Sins

by Lee, Nadia

  “So he had to go. The last thing I want is for him to lose because of me.” I smile and prop an elbow on the back of the sofa. “Hey, I have good news. I found a job!”

  “Ooh, something to do with music because of that video Byron posted? It went viral in Europe. I told everyone I met the pianist was you.”

  I flush. “Oh my gosh.” But it’s so like Julie. I swear she’s prouder of my musical ability than I am.

  “Some of them didn’t believe me. Jerks. Like, why would I lie about that? Anyway, forget the idiots and tell me about your job!”

  “It has nothing to do with music. I’m an assistant at the Pryce Family Foundation.”

  “You mean…the Pryce Family, like you’ll be working for Elizabeth King?”

  I nod.

  Julie’s eyes grow wide. “Holy shit. That’s a big deal.”

  “It is?”

  “If you end up working for her long-term, you’re going to go places. She knows everyone in the world—all the politicians and ambassadors and stuff—and everyone loves her. I think even Byron had a bit of crush on her way back when. She has everything a man could want—looks, pedigree, money, connections, personality… Her marriage broke a million male hearts,” Julie says, putting a hand over her own heart dramatically. “But you couldn’t have been spending all your time job hunting. This is L.A.! Have you met anybody hot? Maybe even considered doing him?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

  My mind drifts to Tony. The most arresting, magnetic and confusing man I’ve ever met. I don’t know if he really feels any kind of sexual attraction for me, since he hasn’t made a move after the kiss. Can a single phone call kill lust for days? Or is he still embarrassed about calling me Ivy by mistake? Regardless, he’s been super helpful and friendly, and he touches me constantly, every chance he gets—massages, little squeezing of the shoulders and arms and hands—but is that really attraction?

  Julie snaps her fingers. “I know that look! Tell me! Who is he? Anybody I know?”

  “Well… This, uh, guy…”

  “Oh, come on! Name? What does he look like? Pictures? Is he rich? Young? Hot? Good in bed?”

  I raise a palm to stop the flood of questions. “Tony. That’s his name. I ran into him at Hammers and Strings, then at a reception Sam threw, and, you know…”

  “Keep going. Give me all the deets. Tony who? Anybody famous?” She leans closer. “A movie star?”

  “Blackwood. I don’t know if he’s famous, but he’s definitely not a movie star.”

  Suddenly, all the humor vanishes from Julie’s face. “Tony Blackwood? You mean Anthony Blackwood?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s his real na—”

  “Oh, shit. Does Byron know?”

  Why is she being so weird? “No. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.” Even if I did, why would I tell him about Tony? Why does Julie think I should?

  She leans forward. “Are you guys sleeping together?”

  “What? No!” Am I protesting too much? We didn’t sleep together, but we might have if not for that call.

  “But you said ‘Tony.’ He only lets his family and closest friends call him that. I read on a gossip site that not even his exes are allowed to call him Tony. If they do, he corrects them, saying his name is Anthony. A little odd, right?”

  From the very beginning, he asked me to call him Tony. In light of what Julie’s saying, it is odd. He and I were strangers then…

  “Anyway, I guess if you really want to date him, it’s okay, but…” She looks at me like she can’t decide if she should say more.

  “What? Spit it out.” The suspense is killing me.

  “He and Byron, like, hate each other. And he has certain rep. Like, he’s cold and probably, uh, a little deviant.”

  “Deviant?” My stomach is fluttering as I wait for the other shoe to drop. “In what way?”

  “He never, ever dates blondes. It’s always some brunette with dark eyes.”

  Marty said the same thing. I dismissed it, assuming he was being his usual asshole self, but having Julie say it is different. “That’s just a preference. I thought you meant in bed or something.”

  “There’s more. His latest girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend—tried to kill herself over him. It was all over the gossip rags.”

  No way. I haven’t heard that, but then, I don’t read tabloids the way Julie does.

  “He was dating Audrey Duff, who you have to admit is stunning.”

