Page 14 of Shaman

That was happening now. His business had never disgusted him before, no matter how illegal or amoral, but the idea of selling drugs to these people – so they could give it to their models – revolted him. He wanted to storm out. Possibly murder them. And also, he knew – heknew– that he couldn’t risk exposing his past to the rest of his clientele. No one really minded that he was extravagant and dandified – but someone who’d worn a collar and cried under men who’d paid to use him…that wouldn’t go over with the mobster and outlaw set. The only people who knew his true story were Kev, Aidan, Ghost, and possibly that big monster Mercy.

And these reptiles who sat in front of him. Who could ruin him.

So when Daniel turned his phone toward him and said, “Here,” Ian walked closer to the desk against his will, leaned down, and examined the sequence of photos the man scrolled through.

The sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton, Ian standing, waiting for the car and driver, Alec kissing him. There were two like that. And then, after Ian had stepped back, one of Alec’s face, zoomed in close enough to make out the warm color of his eyes, his confusion, worry, and, despite that, his affection.

Ian marveled at that expression on his lover’s face a moment, floored by the proof that even after being a royal ass for months, Alec still cared so deeply for him. Wasfightingfor him.

And then the weight of the photos sank in.

He straightened and glared at the two of them.

Rebecca smiled. “Your boyfriend’s cute. Do you take him with you everywhere? Like a little lap dog?”

Daniel pulled the phone back, serious in contrast to his delighted wife. “I think you can see where this is going.”

Ian swallowed with difficulty, his throat closing up. “Yes. I do.”

“Let’s talk about those numbers, huh?” Rebecca said.

Slowly, Ian subsided back into his chair.

Four

“No, just the one, darling, thank you,” Ian said to the waitress, sending her off with a little wave and a bare smile.

She liked his accent, he could tell, so she flashed him a dimpled smile and left him with the instruction to flag her down if he neededanything.

“Poor thing,” he told Bruce when she was gone. “She thinks I like girls.”

Bruce nodded and continued to scan the bar for threats. Reliable and dull as ever.

After two hours of hammering out details with Rebecca and Daniel, Ian had spent the rest of the day meeting with his regular New York clients, pressing flesh and making his presence known. With all of them, he’d been the sophisticated, aloof boss that he’d always been, but he’d found none of his usual joy in making them feel small.

Now, it was six-thirty, and he and Bruce – well, just him – were enjoying a glass of subpar merlot in the kind of bar that was just classy enough to keep out career drunks, but casual enough to attract a particular…opportunistic element.

An element a lot like the blonde at the end of the bar who kept playing with the cherry in her drink and shooting him covert glances.

He leaned back in his chair and took a long, contemplative swallow of wine, letting his gaze move over her slowly, assessing. He was gay, but he wasn’t blind. She had long, toned legs, shown off by sheer gray leggings and a clinging wool dress. Narrow waist, generous hips and breasts. A sweet face with a wickedly curved mouth. Lots of eye makeup. And she was on the prowl.

Before Ian had dragged him into bed, Alec had thought he was straight, was doubtless still attracted to women.

She would do.

“Watch my drink, Bruce,” Ian said, smoothed back his hair, and got to his feet.

~*~

Her name was Mandy. She had just finished grad school, was scheduled to start a job in Germany in a month, and she blushed when he called her “darling.” Eyes downcast, face heated, she’d admitted that a wild night with two experimental men sounded “awesome,” and she was totally on board with Ian’s scheme.

At least, the version of it he’d given her.

She kept her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked down the hall toward the suite at the Ritz.

“He goes with you everywhere?” she whispered, a laugh threaded through her voice, leaning in close to him and darting a look over her shoulder toward Bruce, following at a discreet, but accessible, distance.

“How else would anyone know I was filthy rich?” Ian quipped, and she giggled.

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