Mogul

by Katy Evans

  Shit, did I really forget she was standing there gaping?

  “Does your friend want a ride?”

  “Becka, get over here.” I wave her forward. “Becka, this is Ian.”

  She seems tongue-tied as they shake hands. “I don’t need a ride, thank you.” She sounds all mousy and sweet with Ian, but then pulls me to the side and gives me a giddy-shocked death glare.

  “Bitch!”

  “I know.” I groan as I peek at Ian behind me. “He’s taken, okay?”

  “By you?”

  “No. He’s married, remember—but getting divorced. And I’m next.” I kick her feet with a grin, then tell her, “Now tell me about this guy.”

  “I can’t, he’s waiting for me—” She points across the street, where now it’s my turn to gape at the figure leaning on a lamppost, watching us. Tall and lean, with sandy, messed-up hair, wearing jeans and a leather jacket and a silver cuff around his wrist.

  “Who is he?” I murmur.

  “My hero. More like antihero. You’ll read all about it in my book if I can even get my bitch muse back.” She smirks and waves me off. “I’ll be in touch, I promise.” She heads across the street to the gorgeous guy, who I almost suspect is some sort of movie star. He seems oddly familiar.

  Seeing him smirk at her as she reaches him, I watch them in curiosity while I walk back to the car and climb in the passenger seat. “How’s my favorite little pooch?” I reach back and scratch behind Milly’s ear.

  She licks my palm, and I giggle. Aware of my Hot Workaholic watching me with a smile on his lips, my whole body turns warm. I don’t know if this casual dating thing is working for me.

  My feelings for my Dirty Workaholic have never been casual at all.

  Worrying about it, especially after what my mother went through, I’m concerned his wife may be going through the same pain despite her being the one who betrayed him. I ache to know that it’s over so that I can feel more certain about Ian’s interest in me. But I don’t want my confused feelings for Ian to dampen my excitement, so I shake that out of my thoughts.

  “How is your Gran and the replacement I sent?”

  “She’s good. They’re both good. But I promised I’d steal you away for an evening, and today seems as good a day as any.”

  I sigh happily and stroke the back of Milly’s ear. “I’m so glad to see you two.”

  “Hard day?”

  “Awful. But I made it.” I grin.

  He tips my chin back. “Of course you did,” he says, his eyes gleaming with pride and something else, something unreadable.

  His jaw squares as he squeezes it, turning his attention to the road.

  He stops me by my apartment so I can quickly shower and change out of my sweaty clothes, then we head to SoHo and have dinner with Mrs. Ford. During dessert, Mrs. Ford asks the most pressing question of all.

  “How is the divorce coming along, Ian, dear?”

  Ian doesn’t hesitate from shoving a forkful of apple pie into his mouth. He munches slowly, looking at her, and then at me, as he swallows and chases it with some wine. “We should sign this month.”

  His dark eyes gleam at me. I feel the look all over. In my sex, my nipples, and somewhere deeper. I pull my gaze free and try not to make eye contact for the rest of the evening.

  I should be happy about his divorce coming through soon, but I’m sick of hearing it’s coming and still, it’s not here yet. What if it never comes?

  He drives me home that evening. The air between us crackles with mutual frustration.

  “Spit it out,” he says as we leave Mrs. Ford’s.

  “You spit it out. I just told you I got the part of my dreams and you said nothing! Speaking of your upcoming divorce doesn’t help my mood one bit.” I sigh.

  I wanted to go back to his place and use his stupid toothpaste again. I know, crazy that doing stuff like that—sharing things with him—gets me off. But there it is. This man is making me lose it. And it’s because I’m losing it that I told him I should go home and rest and wait for my call.

  “The producer of that show is my soon-to-be ex-wife.”

  “What?” I blink. “Oh wow. That blonde bitch from hell?”

  “That’s her.”

  I stare out the window. No wonder the blonde was such a bitch to me. She knows I’m fucking her husband. I feel sick, my stomach clutching as bile rises up my throat.

  “And you knew, Ian!”