  Audrey Duff is a rising star, and is known for her sultry, voluptuous look. And now I hate her.

  “He dumped her after a month. The rumor is he did it because she bleached her hair.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Nobody dumps someone over their hair color!”

  “The timing works out.”

  “So if I belch after listening to Chopin, Chopin’s the reason I belched?”

  “Oh, fine! But you know it’s weird anyway. That poor woman. She must love him to attempt to kill herself over him.”

  “More like she needs some serious therapy. It isn’t normal.” Poor Tony, having to put up with this kind of nonsense. Is this what that call was about? If so, no wonder he was weird and closed off afterward.

  “True love. But that’s not all to this drama. He totally ignored the entire incident. No statement, not even a basket of flowers to wish her a speedy recovery. It’s like he just…doesn’t care.”

  I doubt that. Just because you don’t publicly react to something doesn’t mean you don’t have any feelings about it. “So what happened to her?”

  “Nothing. She survived, and I heard she’s going to costar in a new movie with Ryder Reed.”

  Maybe she got the help she needed. Or… “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that kind of stuff. You know how the tabloids are.”

  “But—”

  I wave a hand, not interested in any more pointless gossip about Tony and his mentally unstable ex. “If it makes you feel better, Tony’s been nothing but a gentleman.”

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I manage a smile. If it was someone other than Julie, I might doubt their sincerity. But Julie’s an amazing friend, the kind who is happier than you for your good fortune and who sheds more tears than you over your setbacks. “Thanks. But so far, he’s been great, and you know how cautious I am.”

  She sighs. “I know. That’s why I’m worried. Careful people tend to fall harder. And you’ve been so picky about who you date.”

  Maybe she’s right, but I don’t want to dwell on it because—short of her telling me he’s a murderer—how I feel about Tony isn’t going to change. “What pieces were you working on in Moscow? You did more than just hanging out with hot Russian men, right?”

  Julie perks up and launches into a long, involved explanation of how she reinterpreted Tchaikovsky’s concerto. I listen and nod. But her comment that careful people tend to fall harder circles faster and faster in my head until I barely register a word she’s saying.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Anthony

  I pick a fancy steakhouse for the celebratory dinner, the kind of place you see in noir films where men dine, drink and smoke a cigar or two afterward. There’s even a baby grand piano.

  The dress code is formal, so I’m in a crisp suit and freshly laundered white shirt. I didn’t bother with a tie, opting to leave the first two buttons undone.

  Iris is gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking in a pale cream cocktail dress and silver heels that flatter her figure and accentuate her beautiful curves. I’m not the only guy who thinks so. Several men turn their heads to check her out.

  She sidles closer, and I pull her tighter to me. They can look until their eyeballs freeze. She’s mine and I’m never letting her go, not this time.

  “I feel like I should puff a stogie or something,” she says as we’re seated at a table set away from the rest of diners, but with a direct view of the piano.

  I laugh. “Unfortunately, no smoking inside.”

/>   “This place is so glamorous. It makes me feel glamorous.”

  I smile, half indulgent, half tender. Her good mood is infectious. “I’m glad. I thought this would be the place for the celebration.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “When I want to have a nice steak, relax and think, yes.”

  “Think? You don’t come here with company?”

  I shake my head. “You’re the first.”

  Pleasure shines in her eyes, and the flush colors her cheeks like blooming flowers. I wish I could capture this moment forever because she’s achingly beautiful.

  “Anything in particular you recommend from the menu?” she asks.

  “Everything’s great as long as it’s steak.”

  She looks at the menu. “Everything’s huge, too.”

  “Order what you want. You don’t have to finish it. But we’re definitely having cheesecake, so save some room. This place has the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Deal!” She orders the smallest filet mignon. I get a porterhouse and ask her preference in wine.

  “Anything’s great as long as it’s red,” she says. After a quick perusal, I select a burgundy from France I had earlier this year. The vintage is great—berries and oak and nuts with a hint of rose at the end. Iris should enjoy it.

