Page 7 of Shaman

Ian snapped.

Which was to say that he shook off his nerves and unleashed his cutting British bitchiness in full force.

He slouched back in the chair, crossed one long leg over the other, the image of elegant indifference. “Yes. Ihavedone well for myself. Not that there weren’t difficulties, mind you, but I was born and bred to wealth and influence – it’s only natural I should return to it. Despite some rather…disgusting” – he looked straight at Rebecca, gratified to see her shrink down in her seat a fraction – “setbacks along the way. That’s life for you. You take the good with the bad. And what is it they say about karma? Isn’t it just a bitch?” He pointed at himself and grinned.

“Um,” Daniel said.

Rebecca looked shaken, but she met Ian’s gaze, lips firming in an obvious effort to collect herself. “The past is the past,” she said. “All of that’s behind us, and I don’t see why something that happened years ago should prevent us from having a professional relationship.”

“Ah yes, drugs for your models. Do you fuck all of them, too? Or do you just have a taste for little boys?”

“Hey.” Color bloomed in Daniel’s face and he sat forward, engaging finally. He was still, Ian hated to admit, a handsome man, though the intervening years hadn’t been kind to him. Hard living aged people. “You boys were grown, you wanted–”

“Kevin wassixteen!” Ian shouted, slapping the arm of his chair. “He was sixteen, you fucking–”

“Gentlemen,” Rebecca said, shouting to be heard above them.

Ian bit his tongue until he tasted blood.

“This is a business meeting,” she continued. “Let’s not drag personal issues into it.”

Her husband was breathing hard, but nodded, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, face flushed with anger.

How dare he feel anythingcloseto anger. After what he’d done. After Kev had–

“They say your product is the best,” Rebecca said, coolly professional now. “It’s regrettable that the girls need to use, but they’re going to, there’s no way around it. So we’d like to provide them with something high-quality. You were going to bring us a sample, yes?”

Ian was sweating inside his clothes, tired and drained and overcooked-pasta limp. He snapped his fingers and Bruce handed him the small leather glasses case they’d brought. Ian’s hands were shaking, so it took three tries to release the clasp that sprang the hidden compartment, but he finally managed and leaned forward to set the tiny vial of cocaine on the desk.

“Understand,” he said, as Daniel unscrewed the lid, “that I reserve the right to refuse to do business with anyone. For any reason.”

Rebecca gave him an unimpressed look. “A drug dealer with a moral compass? That’s rich.”

“Who said anything about morals? It’s a simple matter of hate, my dear.”

She smiled that wicked, suggestive smile that still haunted his nightmares. “Oh, come on. We had such fun.”

He resisted the urge to tug at his shirt collar, but barely. “Tell me.” His voice came out steadier than he’d thought possible. “What’s your real name? Scott? Or Breckinridge?”

Daniel dipped his pinky in the powder and brought it to his mouth, tasted it with the tip of his tongue. “Breckinridge. So far as everyone knows.”

His wife smiled again. “Our faces are all over the website. Didn’t you look?”

His assistant, Marissa, had emailed him several links as standard prep for the meeting, but Ian hadn’t clicked on any of them, too wrapped up in his own self-loathing. Too busy trying to drive Alec away. If he’d bothered to do a Google search, and seen these two online, he could have spared himself this moment.

“How did you get into the modeling business?”

Rebecca shrugged. “You know. The way most people do.”

They’d gained control of the meeting, now, coy and sure of themselves.

Ian had to get out of here.

He stood up, but made himself do so slowly, settling his coat, picking invisible lint off his cuffs. “You may keep the sample. Consider it a gift. I find myself unable to bear your company a moment longer.” He sketched a mocking bow and turned for the door, Bruce settling at his side with a threatening glare aimed toward the Breckinridges.

“Just a second, sweetheart,” Rebecca said, and a shudder rippled down Ian’s back. When he glanced back at her, she was smiling at him like she thought he was adorable. “We’ve been looking for a good coke source for awhile, and you fit the bill. Come back tomorrow, nine a.m., and we’ll hammer out the details.”

He snorted. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but I think you’d enjoy it too much.”

---