I was trying to spare you, but Georgina Knight accosted me at the gala the other night. She was ranting and raving about how Jax is in love with her and you’re standing in the way of their happiness.’”

  Alex makes a face. “You’re right. That’s exactly what that sonofabitch would do, and since you probably didn’t get much audio on that recording, his encounter with Georgina will be open to any number of interpretations.”

  “We need to find out who Delucca was talking to on the phone after that argument. That person might be the puppet master in all this since Delucca reached out to him, or her, for help with Georgina. Can you think of anyone else who would benefit from Jax and Jaz splitting?”

  He shakes his head, dislodging a chunk of the hair he slicked back earlier. “No one comes to mind. Aimee did mention that a few weeks before the cheating scandal hit, Delucca started leaving the room to take business calls, which is something he hadn’t done in all the years he’s worked with Jaz since she’s his number one priority. I dismissed the calls as probably being from women he was hooking up with and didn’t want Jaz to know about, but maybe they were from Georgina or this puppet master.”

  “Since Delucca is in crisis mode now, he’ll probably be in continual touch with our mystery person tomorrow. You need to put Aimee on high alert and tell her to do whatever she can to find out who he’s talking to. Maybe if she sticks close to him, she can see a name on his phone when he has an incoming call or text.”

  “It’s worth a shot. I didn’t have anywhere to put my phone . . .” Alex pats the white-striped sides of his pocketless black shorts, drawing my attention to his lean hips and groin where the snug fabric seems to lovingly hug his—

  Eyes up, Vanessa! This is not the time to get distracted by your ex’s package!

  “. . . so I left it in the car. I can give Aimee a call on my way—”

  “Gingersnap!” Ian’s velvety baritone makes me start and I turn to the side to see him striding toward us in all of his tuxedo-clad glory. Seriously, the man looks like he just stepped out of an ad for some luxury men’s cologne or a limited-edition liquor that costs three thousand dollars a bottle.

  “You’ve been out here so long I was getting concerned,” Ian claims as he slips an arm around my waist, then bends down to press his lips to my cheek. “Everything okay?” he queries.

  “Uhhhhh . . .” Having my past and present boyfriends come to face-to-face unexpectedly leaves me stupefied for a second. My eyes slide sideways to Alex, and I’m gratified to see him scowling. Knowing that he’s bothered by Ian’s presence (maybe even jealous?), I decide to have some fun with it.

  “I’m sorry for abandoning you,” I apologize while stroking Ian’s lapel. “I got caught up in some work stuff and lost track of time.”

  “She never takes a break, does she?” Ian genially poses the question to Alex. “My gingersnap always goes the extra mile to make sure her clients are happy.”

  “I’m not her client,” Alex grumbles.

  “Technically, you are since you hired me,” I remind him. “Alex is a publicist, and he needed my help with a project for one of his clients,” I tell my dishy escort.

  Ian’s face lights with recognition. “Of course! You mentioned being offered an interesting job opportunity by someone in public relations a few weeks back.”

  Someone in public relations? Hee! Ian playing dumb about me having a history with Alex is a stroke of genius as it suggests I thought our time together wasn’t even worth mentioning to him.

  “Alex Farr,” my ex introduces himself in a clipped tone while offering his hand to Ian. “Pinnacle PR, former soulmate of Nessa’s.”

  Oh, boy, here we go with Alex’s competitive streak. He had to drop his pet name for me just to let Ian know he gave me one too. And soulmate? Really? I don’t recall ever referring to him as such when we were a couple.

  With an amused twitch of his lips, which tells me that he’s enjoying getting under Alex’s skin, Ian clasps my ex’s hand. “Ian Ellingsworth, Deputy CEO of a little, family-owned auction house you might have heard of, current significant other of the most stunning, natural redhead on the planet.”

  Alex’s jaw clenches, and I don’t have to guess why since Ian just implied he’s seen me naked and knows that the carpet matches the drapes. It’s one thing to be told your ex is romantically involved with someone else; it’s quite another when you’re given intimate details about their relationship and your brain is suddenly flooded with carnal images of the two. I know because I just went through a similar experience when Astra shared way too much with me about her and the-man-who-turned-out-to-be-Alex’s sex life. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be able to get on an elevator again without their tryst in Vegas popping into my head.

  “Well, that’s something the two of you have in common then, superb taste in women,” I say jokingly as Alex and Ian continue to give each other a gimlet-eyed stare, neither one willing to break the handshake first. Looks like it’s up to me to throw a figurative bucket of cold water on this manly display of testosterone.

