by Lulu Astor
His left brow arches. “What’s the smile for?”
“I was just thinking how much I like being with you.”
Now he smiles, his eyes alive with affection. “Well, the feeling happens to be mutual.”
We sip our drinks and I look around. It’s nearly the dinner hour so the bar is relatively quiet. Yes, I can see Ian’s point about not coming here last night—not for what he had planned anyway. His deep voice interrupts my wayward thoughts.
“Ella, in all likelihood, I’ll have to go back to Portland tomorrow.”
I nod, disappointed but expecting it.
“I’d like to have an honest discussion with you about where we stand right now… in terms of you and I, our relationship, if that’s what it is.”
“Okay.” My heartbeat begins to take flight. I wasn’t sure we even had a relationship. Ian never wanted anything but a sexual arrangement with me—in the past, anyway. I always thought he didn’t consider me good enough for a genuine romance. I should just ask him. My voice falters but eventually I spit it out. “I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in a relationship… at least not with me.”
His expression freezes with astonishment. “Why would you think that, Ella?”
I shrug. “Because you only ever offered me a sexual arrangement. I figured that’s all you wanted with me.”
“I… no, that’s not true. If it ever was, it’s no longer true, anyway.” He seems to be taking his time, considering his words carefully. “I’m not very comfortable… I’m used to setting the parameters of my… intimate… relationships and knowing exactly what to expect. With you… well, it’s very different. I’d appreciate knowing how you see me, where I fit, I suppose, in your life.”
“I’m not sure either, Ian. Last time what wrecked everything was the… well, you know what. I remain uninterested in exploring that part of the lifestyle you’re attracted to. If my reluctance is a deal breaker then I suppose we don’t have much of a relationship.”
“And if it’s not? A deal breaker?”
“Then I’m in,” I say, feeling a spot of heat on each cheek. It’s hard to talk honestly with someone you’re involved with—especially if that someone is as intimidating a presence as Ian Blackmon.
He nods. “Are we exclusive then?”
I glance up to scrutinize his face: he looks serious and even a bit anxious. “I… uh… would prefer a relationship that is exclusive. How about you?”
“Absolutely. So can we agree on this aspect?”
“Yes, I can agree to that—happily. What about,” I drop my voice to a soft whisper, “the BDSM? Where does that fit into the picture?”
“It can fit in wherever you want it to fit in. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable doing, Ella. How does that sound?”
He looks so sweetly sincere as he waits for my answer that I can’t keep from jumping up to embrace him. He wraps his strong arms around my waist and I hold his face in both my hands and kiss his beautiful lips. “That sounds perfect, Ian, absolutely perfect.”
He smiles and kisses my hand. We finish our drinks, listening to the piano player and then escape to our room, spending the rest of the night in bed, touching and tasting each other leisurely. As far as evenings go, it ranks up there with the crème de la crème.
Ian leaves New York the next morning and I allow myself a half hour to cry because I begin to miss him the second he walks out the hotel room door. Terribly. The room seems desperately lonely without his commanding presence.
I’m meeting Mo at one o’clock and my taxi is stuck in midtown traffic. “I’ll just get out here and walk,” I say to the driver, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. The fare is fifteen dollars and change, and I’m not sure the tip is big enough, considering I left him stuck in a traffic jam but I hope it is. “Thanks.”
Mo’s office is on 57th street and I get out on 51st so I just need to walk six blocks—in the rain. Luckily I have my umbrella. I’m rushing to cross a street before the light changes when my cell phone starts singing. Checking the caller, I see it’s Lucien.
“Lucien, hello. What’s up?”
“Ella, some not so good news, I’m afraid. I just got a call from Maya St. Sauveur. She’s in Venice and apparently cannot leave until some legal matter can be cleared up. I’m stuck in Paris for the next 48 hours at least. Maya claims that if her legal matter takes much longer than two days, she might not have time to go to New York. She’s due in Bali for a wedding early next week. This interview is proving to be a massive pain. Is there any way you can get to Venice to do the interview? You can take Gerard, my cameraman, and just knock out the interview that way.”
“I suppose I can do that. I’m meeting my agent now and then I have no other business in New York. If I could get a flight out tonight, I might be able to pull it off.”
“Ah, so good to hear. I’ll phone Gerard and let him know.”
“Sure. I’ll call the airport as soon as I get back to my hotel.”
“Just to be on the safe side, Ella, I’ll call and buy the tickets for you now… in case the flight gets booked before you get the chance. I’ll call you back or text you with the details.”
“That sounds fine. I’ll speak to you later, Lucien.”
Well. I suppose I’m going to Venice for the first time in my life. If only Ian could accompany me, it would be grand. Not only will going to such a romantic city alone be a bit pathetic but then I’ll also have to deal with Ian’s inevitable wrath. I glance at my watch: he’s still in the air so I can’t call him. I’ll text him after my meeting.
