Three and a Half Weeks(60)
“No, Ella, you certainly don’t. You also don’t look like the type to write a naughty book so appearances apparently can be deceiving.”
I have to laugh. If she only knew… or does she know? The thought makes my face grow hot. Shit, I’ll bet she knows; Mo looks awfully crafty, I suddenly think, eyeing her suspiciously now.
“How long are you in the city?” She interrupts my miniature panic attack.
“I’m leaving for Venice tonight, hopefully.” I look at my watch. “I need to hurry.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business. I’m working on a documentary and I just found out the woman I need to tape an interview with is not going to be coming to New York after all. She’s in Venice right now.”
“Oh? What’s the documentary about?”
“It’s about the women—wives and mistresses—of three famous 20th-century painters. The one I’m meeting is the niece… or is it daughter? I think daughter… of one of Picasso’s mistresses.”
“Oh my God. Don’t tell me you’re working with Lucien Phillips?”
“Yes, I am. Do you know him?”
“Not that well—although I’d like to,” she laughs. “I met him at a gallery opening a couple of weeks ago. Talk about eye candy, my God. I see good things in store for you, my girl.”
I blush again. “I doubt my boyfriend would like that very much. He wanted me to turn down the job.”
“I can’t say I blame him. Lucien is hot.”
“So is Ian… my boyfriend.”
“Well, aren’t you the lucky girl. That’s nice for you. Tell me about Ian.”
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly but inside I’m thrilled beyond belief that I get to call Ian mine. Mine! I still can’t believe it. “He’s a businessman in Portland. Wealthy, gorgeous, you know, run of the mill.”
“Let me see: wealthy, gorgeous, Portland, Ian. Okay, you’re not going to tell me he’s Ian Blackmon, are you?”
Again, she stupefies me. “How can you possibly know Ian? You live in New York and he’s a businessman from Portland.”
“He used to spend a lot of time in New York City. A lot.” She laughs so loudly that she startles me. “As for how I know him? That, my dear, is something I think I’m going to keep to myself. Suffice it to say, your Ian had sown a reputation among the ladies. But I’m sure that’s all in the past now that he’s met you.” She winks.
“It had better be,” I say, but I can feel my heart sag inside my chest. I hope Ian isn’t planning on bringing me more heartbreak because I’m just not up for it these days.
After saying goodbye to Mo, I go back downtown to my hotel. As soon as I get there, I check the tickets that Lucien purchased for me, and then text Ian to let him know what’s going on. Texting is much better than phoning him since I won’t have to hear the displeasure in his voice if he gets pissed off about it. I snort. Not if but when. Exactly fifty-six seconds elapse between the time I hit send and the time Aretha starts wailing for respect on my cell pone. Oh, shit.
Chapter 17
He is furious. He knew that son of a bitch Phillips was an operator: he could tell he was up to no good right from the start. If there was anything Ian knew, it was human nature. He had the bruises to show for it. Ella picks up the call on the third ring.
“Hey, Ian. How was your flight?”
“Venice, Ella?” He yells so loudly the cab driver jumps in his seat. He makes a gargantuan effort to rein in his anger.
“Phillips told you the woman would be in New York and now he has you traipsing to Italy? What kind of bullshit is he up to? I don’t like it, Ella. You hardly know the man.”
Her loud sigh comes clearly through the phone line. “Ian, please tell me how you really feel—don’t tiptoe around the issue.”
Ignoring her attempt at humor, he continues as if she hasn’t spoken. “Ella, my instincts tell me this guy is up to no good. Tell him you cannot accommodate his request and come home directly. Now.”
“What? No! Ian, you cannot order me around. I’m going to Venice to conduct the interview and then I’ll fly directly to Portland. I just might make it in time to go to Tokyo with you.”
“Are you traveling there by yourself?”
“No. Gerard—the cameraman—is coming with me.”
“Another man you don’t know. You’re basing all of this trust on the word of a single friend with whom you had, at best, a superficial acquaintance. Answer me one question: are you being sensible in your hellbent determination for this job? Tell me, Ella.”