Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (21 page)

“I’m sure she’s already suitably impressed by you, Mr. Jeffries. But we can put something together that will suit.” Despite my disappointment that it’s not Ian on the line, this is huge.

Mega huge.

“Call me Mick, sweetheart. All my friends do.”

A charmer, indeed. “Of course.”

“Your brother will be in it?”

My insides thrum. Ian didn’t spread the word about Noah’s background, then? “He plays the lead role in this series.”

“Perfect. He was fantastic. I look forward to seeing him again.”

I manage to subdue my squeal. “Excellent. Let’s figure out a date that works for your dinner, and we’ll schedule a time to go over details.” It occurs to me after the fact that this guy’s a massive celebrity. He probably doesn’t do meet-and-greets; he’ll want things perfect the first time.

But he surprises me with his answer. “Sure. Let me check my calendar.”

We haggle over dates—well, really, he gives me times, and I groan in frustration when each one is already booked.

“You guys need to expand your forces. You’re too good to do it all yourselves.”

“We’re working on it.” And booking a party for him will help, so the next date, I swear, I’m going to move heaven and earth to make work.

And thankfully, it does.

We make plans to meet this week for the itinerary planning, and he gives me his private home address, which alone feels elite.

I’m giddy with excitement when I get off the phone, and Noah stares at me with questions in his eyes. “We’re putting on a show for the president?”

“Even better: Mick Jeffries wants us to do a private show.”

His eyes sparkle. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And he asked if you were going to be in it again. He really liked your performance.”

Noah’s smile widens. “This is incredible.”

While everything going south with Ian tore me up, I’d be lying if I didn’t also find myself stewing on the fact I lost a shot at booking shows with his guests. Several of them expressed interest in contracting Elementary, so when I heard nothing, I just assumed he’d told them about the theft.

I haven’t heard from Ian since the day I spoke to him in his office. What was there to say, really? We never heard from the police or saw anything about the theft in the paper. Fiona had sent me an email a few days later, linking me to a short article detailing the brutal beating of Casey Udall, suspected to be related to gambling debts. I followed the news on him after that, and apparently, he made a full recovery, but they haven’t caught the perpetrators yet.

Ian, however, had been out of the limelight, perhaps because Mick’s new love is by his side in every photo now. In fact, the only thing I find on Ian is a candid photo of him at one of Mick’s movie premiere after-parties, a beautiful red-head on his arm.

So that was that.

Mick’s Manhattan apartment is not that far from Ian’s, which doesn’t surprise me. After all, they are close. But where Ian’s is relatively compact in comparison, Mick’s place is massive and sprawling, the top two floors of a luxurious apartment complex.

Mick actually meets me at the door, another unexpected gesture.

He takes my hands and busses my cheek. “So good to see you.”

“You as well. It’s a thrill to do this for you.” I hand him the folder with our logo emblazoned on the front—an artistic rendering of Sherlock’s famous deerstalker cap set jauntily atop a wine glass—that contains all of the ideas and plans for the evening. Noah and I went all out, calling boutique caterers that only work for the upper crust, booking our favorite band, and even checking into unique props. We want to make this signature event personalized to Mick, so I’m hoping to get all the nitty gritty details today, as well as keep a few surprises up my sleeve for the actual dinner.

He makes us coffee, and we venture into a glorious corner room, surrounded by massive windows that look out over Central Park. Weak, early-March sunshine pushes through the clouds, and a roaring fire keeps us toasty. Sitting at a small table, we go over the plans, discuss the layout of the stage, and debate menus. While he’s particular about the tone of the evening, he’s open to ideas, and we end up laughing our way through a second cup of coffee.

“You are not at all how you appear in interviews.” I say it off the cuff, not really thinking through how the statement could be construed.

He sips his Americano and shrugs. “The media never tells the truth. They tell a version that they think will sell.” He eyes me, as though gauging his next words. “They did that to Ian, you know.”

I stare down into my cup, my face warming at the topic change. Without meeting his gaze, I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I probably shouldn’t put my foot in this—it’s up to you guys to work it out. But he told me a little about why you broke up.”

“It’s not really breaking up when you’ve only been together a week.”

Mick waves a dismissing hand. “Doesn’t really matter how long it was. The point is that it happened over a lie that the media has happily fueled.” He sighs and pushes his cup between his hands. “And he won’t tell you the truth because he’s bound by a promise, and he’s too good a man to break that.” His chair creaks as he shifts his weight. “I’m not under any such obligation, however.”

His tone turns hard, and I meet his sky blue eyes.

“Mia Tratori is gay.”

I’m pretty sure my chin bangs against the floor. But since I’m still sitting here slack-jawed, I can’t be sure. “You’re kidding.”

Mick wags his head. “Nope. Girl hasn’t liked cock ever. Mind you, she puts ‘straight’ on like a fashion-forward coat. We went a few rounds in the hay back when she first showed up on the scene. We were both drunk, met at a party, and that’s how those things go. But it wasn’t much fun for either of us, the little bit I can remember. So when those two got together, I had misgivings, but Ian’s a big boy. He can figure shit out on his own.”

