Chapter 38
Right in the middle of a personal one-woman celebration in Macy’s dressing room, my phone chimes. Grabbing for my cell while trying to pull a shirt over my head makes for a comedy of errors and I almost fall right on my undie-clad ass. “Ow!” I screech, as my elbow slams into the side of the dressing room in my clumsy attempt to arrest my plunge down to the low-pile commercial carpet. The women around me must think someone’s getting viciously assaulted or something in the adjacent stall, but, no, it’s just me, my iPhone, and my size 4 jeans. The most critical part of that sentence is of course my size 4 jeans! When I don’t recognize the number right away I elect to answer anyway mainly because I almost killed myself to get the damn call and it seems wasteful to screen after all that. “Hello?”
Mason’s voice is urgent. “Ms. Strong, Mr. Blackmon wants me to pick you up right now. He claims the matter is of the utmost importance. Where exactly are you currently?”
“Uh, I’m on the second floor, women’s department. Right now I’m in the dressing room.”
“Please stay there in the dressing room. Do not move until I get there. Are we clear?”
I roll my eyes, sorry he can’t see my disrespectful annoyance. “Yes, Mason, we’re clear. Despite how Mr. Blackmon treats me, I’m not mentally deficient.”
“Of course, Ms. Strong. I believe Mr. Blackmon will explain it all to you when he sees you. Until then I’m not to leave your side. I’m on my way up the escalator as we speak. I’m going to ask you to stay on the line with me.”
“It will prove difficult to stay on the line and get dressed at the same time, Mason. I’ll keep the line open but I’ll place the phone down on the chair. Will that be okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Sighing, I realize my shopping celebration is over. Still, it was spectacular while it lasted. I fit into a size 4 pair of jeans for the first time since my freshman year of college. Since then I’ve been consistently a size 6 with one brief foray into the land of eights. That was right after a broken heart caused me to subsist on a steady diet of Häagen-Dazs and straight-up scotch—all scored by depressive Radiohead songs. Now that the broken heart is only a memory, I look back with fondness on that diet.
In less than sixty seconds, I hear Mason’s voice at the entrance to the dressing room. “Ella? Can you come out now?”
Grabbing my newfound jeans and a couple of sweaters I’d managed to try on before I got the royal summons, I make my way out to my bodyguard. “Here I am. I just have to pay for my purchases.”
Mason sticks to me like Crazy Glue, not letting me out of his sight until he’s delivered me to Ian’s house with the stern admonition not to leave until Ian gets home. I’m wondering what it’s all about but in less than half an hour, I hear Ian’s deep voice in the hall, speaking to Mason and then the man himself strides in.
It doesn’t matter how long I know him—or how well I know him: he still makes my body rev into sexual overdrive when he enters my sphere. The sight, sound, and scent of this powerful man send things spinning, tightening, and shaking inside me. Right now I drink him in and assess: his eyes are alive with emotion and his whole body language is tense. Even his perfect suit looks a bit wrinkled, an unusual state of affairs for him. Something’s wrong, I can easily tell. I just watch and wait for his cues.
“Ella,” he says with relief, rushing over to me and sweeping me into his arms.
“Ian, you’re choking me. Ease up a little.”
“I’m sorry, Ella. I was so worried about you.”
“Can you tell me why?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he calls for Mason and the man enters the room in seconds. “Mason, have a seat. I’m about to explain the situation to Ella. You might as well hear, too.” He looks at me and grasps my hands in his. “Ella. Remember when I told you I had something to tell you?”
I nod, saying nothing.
“This whole situation has to do with that history. Mason, you only need to hear the first part. I mentioned on the phone that Ella was threatened but I didn’t want to go into detail until I could explain it. The same people who were behind your ordeal with Lucien Phillips have threatened you again, Ella.”
My eyes widen at that tidbit of information. Why? “How do you know, Ian?”
“I’ll get to that, Ella. Mason, what you need to know is that Ella requires a bodyguard 24/7 until the danger passes. After I speak to Ella, I’ll meet with you and your staff in my office in,” he glances at his watch, “let’s say an hour and a half and we’ll review the procedures I want in place. Is that acceptable?”