“Ella! It’s so good to see you. Come, let’s have lunch. My treat.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
“It’s the least I can do considering how much money you’ve made me,” she says with a chuckle. “How about a glass of wine and a Caesar salad?”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
Mo takes me to a small café that boasts of selling only fresh food, locally grown. I observe her as she places her order. I’ve never met her in person before today, handling all our business by fax and phone. The woman is a powerhouse but, physically, she’s tiny. She has dark red hair, big eyes, and a penchant for highly tailored suits, I see. She’s wearing very high heels but I suppose that’s because she’s so petite. Though small in stature, she has a booming voice and a huge personality, as well. I like Mo a lot, I decide all over again.
“Ella, I heard from the film production company last Friday. They’re starting to cast, you know. Beth Furman, the assistant CD, asked me if you would want any weigh-in on the leads since it’s not explicitly stated in your contract—but they don’t want to get your nose out of joint, apparently. I suppose they’re hoping for a sequel,” she snorts.
“I wondered about that. I don’t know anything about casting or film production, in general, but I’d like to get a final approval on their choices, as well as possibly offer them my idea of the characters’ physicality.”
“You describe them in the book,” she points out, breaking a bread stick in half. “That’s what they’re using as a jumping off point. Trust me,” she says, waving the bread stick at me, “they do not want to piss off your legion of fans. The fans are the ones who will pony up the dollars to see this movie; they want them to be pleased as punch with the actors cast in the roles. I think it’s a good idea to give them your take but not to hold their feet to the fire. How does that sound?”
“Fine, Mo.” I tilt my head in consternation. “Do I look like the type to hold anyone’s feet to the fire?”
“No, Ella, you certainly don’t. You also don’t look like the type to write a naughty book so appearances apparently can be deceiving.”
I have to laugh. If she only knew… or does she know? The thought makes my face grow hot. Shit, I’ll bet she knows; Mo looks awfully crafty, I suddenly think, eyeing her suspiciously now.
“How long are you in the city?” She interrupts my miniature panic attack.
“I
’m leaving for Venice tonight, hopefully.” I look at my watch. “I need to hurry.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business. I’m working on a documentary and I just found out the woman I need to tape an interview with is not going to be coming to New York after all. She’s in Venice right now.”
“Oh? What’s the documentary about?”
“It’s about the women—wives and mistresses—of three famous 20th-century painters. The one I’m meeting is the niece… or is it daughter? I think daughter… of one of Picasso’s mistresses.”
“Oh my God. Don’t tell me you’re working with Lucien Phillips?”
“Yes, I am. Do you know him?”
“Not that well—although I’d like to,” she laughs. “I met him at a gallery opening a couple of weeks ago. Talk about eye candy, my God. I see good things in store for you, my girl.”
I blush again. “I doubt my boyfriend would like that very much. He wanted me to turn down the job.”
“I can’t say I blame him. Lucien is hot.”
“So is Ian… my boyfriend.”
“Well, aren’t you the lucky girl. That’s nice for you. Tell me about Ian.”
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly but inside I’m thrilled beyond belief that I get to call Ian mine. Mine! I still can’t believe it. “He’s a businessman in Portland. Wealthy, gorgeous, you know, run of the mill.”
“Let me see: wealthy, gorgeous, Portland, Ian. Okay, you’re not going to tell me he’s Ian Blackmon, are you?”
Again, she stupefies me. “How can you possibly know Ian? You live in New York and he’s a businessman from Portland.”
“He used to spend a lot of time in New York City. A lot.” She laughs so loudly that she startles me. “As for how I know him? That, my dear, is something I think I’m going to keep to myself. Suffice it to say, your Ian had sown a reputation among the ladies. But I’m sure that’s all in the past now that he’s met you.” She winks.
“It had better be,” I say, but I can feel my heart sag inside my chest. I hope Ian isn’t planning on bringing me more heartbreak because I’m just not up for it these days.
After saying goodbye to Mo, I go back downtown to my hotel. As soon as I get there, I check the tickets that Lucien purchased for me, and then text Ian to let him know what’s going on. Texting is much better than phoning him since I won’t have to hear the displeasure in his voice if he gets pissed off about it. I snort. Not if but when. Exactly fifty-six seconds elapse between the time I hit send and the time Aretha starts wailing for respect on my cell pone. Oh, shit.
Chapter 17
He is furious. He knew that son of a bitch Phillips was an operator: he could tell he was up to no good right from the start. If there was anything Ian knew, it was human nature. He had the bruises to show for it. Ella picks up the call on the third ring.
“Hey, Ian. How was your flight?”
“Venice, Ella?” He yells so loudly the cab driver jumps in his seat. He makes a gargantuan effort to rein in his anger.
“Phillips told you the woman would be in New York and now he has you traipsing to Italy? What kind of bullshit is he up to? I don’t like it, Ella. You hardly know the man.”
Her loud sigh comes clearly through the phone line. “Ian, please tell me how you really feel—don’t tiptoe around the issue.”
Ignoring her attempt at humor, he continues as if she hasn’t spoken. “Ella, my instincts tell me this guy is up to no good. Tell him you cannot accommodate his request and come home directly. Now.”