I’m too lost on the whole “Mia is gay” thing to even be amused by his bald language. “Wait, so she was never really into him?”

Mick leans on the table, the thick sinews of his toned forearms tightening. “I think they tried. Really. She’s a smart girl, likable if you don’t get in too deep. But she’s living a con, and I think it started a long time ago. It’s hard to be honest with those you love if you aren’t honest with yourself.”

“What happened? How’d Ian find out?”

“The way people always do. Found some sexy texts, blew ‘em off. Came home early to surprise her and walked in on her with two other women. Other well-known models, as it turned out.”

I shake my head, not able to get my head around the news. “Oh God. That must’ve been awful.”

“Nearly destroyed him. He loved her. Not sure I ever could figure out why. But there was something vulnerable about her, something that spoke to a certain brokenness. Whatever it was, he lost his head over the whole thing. Nearly quit his job. Threatened to sell his house and move home.”

“So that’s what his aunt meant.” When Mick looks confused, I explain how I met Rheanna. “She said he’d ‘had a rough year,’ and I just figured it was the break-up with Mia. I didn’t know all the details.”

“Oh, it was more than a year. He found out about her being gay about two years ago. They were pretending to be a couple for the last year of their relationship. I think they tried the ‘open’ relationship thing, which, while that can work for some people, doesn’t work for Ian. He’s not built that way. When he loves somebody, that’s it. He’s loyal to a fault.”

“I’m assuming she took their ‘open’ relationship seriously?”

Mick nods. “Mind you, wouldn’t come out publicly. Too afraid it would ruin her reputation, and she’d just gotten the cover for
Sports Illustrated
. No way was she going to risk that. So yeah, now that she had someone on the inside who knew the truth, she claimed she didn’t have to hide from him anymore. She even tried to get him in on the act.” Mick shakes his head, a bit of sorrow in his expression. “Most men getting in the sack with two women—dream of a lifetime. Ian? He was miserable.”

I can only put myself in his shoes, and the devastation he must have felt… “Why are you telling me this?”

Mick levels those baby blue eyes at me, the ones that women swoon about on YouTube and Facebook. “Because he’s in love with you. But he feels like he has no way to reach you because you believed the media over him.”

“He didn’t tell me any of this.”

“I know. I told him that, too.” He sighs, his frustration obvious. “He promised Mia he’d never tell anyone about her sexual orientation, and he feels that breaching that, even to you, would be wrong. I, however, am not under any such code, and my morality has never been up to Ian’s snuff, anyway.” He grins, and I get a private showing of what many never get to see of this handsome, charismatic man: who he really is. “Ian’s my best friend. We grew up too privileged to know we were lucky. But he’s never let that get to him. He’s everything I wish I could be, and I’ll be damned if I let him throw away a good thing because someone else used his goodness against him.”

He excuses himself to brew more coffee, and I sit there, stunned and reeling. I’ve spent the last month regretting getting involved with someone who would only hurt me in the end, while still mourning the loss of any chance Ian and I might have had. But I thought I at least knew the facts. While I couldn’t argue with Noah that judging someone by past wrong-doings isn’t always fair, having had my heart ripped out once before, I couldn’t take that chance again.

I’m lost in thought when Mick rejoins me and tops off our mugs, and I look up at him. “So the cheating with the woman on the beach, the one that made the press—that was all part of their ‘open’ relationship?”

He shrugs. “At that point, things were over anyway. It just hadn’t come out publicly. And of course, Mia made the most of out of it, ensuring she looked like the injured party. And really, the media was good for her career. Nothing like a jilted lover story to bring around public sympathy and interest. Wouldn’t do shit for Ian either way, so he let her have it.”

My breakup with Jonathan was brutal enough; I can’t imagine having to experience it with prying eyes and wagging tongues. “I don’t know what to say.”

Mick lays a light hand on my forearm, and his quick grin helps stymy my emotions. “Look, I don’t know you. But I saw you two together…it was the first time in several years he looked happy. So I’m sticking my nose in here hoping something good might come of it.”

“I get the impression he’s already moved on. I saw the photo of him at
The Last Man
’s premiere.”

Mick barks a laugh, his eyes shining. “That’s my sister, Ella.”

I cover my nose with my hands. “Oops.”

He chuckles. “Believe me—those two can barely stand each other some days. He just served as her escort that night.”

My worry appeased, we sit for a few moments, sipping hot coffee, while the fire snaps and crackles beside us.

“Do you really want Elementary for your special dinner, or was this just a lure to talk to me?” I’d rather know than risk not living up to any romantic plans he would prefer for his current conquest.

“Fuck no. I want to know what happens to Liam and Adrienne—I refuse to believe she really died.” He winks. “And I’m dating a woman who loves mysteries—can’t seem to get enough of them. So this seems like the perfect thing to do for her.”