  “Don’t you
have an important phone call to make, Alex?” I prompt. “And Ian, it’s been a long night. I’d really like to get out of here.”

  “So that we can go back to my place and celebrate your award in our own special way?” This question is accompanied by a look so heated I have to glance down to confirm that my clothes haven’t melted off my body. If there was an Oscar category for Best Actor in a Fake Boyfriend Role, Ian would be a shoo-in as the winner!

  “Absolutely,” I reply as I snuggle closer to him, wrapping my arms around his torso. “But you’ll be needing both hands for this party, so . . .”

  “Great meeting you, Alec.” Ian drops his hand like it’s a knock off suit made of cheap, scratchy polyester, and I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing over him purposely screwing up Alex’s name.

  “I’ll see you at the meeting with Jax tomorrow,” I tell Alex, who’s got a pinched expression on his face, and give him a finger wave before Ian leads me away.

  “We still hate that guy, right?” Ian asks as we pass the fountain.

  “I’m hovering over mild antipathy at the moment.” Interspersed with increasingly frequent flashes of lust, but I have no intention of admitting that out loud.

  “Was I too tough on him with all the thinly veiled references to the hot sex we’re not having then?” Ian moves forward to open the door to the Taglyan for me.

  “Not at all. He deserved that and more. I want him to think my love life is better than it’s ever been.”

  “In that case, eat your heart out, Alex!” he enthuses with a smirk while I enter the building. As the door closes behind us, Ian says under his breath, “He does have really great thighs, though.”

  I chuckle and smack him on the arm.

  CHAPTER 27

  I walk toward the four-top located on the far side of the canopy-covered lanai, hearing the buzz of conversation coming from the tables I pass by along with splashing from the well-populated pool that’s situated just beyond the row of white umbrellas twenty feet to my right. I would have rather had this conversation with Jax over breakfast when this hotel restaurant wasn’t so crowded and noisy, but Alex thought it best we wait until lunchtime as he was hoping Aimee might have news on Delucca for us by then.

  Alex notices me heading in his direction, so he stands and moves to pull out the white-cushioned chair opposite him. Greeting me with an amused look in his eyes, he says, “I didn’t realize I was going to be having lunch with Viv.”

  “Ha ha,” I say in a deadpan voice because I knew he was going to tease me about my attempt to go incognito. (I’m wearing dark, oversized sunglasses and one of Viv’s scarves wrapped around my head and neck, Grace Kelly-style.)

  “I needed to cover my hair or someone in this restaurant might recognize me and run off to one of the tabloids or entertainment shows to tell them they saw Jax having lunch with a member of the Hart family, who just so happens to be a romance concierge.”

  “Point taken. All covered up like this, everyone in the restaurant will just think you’re some Beverly Hills housewife who’s recovering from a face lift and eye job.”

  “Not what I was going for, but okay . . .,” I mutter as I sit down and take off my sunglasses because my back is to the sun and most of the restaurant’s diners.

  Taking his seat in the chair across from me, Alex says, “I ordered you a Perrier,” and gestures at the glass of sparkling water with a wedge of lime sitting in front of me.

  “No alcohol today?” I refer to the last time we had a business lunch and he said cocktails were a must.

  “I figured you had your fill last night.”

  I did have a few glasses of champagne at the awards ceremony, but I don’t remember feeling or acting tipsy when I was with Alex. Oh, wait, he’s probably thinking that my “celebration” with Ian afterward involved alcoholic beverages as a prelude to sexy times, and he can go right on thinking that because I don’t plan to tell him otherwise.

  Removing the lime and placing it on a cocktail napkin, I say, “Thank you,” and lift my glass in a toast of gratitude to him before bringing it to my mouth for a sip.

  “I’ve been curious about this boyfriend of yours, so I’m glad I got a chance to meet him last night.”

  Are we really going to talk about this? Groan. I thought I’d have Jax here to protect me from any follow-up questions or comments Alex might have, but apparently our client is on movie star time, which means he’ll arrive when he feels like it.

  I swallow my water to give myself a couple of extra seconds to adopt a nonchalant attitude, like my ex-boyfriend meeting the guy I’m fake-dating is something that happens every day and I’m totally cool with it.

  “Ian’s amazing, isn’t he?”

  “He’s tall,” is all Alex is willing to give my S.O.

  “Six-foot-three,” I say dreamily, starting to get into character as a woman who’s completely besotted. “But he’s so much more than his good looks. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

  “He seems very devoted to you.”