  “I didn’t know you were auditioning for her that first time. I found out today.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “She told me.”

  “You still talk to her?”

  He shoots me a get-real look. “I haven’t for a year. It’s over. This was different.”

  “Why?” I cry. I’m jealous and confused and distraught and emotional.

  “Because it was about you,” he lashes.

  “Take me home.”

  “I’m taking you to mine.”

  “No. I said take me home.” I’m scowling now. Enraged, and needing some time to stew on my own. “I thought it was over between you!”

  “For me it is. It’s over, Sara. But I’m afraid she’ll make your life a living hell if you take this part.”

  I shoot him a frustrated, hopeless, angry look. “I won’t let that stop me. It’s my shot, Ian.”

  He mumbles under his breath, shaking his head.

  He drives the rest of the way in silence, and I ride chewing my nails. It’s only until he stops before my apartment, wedging his SUV in between the narrow streets and traffic, that I realize I don’t have my apartment key.

  “I think…Fuck. I forgot my key.”

  His phone rings. “Sorry I’ve got to take this.” He glances at the door of my building, which doesn’t open without my key. “Go inside, I’d rather you not freeze. Yeah?” he barks.

  I head toward the door and ring my apartment number as I text Bryn. Hey. I’m here! Forgot my key! No answer. Bitch, open up, I’m freezing my ass!

  “That’s so odd.”

  Behind me I hear a groan, and a moody, “Stop licking my balls. I’ll stop by—you owe me big time.” He hangs up and I hear, loudly, “Nothing?”

  I turn around. “Nope. Run off. I can handle myself.”

  “Out here in the cold.”

  “Oh, I don’t plan to be out here for long.”

  He heads over, exasperated.

  “She may be at the office. Or with her new boyfriend. I’ll take care of it,” I assure, sticking to my pride.

  Ian glances up and blinks. “Leave you out here in negative-degree weather?” He ponders it and scowls at me. “Nope.”

  My teeth are chattering. His hand comes to grip my arm.

  “All right, sweetheart. Let’s get back in the car.”

  “No. Really. Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Change of plans. You can come.”

  “What gave you the indication that I want to go to wherever it is you’re going?”

  He pauses and looks at me. When he finally speaks, his voice is whisper soft. “Don’t do that.” He frowns and shakes his head.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what,” he growls under his breath.

  I stare past his shoulder as the cold wind slaps us both. He’s frustrated. I’m frustrated. He spoke to his wife today, and I’m so jealous I can’t see straight.

  I got the part of my dreams. And his wife is the producer.

  It’s all messy and complicated and I’m confused and scared. This dating cautiously thing is not working for me. I cannot stop thinking about him. I’m happy. Too happy, when I’m with him. So happy that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to tell me he still loves his wife. That he’s going back to his wife. Maybe his wife even hopes for that. I mean, look at my mom. Everything went to hell. She’d have done anything to get my dad back.

  His wife knows more about him than I
do. Like if he likes… to play Monopoly naked in the middle of the night or something crazy? She has an edge, an advantage over me. What if she cooked his favorite meal when they talked? Or wore his favorite color? And it makes me mad. Because I want this man all to myself and I don’t know if I could bear it if he let me go.

  Will this end leaving me to spend the rest of my life comparing every other guy to him? Crushed and wanting a man who wanted someone else a little more?

  But it’s not his fault that I’m bad at this whole casual thing. It’s not his fault that I… want more.

  I sigh dejectedly. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s Hilton’s birthday.”

  “Hilton?”

  “One of my friends. The one we bumped into at the hotel the other day.”

  “Is it proper for me to be going?”

  “I don’t care if it’s proper. You’re coming with me.”

  Sara

  The club is sizzling when we arrive. It’s on the lower floor of a modern structure encased in glass, invitation only, with tons of classy cars parked outside. All the young and rich in the city are present, without a doubt. I force myself to hold my head high.

  There are women in glittering white dresses, men in stunning black suits and black ties.

  “I’m not dressed for the occasion.”

