Losing Control (17 page)

“You've decided?”

“Yes.” His voice is implacable and as unemotional as if he's asked whether I want cream and sugar in my coffee. “There are rumors abounding that Howe has developed a taste for young women. That alone is neither surprising nor scandalous. But he’s married.”

“Can’t you buy what you need from one of his conquests?”

He gives me a grim smile. “Tried that. The three ‘conquests’ my people have had contact with are scared. They won’t talk and no amount of money is moving them. My guess is Richard is threatening something bad will happen to their family members. My best course of action is to hire someone to get me the information that I want.”

“Why not date someone and use them?”

He gives a small, humorless chuckle. “And you call me ruthless.”

I flush. Bad idea, but his idea isn’t much better. I have no experience in the upper echelon of Manhattan society. “So I'm supposed to lure this guy in with my supposed charms and he’ll give me stuff you can use to ruin him? I think your plan is seriously flawed. I'm not going to make any guy throw up, but I'm also not the type to make them go crazy and put themselves in jeopardy over.”

“You underestimate your appeal,” he replies. Reaching out, he takes one of my hands in his. “Besides, Rich is a man of little imagination. He likes what others find appealing.”

“He’s that type of guy?”

“You have no idea,” he responds wryly.

But I will
, I think to myself.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not what I expected—that I’d help you make a scandal or ruin someone. What happens to me when it’s over? Will I be hounded? I don’t have any desire to appear on a picture next to him.”

“You won’t. You’ll only need to supply me with the pictures he sends. There does not have to be any information about you. I’ll have someone else leak them.”

“Why do you think there’ll be pictures?”

“I don’t. But there’ll be something or these girls wouldn’t be afraid.”

I cover my face with my hands because I can’t think with Ian staring at me so intently.

“I can’t do it. I’m not very good at texting.”

“All the better. He’ll know you can’t write and will be forced to send you images.”

“I swear you have an answer for everything.” I start to rub my forehead and then remember the admonition of the Red Door people against touching my face.

“Do you have some moral objection? You do work for Malcolm.”

Okay, right, so a drug mule has no conscience, but it isn't the same thing. The people who are taking the drugs are participating in their own ruin.

“But what? We want bad things to be said about him on
Page Six
?”

“On page six and page one and all the pages in between,” he says softly.

“And you expect that while I'm carrying on with this Howe dude that I'm going to sleep with you?”

“Not expect. Hope.”

“You're crazy.” I push his hands away, feeling incredibly cold.

“I don’t expect or want you to sleep with Howe. I only want you to talk to him, be friendly. He’ll be interested because I’m interested. The idea that he could lure someone away from me will be too much to resist. A few pictures and we’re done. I don’t anticipate it taking him longer than a few encounters before he tries to express himself in some embarrassing fashion.”

“Why don’t you just ruin him financially? Can’t you do that?” I fist my hands in my lap wishing I am anywhere but here.

“I could,” he responds. His head is turned out the window and in profile he looks less stern and more thoughtful. “Not yet, though.”

Ian turns toward me and in his eyes I see both pain and determination.

My character was set at the age of fifteen.

Without conscious thought, I reach over to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm in response but implacable. Ian has been alone for a long time and even though I don’t entirely agree or understand his plans, I realize I’d do just about anything for him. That’s an uncomfortable feeling.

S
TEVE
DROPS
US
OFF
IN
an alley in Hell’s Kitchen, and the recessed door of a four-story brick building opens before we can reach it. Barely any light spills out, and once inside I can see why. The door opens onto a shadowy landing with steps going in both directions.

“Mr. Kerr, I’m Priya Kulkarni. Mr. Kaga’s assistant. He asked me to show you to the private viewing lounge first.” She extends a hand toward the second floor.

“Lead the way,” Ian responds, giving me a little push so that I head up the stairs in front of him. As Priya walks ahead of us, the stair treads begin to illuminate. I peek behind me and see that the entryway is again shrouded in darkness.

“These lights are so cool,” I comment, allowing my mind to be distracted from the Howe deal.

“Mr. Kaga believes in the conservation of our natural resources. While the club itself does not run on solar power reserves, the offices and private areas do,” she explains.