  Our waiter brings out a bottle quickly. I approve it after a taste.

  Iris lets out a soft mmm after a sip. “This is amazing.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “Tony…thank you,” she says after finishing the first glass.

  “What for?”

  “If it weren’t for your help, I’d still be staring at a blank Word doc, wondering what I’m supposed to put on a résumé.”

  Her gratitude makes me squirm, since I didn’t do it entirely for her. But I can’t tell her that. “My pleasure. If I had a suitable opening at my company, I would’ve given it to you without bothering with a résumé, but…the one I have isn’t really for you.”

  “I wouldn’t take a pity job, so I’m glad you didn’t. When I told Sam I was going to get a job, I didn’t mean a job I don’t qualify for through some connection.”

  She’s going to be pissed when she finds out you talked with Elizabeth.

  Obviously, I’m not going to tell her. Besides, Elizabeth said she wouldn’t hire Iris if she wasn’t qualified.

  “What opening do you have at your company, anyway?”

  “Bartender.”

  “Oh! You should’ve said something. I’m actually pretty decent at it. When I was in Germany, I met this girl who was a bartender, and she taught me a few things.”

  “Iris. If you were the Goddess of Bartending, I wouldn’t have given you that job.”

  A couple of blinks, then she pulls back, her spine straightening. “Why not?”

  “You know what makes a great bartender?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Making a tasty drink fast? Getting the order right?”

  “Any competent bartender does that. A great bartender is a great conversationalist. They get people to talk and flirt.”

  “And?”

  “And…I don’t want anybody flirting with you.”

  Surprise flickers over her lovely face. “Really?”

  “Do you have any idea what bastards some of the men who come to my clubs are?”

  She shakes her head.

  “They’re terrible players. Unfit to be in your company.” It’s not quite true. Almost all the people who come to my clubs behave. And they aren’t dicks. But they do get flirty and a little too touchy-feely when they have too much alcohol. Many bartenders don’t mind too much as long as they don’t cross the line because they tend to tip outrageously. But I’ll be damned if anyone’s going to touch Iris.

  “What kind of clubs do you run again?” she asks, amused.

  “The absolute best.”

  “Is that so? You have yet to take me to any of them.”

  “Just say the word.” Now that I’ve decided to accept my feelings for her rather than fight or doubt them, I want to show her everything I have. I want to prove to her I’m a man who’s worth her time and more.

  “I’m going to have to check with Julie and see when she can find time to come with us. Is that okay?” she asks.

  “Sure.” She can bring an entire entourage if that’s what she wants.

  After we’re served our steaks, a pianist sits at the baby grand. I’ve just cut a bite when the man starts Grand Galop Chromatique.

  Iris winces a little.

  “What’s wrong? The food not to your liking?” I ask.

  “No, it’s fine. Probably the best steak I can remember having.”

  “Then…?”

  She hesitates, then says, “It’s the music.” She glances toward the piano, then starts coughing.

  I pat her on the back. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she says hoarsely, then takes a quick sip of wine. “That’s him.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy at Hammers and Strings. The real reason Byron’s video is out there. Byron took me to the store, saying maybe I wanted something other than the Yamaha upright he has at his place.”

  That asshole. Trying to worm his way into her bed with a piano! It’s so fucking obvious. “Don’t tell me you let him buy one for you.”

  She shakes her head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t take something that expensive from anybody. Anyway, he”—she tilts her head in the pianist’s direction— “was there, and being really rude. He was criticizing his girlfriend and the store clerk, going on and on about how stupid and ignorant they were. And get this. In order to show off? He started Grand Galop Chromatique.”

  I laugh, knowing the technical difficulty of the piece.

  “Normally I wouldn’t care if he was abusing the damper pedal and banging on the keys like a donkey on crack. But since he was so horrible and condescending, I was annoyed enough to demonstrate how it should sound.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s supposed to be a bravura panty-dropper, not a bravura migraine-inducer.”