  “And yet you’re easily the most stunning woman in the room,” he says with a glance that reminds me of the way he made love to me very, very recently. He introduces me to the friends that come to greet him. “This is Sara.”

  His friends look at me in interest as they shake my hand and I shake theirs back. I can tell they’re not used to seeing Ian with someone. Or maybe, with someone else. Especially considering he’s not yet divorced.

  I squirm uncomfortably, but Ian squeezes my hand and I exhale.

  The only way to survive the walk deeper into the room is to hone every bit of my attention, my senses, on the connection of our hands. My legs follow him inside. When we get deeper into the crowded room, the walls enclosing us flash with shimmering waterfalls and lights, synced to the loud music. There are dancers in cages suspended from the ceiling, a fluorescent bar to the right, and a variety of lounge areas where tables greet you, leading into the massive dance floor where there’s hardly room to dance among the moving bodies. Beyond the dance floor, more tables spread out as far as the eye can see. The backdrop is a stunning pair of velvet curtains, which are partly open to reveal a terrace outside.

  Ian talks to one of the guards and points toward the back. As he continues leading me through the crowd, he stops a waiter and orders us drinks. Ian greets a few friends on the way, and all the while, his hand holds mine, saying, I got you.

  I feel safer than I thought I would. I trust him. I took a leap of faith and I trust him. I wonder if he will ever trust me after having had a bad marriage. I vow to myself that somehow I’m going to win his trust, and his loyalty, things a man like him must value.

  With the whole club circling around him, I realize he must not attend these sorts of events that often, because everyone is ecstatic to see him, men and women alike. I feel myself pulled to him like my anchor and my safety and my universe. And yes, there are a thousand eyes inside this place, and a thousand eyes were on Ian as soon as we walked in. I can feel the stares on me, bouncing from him to me, me to him.

  Every fantasy I’ve ever had of finding the right man for me… none of those included the environment. None of those included me feeling as if I don’t quite fit—and yet how can it feel so right to stand beside him?

  The glances are frequent and almost too heavy to stand. I feel judged, and vulnerable, but a lot of those stares—I begin to notice—aren’t mean. They are curious, as though they want to know more, like why we are together. I’m trying to smile and act normal when a young hostess comes to assist us. “Mr. Ford, would you like me to show you to your table?”

  “Ian!” the blond guy we bumped into at the hotel a while ago calls.

  “That’s Hilton,” Ian whispers in my ear, leading the way. Hilton’s date is giving me a frown and Hilton is looking at me like he’s seeing a vision.

  “Well, well, well,” Hilton says. “What are you having?” He jerks his face to my empty hands.

  “Nothing strong enough,” I admit, spreading my arms to show him I got nothing.

  “How about Red Bull and vodka? Goes straight to your head.” He nods in full recommendation, blue eyes twinkling naughtily.

  “I’m not having that. I want to be able to walk into my apartment, thank you.”

  “Yours or Ian’s?” He grins.

  I blush beet red and settle down in the corner of a banquette to leave room for Ian.

  Ian slaps his friend’s back and wishes him a happy birthday. Alcohol is flowing freely, and so is the fun. There’s humming laughter, clinking glasses, and shuffling dresses, and the pounding music coming from the crazy dance floor. I’m enjoying it, drinking it all in.

  “You know Ian has three sides, don’t you?” Hilton baits me. “His good side. His reckless side. And his side you don’t want to see.” He leans over the lap of the girl sitting next to him. “You better thank your stars you didn’t see him when that shit blew up,” he warns.

  My heart squishes in my chest. A female voice calls, “Ian!”

  A strawberry-blonde comes up to him flashing a white smile and looks up adoringly into his face. As the woman turns the full force of her charms on him, I want to be rational. He’s the hottest thing in the room, and being here with me says he is available. But he’s still got a wife. Ugh, this is not normal. But those women want a piece of my Dirty Workaholic, and I’m the greediest of them all. He stands to greet the woman and other people slap his back. Then his dark eyes meet mine and my heart swoons. I smile a little. But that’s when I overhear Hilton’s date complaining about me.