Behind me, I hear Ian snort. “Mr. Kaga is a cheap, opportunistic bastard.”

“I heard that,” a male voice from above us booms out. Whatever Mr. Kaga is, he has a voice well-suited for the stage. It’s loud but nicely modulated. When we reach the top, I see that he could easily be a star on the stage. His black hair and razor-sharp cheekbones could be seen from the last row of the upper deck of the Shubert Theatre. Even in the dim light, I can make out his effortless gorgeousness. I wonder if all of Ian’s acquaintances are good-looking. It’s not like Steve is hard on the eyes, either.

Priya gives him a short bow and disappears down the hallway, little lights flashing to illuminate her path as she goes.

“Tad Kaga, at your service.” He lifts my hand and simultaneously pulls me forward and presses his warm lips to the back of my hand. I nearly faint. I’ve never had anyone kiss my hand before. What is with these guys and their old school hand kissing? It should be banned! As I stumble backwards, two hands brace my fall—one tries to pull me back as the other tries to pull me forward. Tad releases me with a smirk and I fall against the hard chest of Ian.

“Not yours, Kaga.” His arm bands around my waist and he lifts me against him, the delicate knit and lace of my top gathers under my breasts as he half-carries me onto the landing and past Tad, whose smirk has widened to a full on grin.

“I thought I was the one of our little troupe who had a problem with sharing.” Tad proceeds to a few steps down the hall. I’m grateful that the darkness hides the evidence my cheeks are currently the color of my shirt—and not because of any excess makeup. If Ian and I were alone, I would share what I thought of his display of possessiveness. He doesn’t deserve to feel territorial, not after what he’s asked me to do.

Ian pulls me back so I can feel his hardness flush against my back. There’s no give to any inch of his body. From his sternum to his thighs he’s just marble. Into my ear, just slightly above a whisper, he says, “Just because I haven’t stuck my cock in you doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking of you at every moment, wanting you more than the world needs oxygen.” The hand that had shackled my wrist drifts to the bottom of my shorts, and for a moment I hold my breath thinking he’s going to spin me around and kiss me until I pass out.

A cough interrupts us and my eyes shoot upward to see Tad staring above my head, his face serious. A communication passes between him and Ian. Tad nods and then winks at me. The silent messages are clearly coded by testosterone as I can’t figure it out, but perhaps it was his acknowledgment of Ian’s totally fake claim over me. Unfortunately, the point of protest for me has passed. I’ve already exhibited my weakness when it comes to Ian.

“Victoria Corielli, meet Tadashubu Kaga, scion of the Kaga empire,” Ian introduces us. “Tad’s an old friend.”

For the first time I notice there are no doors in the hallway. The floors are made of some kind of dark, striped wood and the walls are covered in gray squares with rounded edges. Every four feet or so there is a linear break from floor to ceiling and its only after Tad pushes on one that I realize a few of them are doors. He gestures for us to enter.

Inside is a spacious room that overlooks a two-level nightclub. Longer than it is wide, the room reminds me of a stadium box where I once delivered caviar during a Giants game. A tech company ran out when hosting some Russian oligarchs. Sandra told me later that the caviar was worth nearly twenty grand. I only delivered five small containers of them. From the ease of both Tad and Ian, I suspect that they wouldn’t be surprised at all by the price of four-thousand-dollar cans of caviar. Life for some people is simply unreal.

The front of the lounge is all glass, from floor to ceiling, although there are heavy blue velvet drapes hanging on either side. In front of the glass panel are two raised platforms with cushions the size of a small bed. Up one level are club chairs and small tables. Where we are standing there are a few bar stools and a good sized metal cart with glasses and bottles of liquor. There’s no music inside the room, but the vibrations of club music can be felt under our feet.

“What can I get you to drink?” Tad asks positioning himself by the beverage cart. Ian turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Singapore Sling?” I’m not sure if I should be asking Tad to mix me a drink but since he asked, I’m not going to be shy. I figure I’m going to need a few drinks before the night is over.

He presses a button near the cart and says, “Singapore Sling and the new reserve.”

“Right away, Mr. Kaga,” a voice on the other side responds with alacrity.

