Page 13 of Shaman

“Later.”

Ian half-expected to be chased out of the suite, but thankfully wasn’t. Bruce was waiting just in the hall, arms folded, staring down toward the elevator like the dutiful watchdog that he was.

The big man dipped his head in silent greeting and Ian fell into step beside him, shrugging his overcoat into place. “Bruce,” he said, once they were alone in the elevator together. “If you’ll permit me a little unsolicited advice. Don’t ever let anyone convince you love is a worthwhile endeavor.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a low, gray dawn outside, wind funneling down between the buildings, full of tumbling paper scraps and crackly leaves. A hard shiver stole down Ian’s back, and he knew it was partly the chill, but partly his blood sugar. He should have choked down a bit of bagel, at least. He pulled his coat tighter around his throat and wished the damn driver would hurry the hell up and get here. He didn’t–

“Ian,” Alec’s voice said behind him, and he was filled with equal amounts of dread and joy. He just wanted to shake the man off for his own good. But he missed him so terribly it made his teeth hurt.

He turned and found Alec walking toward him, in pajamas and slippers, his black wool overcoat buttoned over it. He carried a paper travel cup in one hand, a bundle wrapped in a paper napkin in the other.

Ian tried to be stern, but his, “What?” came out more affectionate than hostile.

“Here.” Alec came in close, breath puffing into steam clouds in the cold, and held out his offerings. “Coffee and a bagel. Butter instead of cream cheese, like you like.”

“I…”

“Take it, you ass,” Alec said, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful.” He stood up on his toes to press a fast, firm kiss to Ian’s lips. He tasted of coffee with too much sugar: sweet, and tender, and perfect, as always. He leaned in close to whisper in Ian’s ear, after: “Come back here planning to explain the situation to me. No excuses.” When he stepped back, he lifted his brows to drive home the point. “Okay?”

Ian sighed. God, he loved him, and he was so, so afraid of what might happen to him. “Okay.”

~*~

Ian managed to choke down half the bagel on the ride to Breckinridge Models, but regretted it when the same receptionist from the day before escorted him down the hall toward the office. His nausea spiked and he breathed deeply through his nose in an effort to quell it.

Bruce ghosted a hand at his elbow, the most concern the man would dare show him, and it helped some.

“Ready?” the receptionist asked, her smile strained, her hand on the office door. Like maybe she knew he was sweating through his suit and about to lose his meager breakfast all over the polished floor.

“Yes.”

She pushed the door open, and there they were, Lord and Lady Vice.

Ian pulled his Shaman persona on like armor, and stepped in to meet them.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said, and today, forewarned of his identity, she was back to her sly smiles and low-purring voice. When the door was shut and the receptionist was gone, she chuckled and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re looking a little tired, hon. Late night?”

Ian sent her his coldest, sharpest smile and settled into the chair he’d taken yesterday, legs crossed, head lifted at an imperial angle. “Not as tired as that girdle you’ve squeezed yourself into. You don’t honestly think you’re still young enough for that kind of dress, do you?”

It wasn’tthattight, in all fairness, but she wasn’t quite as sleek as she’d been back in the day. Also, being petty and bitchy had become his signature move. And in this case, it earned the desired result: her cheeks darkened with embarrassment and she tried to tug subtly at the short hem of her dress.

Daniel shifted forward in his chair. “Let’s talk numbers. No sense dragging this out.”

“Yes, I agree. I have a number for you: zero. That’s how many ounces I’m going to sell to you, but I’d be happy to direct you to one of my retailers.”

Daniel snorted.

“The Lean Dogs MC do most of my dealing for me these days, and you’re in luck because there’s a chapter here in New York. I’ll be happy to put you in contact with them if you’d like.”

Rebecca made a face. “We’re not dealing with white trash bikers. End of story.”

“Alright then.” Ian got to his feet. “Thank you very much for wasting my morning.”

There was a soft ding: an email notification from a cellphone. Daniel held up a finger and fished out his phone with his free hand. “Just a sec. I think you’ll want to see this.”

Ian had never been more grateful for his natural British stiff upper lip. He was trembling inside, but outwardly he could feel that his face remained disdainful and bored. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d been standing in the hallway of the house where Miss Carla lived, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, caught between wanting to snap her neck and being completely unable to.

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