  I’m not crazy about Alex’s use of the word “seems” as that makes it sound like Ian’s devotion is some kind of act.

  “He is,” I assure him with a defensive edge to my voice. “And it’s a nice change of pace to have a man in my life who considers me to be his top priority.”

  I’m on shaky ground now because that is a flat-out lie. I am not, nor have I ever been, Ian’s top priority, which is as it should be since we’re not really a couple. I would imagine his list of priorities is: 1) Pleasure 2) Family 3) Business 4) Wardrobe 5) BFF/Fake Girlfriend. At least I’m fairly confident I’d make his top five.

  Rather than take the wriggling piece of bait I just tossed over to him and defend his own bad boyfriend behavior, Alex narrows his eyes at me in an appraising way, which makes me feel squirmy, so I pick up my previously discarded lime and squeeze it into my Perrier.

  “You don’t like lime,” he reminds me, his steel blue eyes still trained on my face.

  “Then why’d you order it for me?” I snap back.

  “I didn’t. It was just the garnish that came with the drink.” Leaning forward on his elbows, he asks, “Is that what you and Ian are to each other: garnish?”

  “Certainly not!” I deny the accusation, my cheeks flooding with warmth because he pretty much hit the nail on the head. “We have a deep and meaningful connection, one that you couldn’t possibly understand—”

  “What I understand is you, and I felt like there was something off about your relationship with Ian when I saw you interacting with him last night. I couldn’t put my finger on what that something was until just now.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, rearranging my silverware because I notice that the fork and spoon are in the wrong order on the right side of my place setting, and also because I need a reprieve from Alex’s penetrating stare, “but you shouldn’t presume to know anything about another couple’s relationship, especially when you’ve just met one of them.”

  “You only caught the tail end of my relationship with Astra, but that didn’t stop you from presuming quite a bit and being very judgmental about it. Turnabout’s fair play, Gingersnap.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I bristle at his use of Ian’s nickname for me.

  “And there it is again.” He points at me.

  “What?” I continue to be at a loss.

  “Passion. When you feel strongly about something, or someone, you get a fire in your eyes that lights you up. That fire’s always been there for your work because you love to play Cupid. It was there every time you looked at me when we were together, and it still flares up when you let your guard down with me and show some real emotion. From what I saw last night, Ian doesn’t spark so much as a flicker in those beautiful eyes.”

  Dammit! Why did I take off my sunglasses? And when did Alex become so perceptive?

  “A fire in my eyes?” Snorting with derision, I pick up my napkin and unfurl it wit
h a snap. “Who knew you were so fanciful?” I spread the white cloth across my lap before asserting, “My ill-fated romance with you can’t be compared to what I have with Ian for one simple reason: I’m not the same person. First love might burn bright and hot, but like a comet, it obliterates everything on impact. When you rise from the ashes, you’re a wiser and more mature person, which will be reflected in your future relationships.”

  “Very profound, which is precisely what I thought when I first heard that pearl of wisdom on your mother’s audiobook, Love Can Be a Bitch, But It Doesn’t Have to Make You One. Does she know you go around plagiarizing her?” Alex queries with a smirk.

  Giving him an incinerating glare, I say, “I was quoting, not plagiarizing, because it was applicable to our situation. I can’t believe you’ve committed her entire backlist to memory!”

  He shrugs. “She’s entertaining as well as insightful, and her advice is solid. What does she have to say about you and Ian?”

  “That’s none of your—”

  “Hey, guys.” Jax flops down in the chair between Alex and me, and I’ve never been so happy to see anyone. Now Alex will have to stop interrogating me about my love life so that we can focus on our client.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” Jax drags his fingers through his still-damp-from-the-shower hair. “The clothes I brought from home are smelling rank since I haven’t had anyone around to wash them for me, so I had to dig through the free stuff Calvin Klein sent.” He looks like he just stepped off a billboard for the brand in black, chunky-soled loafers with the letters “CK” emblazoned in silver atop the strap of the shoe, gray skinny jeans, and a camp-collared shirt with an abstract circular print that’s hanging open over a white V-neck tee. He’s given the ensemble his own swag by rolling up the short sleeves of the shirt and tee to show off his biceps.

  “You look nice,” I tell him, and my compliment is backed up by all of the not-so-covert glances every woman in the restaurant is directing at him. I really do think the man oozes pheromones. Our waitress, who hasn’t bothered to check on our table at all since I’ve been here, suddenly materializes.