“Uncorking a new barrel?” Ian asks with genuine eagerness in his voice.

“Eighteen years old with a little spice and cherries along with vanilla. I think you’ll like it.”

“Kaga’s family is the largest beverage company in the world and makes some of the best single malt whiskeys on the market,” Ian explains, settling into one of the velvet-covered club chairs on the second level. He draws me down on top of his lap and wraps his arm around me, his hand finding a resting place at the top of my left thigh. I squirm, a bit uncomfortable at this intimacy in front of a stranger, but his hand clamps down to still my movements.

“We are but a blip on the map compared to the holdings of Kerr, Inc.” Tad says dryly.

“Don’t let him kid you, Tiny.” Ian stretches out his legs. A knock on the door brings our drinks, which Tad carries over to the table. He settles into a chair next to Ian and hands out the drinks. “His money is older than the United States and probably enough to buy a few territories.”

The Singapore Sling tastes refreshing with only a hint of sweetness, a perfect combination.

“Usually guys are all about showing who’s got the biggest of everything, but the two of you are arguing about how the other guy’s bank account is fatter. This is the weirdest kind of dick posturing I’ve ever seen.” I shake my head and take another sip. Tad and Ian both pause and then roar with laughter.

“Where did he find you?” Tad asks, wiping from his eyes the tears his gut laugh produced.

I look at Ian for guidance as I say, “Mutual acquaintance.”

“No secrets from Tad,” Ian says. “Tiny is Malcolm Hedder’s stepsister.”

This revelation causes Tad to look at me with speculation. “So you aren’t together? This is all for show?” He leans toward me to grab my hand, but Ian blocks him.

“Yes, for show,” I say.

“Not for show. We’re together,” Ian replies at the same time.

“We’re together,” he repeats, giving me a hard look and a firm squeeze on the thigh.

I’m not one for arguing in public or doing much of anything in public, so I press my lips together even though I’m dying to give Ian a piece of my mind.

I settle for, “It’s complicated.”

From the owner’s lounge, I can see the entire dance floor. Kaga presses a button and the plate glass turns into a viewing screen showing eight different security feeds. He selects one feed and zooms so that it overlays the other video. The security camera is focused on a well-kept man in his forties. I recognize him instantly as Richard Howe, my target. Forcefully I push away from Ian and after a bit of a struggle he lets me go.

“Is this the source of your complication?” Kaga asks. I nod but my eyes are glued to Howe. He’s leaning over the second floor balcony, holding a small tumbler in his hand. There’s a beautiful brunette standing very close to him. As we watch, she flips her hair across her shoulder a few times in a flirtatious gesture. They keep talking, and after a moment we see them exchange phone numbers.

Howe takes a picture of the woman and then they pose together for his camera.

“What does he tell his wife?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Some say that she knows and doesn’t care. Others believe she has no idea. This is a rather different crowd than Cecilia Montgomery Howe would associate with.”

“Too old?”

“Too poor,” Kaga answers dryly. Ian has been silent as I observe Howe, wanting—I suppose—for me to draw my own conclusions. How does he do it? If I saw him flirting with another woman, even knowing it was a charade, I’d be jealous and hurt. How can he keep everything so separate?

“You want me to go over there tonight and get his phone number?” I ask Ian.

For a long moment he doesn’t respond and then in a tone so low I can barely hear him, he replies, “No. I don’t want that.”

In one swift motion, he rises and hurls the whisky glass at the side wall. “Sorry,” he mutters and then walks out. I’m frozen by the display of violence and more confused than ever. Kaga catches my arm when I turn to chase after him.

“Give him a minute.”

Nodding, I allow Kaga to lead me to a chair.

“Richard Howe is a charming, likeable man,” Kaga says. “And he wields those traits like a weapon. People do things for him that they wouldn’t ever do for another. And behind him, he leaves a trail of ruined lives, broken hearts, and . . . orphaned boys.”

Orphaned boys.

My character was set at the age of fifteen.

I look toward the rear of the room where Ian exited. This Howe thing was personal to him. It wasn’t just about some “friend.” Someone closer to Ian got hurt by Howe. And now he is struggling between his feelings for me and his desire for revenge.