  Everything inside me freezes, and the laughter dies an abrupt death. “Bravura panty-dropper” are the exact words Ivy used to describe Grand Galop Chromati—

  Suddenly, Iris’s wine glass is snatched off the table, and the burgundy tossed in her face. The red vintage drenches her, plastering her hair to her skull and forehead, then dripping down her cheeks and chin to fall on her white dress.

  What the fuck…?

  “You bitch!” Audrey is towering over Iris in a skintight scarlet dress, her brown eyes flashing murder. “I knew it!” She lunges forward, her long, manicured nails ready to claw the skin off Iris’s face.

  I explode out of my seat and grab Audrey’s wrists, flinging her away before she can do any real damage. She stumbles and falls against a man behind her; he backs up out of reflex, and she lands awkwardly on her butt on the floor.

  I turn with a snarl, then stop at the sight of Ryder. Him, too?

  But he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at Iris with a weird combination of shock and recognition etched on every line of his disgustingly pretty face.

  Audrey scrambles to her feet. “You can’t do this to me! Not over her!” She points at Iris.

  A large florid man standing behind Ryder steps forward. I recognize him. Some big-shot agent. “Audrey, honey, stop it.”

  So that’s what this is. Ryder having dinner with Audrey. Just my luck the son of a bitch had to choose this steakhouse out of all the restaurants in L.A.

  “The latest candidate for your humped and dumped club?” I bite the words out.

  Finally, Ryder turns to me. “For God’s sake, Anthony, I’m married,” he says, his voice bristling with frustration and angry humiliation. “Audrey’s a costar.”

  I can feel Ivy’s gaze on me and Ryder. I hate it that she met him. I hate it that he met her. Was studying her like he knows her.

  The infuriating memory of what he did to Lauren swirls in m
y head like a hurricane. Never again will I allow him near anything of mine.

  “Why are you doing this? You’re the only one I love! You know that!” Audrey says in a theatrically tragic voice. “I almost died for you!”

  Ryder glares at her. “Shut up, Audrey.”

  “You can’t talk to me that wa—”

  “I can talk to you anyway I like. Ralph?” The agent takes Audrey’s elbow in a meaty hand and pulls her back.

  Ryder turns to Iris, searching her face. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry.” He takes a clean napkin from an empty table and starts to approach.

  Over my dead body. I block him, putting an aggressive hand on his chest. “Stay the fuck away from her.” The only thing holding me back from turning his face into bloody meat is that he hasn’t thrown the first punch.

  He’s looking like he can’t decide between an apology or defending himself. I almost wish he’d just punch me. Spit in my face. Anything so I’d have an excuse.

  “Anthony, come on.” He doesn’t call me Tony anymore because he knows he’s no longer in that special circle of people.

  “You don’t get to touch her. Don’t even think about her. If you’re dying to help”—I sneer the word—“control your fucking date.” I pull a handkerchief out and start drying the wine on Iris’s face. “I’m sorry,” I say. Next time I’m renting the entire restaurant.

  “It’s not your fault, Tony. I can do it.”

  I let her take the cloth, violent rage boiling inside my chest.

  Iris adds, “I’m fine,” in an attempt to defuse things.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not,” I say, even though I know my temper isn’t helping.

  “Call me and I’ll have the dress replaced,” Ryder says, offering Iris a card.

  I knock it away. “Fuck off.”

  “Anthony—”

  “You’re so transparent, it’s sick.” Unbelievable that he thinks I’m going to let him near Iris after what he did to Lauren. Does he think I’m still that gullible and stupid? Does he think I give a damn that he’s married now? Loyalty and friendship mean nothing to a man like him.

  Audrey reaches out a beseeching hand. “Tony, stop! You’re making a mistake!” Overacting as usual.

  “You don’t get to Tony me. You were dead to me the moment you pulled that ‘attempted suicide’ stunt. Maybe it’s some kind of Hollywood disease that makes you people think anyone gives a damn about your theatric bullshit. But no one does.” I look her dead in the eye. “Stick to your fake life in front of the cameras. You do it better than the real version.”