  “Where did he find her? What does she have that’s so special?”

  “Haven’t asked, but if you don’t want to say sayonara to being a good friend of mine, you’d better be nice to Ian’s girl,” Hilton tells her.

  “Who says she’s his official girl?”

  “I don’t know the specifics, but if you ask me, and I’m the birthday boy, she’s his girl tonight and by the way he keeps checking out where she’s sitting, she’ll be his girl tomorrow night, too. In fact, Loki and I have this little bet on how long it’ll last. We don’t remember Ford being this hooked on anyone for a long time,” Hilton says.

  I stand and head to the restroom, where I stare at myself in the mirror. Okay, breathe. You knew this would happen. Not everybody is going to be happy. It doesn’t matter as long as you and Ian are okay. God, but I’d rather stick myself with a fork than endure those bitchy stares and complaints.

  “He’s in the corner, but Cindy said he came in with someone,” a waitress entering the restroom tells another as she enters a stall.

  “What? Who?” the voice in the stall asks.

  Ducking my head after washing my hands, I head back outside and find a guy with curly brown hair at our table, sitting with a beautiful cougar far older than him. She is openly staring at Ian’s ass. Ian is standing near the table as if waiting for me. He smiles as I approach and lets me slide inside the booth, and only then does he slide back in next to me.

  Loud music pulses through the exotic room. Ian’s familiar scent teases my nostrils and I relax a bit. I take a sip of my drink as we lean back, the loud music making it hard to talk. He’s loyal to his friends, I can tell, because they look at him fondly, and that’s why he’s here, but he’s got his hand on my thigh, caressing up and down, slowly, and I think that, just like me, he would rather be alone. Or working.

  He spreads his arm out on the couch behind me and draws me a little closer. He breathes heavily over the top of my head and lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re the hottest thing here, so stop scowling.”

  I laugh. “I don’t know anyone. I’m trying to determine if they’re friend or
foe.”

  “My friends are your friends. My foes, your foes.” He winks, and I laugh as he starts pointing randomly. “Friend. Foe. Friend. Foe.”

  Exhaling as I realize he wants me to know that I’m not in this alone, I scoot closer to him and breathe in his shirt, and I feel the others in the group watch us suspiciously.

  Our eyes meet in the dim light—through the music, the crowd, the drinks—and I’m transported to every evening he’s looked at me like this before. In his townhouse. At his office. Even in room 1103. But there’s an edge to his stare that wasn’t there before. An underlying hunger.

  In the dark his features are classically perfect. His black button-down shirt is tailored for him. He looks incredible, smells incredible; he’s flawless in this room. I keep stealing looks at him, and I inhale a sharp breath when he kisses the top of my head and calls a waiter to our table, ordering more drinks. Women flock to this table. There are a thousand more beautiful women in this room, but in this moment I feel like I’m the only one.

  Hilton stands and makes a speech, thanking everyone for being here on his birthday.

  “Ian! This is for you, for coming to the party!” The girls on Hilton’s side of the table wiggle their hands under their tops and take off their bras and toss them in the air, and my mouth almost pops open in surprise, but thank God I contain myself. Sounds and jeers emanate from all over the room.

  His lips curl in mild amusement but his hand moves on my thigh as if telling me I’m the one, and his eyes lower to rest on me and no one else. Yet I’m entranced as the girls begin to give a little show, dancing together, shimmying their rears.

  I look at them moving, seducing, the look of rapture on the guys’ faces while Ian turns to look at me almost with the same rapture. I feel his inky eyes on my profile and I want to drive him crazy like that. “I can make them stop,” he tells me, quiet but a tad amused.

  “No. I’m wishing I could dance like that for you right now.”

  The amusement fades from his eyes. He shifts. He’s so big and his presence so overpowering, he’s an expert at helping me become invisible when he shields me with his shoulders. “You don’t need to dance like that for me here. Just blush for me the way you do,” he says, smiling at me.