“What? No! Ian, you cannot order me around. I’m going to Venice to conduct the interview and then I’ll fly directly to Portland. I just might make it in time to go to Tokyo with you.”
“Are you traveling there by yourself?”
“No. Gerard—the cameraman—is coming with me.”
“Another man you don’t know. You’re basing all of this trust on the word of a single friend with whom you had, at best, a superficial acquaintance. Answer me one question: are you being sensible in your hellbent determination for this job? Tell me, Ella.”
“I don’t have time to argue about it, Ian. I’ll text you when I get there since it will be the middle of the night in Portland.”
“Fine.” He disconnects, not even saying goodbye. Right now, it’s the smart thing to do. Glancing at his watch, he sees it’s too late to go to the office so he decides to head straight home to get some paperwork done there. His housekeeper should have been in this morning, cleaning, organizing, and stocking the refrigerator so he didn’t need to go out again. He leans back into the seat to try to center himself, wishing like hell that Ella was with him now. What would it take to get her to open her eyes about men? She was so naive it bordered on gross stupidity, for God’s sake. She’s a beautiful young woman—she’s going to be prey for every piece of shit lowlife horny bastard out there. She has to accept reality.
Twenty minutes later, the cab pulls in front of his houseboat. He unclips a fifty-dollar bill and hands it to the driver. “Keep the change. Thanks.” The driver hops out of the car to carry his bag to the front of the entrance. Ian nods his thanks.
As soon as he opens the door, he sees her. Can this day get any fucking worse? How the hell did she get into his house? The first thought that crosses his mind is to wonder if the woman is dangerously unstable. If so, he must proceed carefully.
“Hello, Ian. Long time no see.”
Treating her like a wild animal, unpredictable in her behavior—in her case, crazy rather than feral—he slowly puts down his bag, careful not to make any sudden moves lest he provoke an attack. He nods to acknowledge her without saying a word.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
He stands in the hall, still about twenty feet from where she’s sitting. “Alexis, what are you doing in my house?”
“I came to see you, of course. You’ve been avoiding me, Ian, and that’s just not nice.”
“I’m not avoiding you, Alexis. It’s just that you and I have no relationship. You’ve been calling me and I’m not returning the calls because we have nothing to talk about. Do you understand?”
She stands up to move closer to him. “Now, that’s just not fair. We’re friends, aren’t we? I like you, Ian.”
“And you show it by breaking into my house? You do realize that in addition to being insane, it’s also against the law. Correct?”
She takes a moment to admire her lacquered fingernails. “Oh, pish posh, mere technicalities. What’re a few laws between friends? I tried calling you… numerous times, but you never called me back. What else could I do?” She pouts exaggeratedly, her full lips coated in scarlet lipstick.
“How did you get in?”
Shrugging her reply, she flips her long dark hair back behind her shoulders. “I just told the housekeeper I was your sister. She’s new, isn’t she?”
“What do you want, Alexis?”
She glides over to him: she’s wearing a very short black dress with white polka dots and very high black heels… and not much else. He could see her breasts about to spill out of the low-cut décolleté, “I want you of course. What do you think?”
“Alexis, first of all, I’m not interested in you in that way. Second, I happen to be involved with someone right now. And third, I make it a habit never to date women who break into my home.”
She’s now inches away from him. “I think you are interested in me, Ian, but for some reason you’re resisting.
“Okay, look: I’m tired, hungry, in need of a shower, and have an almost insurmountable pile of work to do. Please leave now or I’ll be forced to call the police.”
“Where’s all your usual security, Ian?”
“Right now, they’re on their way,” he bluffs. “They’re coming from my office building where I was supposed to go. Instead I came directly home from the airport. Please leave before they get here and are forced to physically remove you from the premises.”
Putting
her arms on his, she leans into him, pressing her body against him. “Okay, I’m going… for now… but only because I have an engagement. I don’t expect to be ignored.” She leans in to kiss him but he rears his head back and away. She smiles and then releases him.
Without another word, she walks over to grab her purse off the sofa and, slightly unsteady on her heels, walks toward the door, “And by the way, Ian, I really don’t care if you’re involved with anyone or not. I’ve decided that you and I belong together. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“No, Alexis, you will not. Please don’t force me to take legal action against you. Go away and stay away.”
“You’re not being very nice to me. But I’ll forgive you your bad mood this time.” She blows him a kiss on her way out the door.
Sighing, Ian finally exhales, realizing that Jared was right about the houseboat being impossible to secure. He might just have to pull the glass house off the market and move back in there… as long as crazy Alexis is running around. He especially doesn’t want her to get near Ella.
Ella.
He can’t even think about her right now; he’s still too upset. Frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t just up and fly to Venice, he has to sit here in Portland knowing she’s in that romantic city, possibly with Lucien Phillips. He can only hope that she gets back in time to accompany him to Japan. He checks his phone and sees she called earlier. He’d decided to let her stew for a while since he is so angry, it will do neither of them any good to speak. Let’s see what the silent treatment will net him—it’s better than yelling.