With satisfaction, he put the publicist on ignore.
Sullivan popped back into the office. His usual immaculate, slicked-back hair style looked slightly rumpled, as did his expensive suit. Sullivan was never out of his suits, even on Saturdays. That he’d been shot out into the day without his usual care was apparent.
“So?” Ian asked, more interested in the answer than he wished to admit.
“I call dibs.” He sat on the sofa again, a wolfish smile stretched across his tanned, lean face.
“That good, huh? And you can’t call dibs. She’s my wife.”
“Damn. That’s true. Figures. So what do you think about her information so far?”
“I think she’s a genuine person who has nothing to do with this mess.”
Sullivan surprised him by striking his palm on his thigh. “I agree!”
“Since when?”
“Since now. We’ll keep digging, of course. But I think it’s best to assume she’s innocent until proven guilty. The proper thing to do is to shelter her from the press. She won’t have any way to manage this shit storm if you don’t help her.”
“I’ve been thinking about the best way to do that.”
“We could put her up in one of the company condos until the worst blows over.”
Ian considered the idea. He couldn’t see Jada being comfortable in one of the slick, glass and metal apartments. “They might find her there. I’m thinking she’d be better off at the lake cabin. Security out there is near perfection.”
“Sounds good,” Sullivan said. “I’ll set everything up. You talk with her and settle her down, explain everything, tell her we’ll take care of the problems, find out what’s going on, etc.”
“I think I can manage,” Ian said drily.
“Yeah, yeah. So shall we bring her in?”
“I guess we should.” Ian spoke to Cathy on the intercom then stood and glanced around the office. He wondered what someone like Jada would think of the place. Grandiose? Dark? Intimidating?
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why it mattered what Jada, someone he’d never even met, thought about his office. But it did. Her opinion most certainly mattered.
Chapter Four
CATHY OPENED THE DOOR TO Ian’s office and beckoned Jada to enter. Jada squared her shoulders, smoothed down the front of her skirt in a nervous gesture and bravely walked into the glistening lair of the billionaire dragon himself, the great and mighty Ian Buckley.
The first thing that struck her was the size of the office. It was huge, half the size of her house, she figured. It was all masculine power-play, deep, rich colors with leather furniture, satiny wood paneling and plush carpets over inlaid flooring. A light scent of Asian spices filled the air.
There were floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides of the room, banks of flat screen TVs on another wall, and several towering bookshelves on the fourth. Some oil paintings were hung around the place, none of which she recognized, not being into art herself. She knew quality when she saw it, however, and this was quality squared.
There were several closed doors leading to who knew what, a sitting area with black leather furniture, a gleaming bar with a small kitchenette behind it, and of course, a goliath of a desk. His desk. Ian. The man who controlled a veritable empire from this very room.
Her heart fluttered. There he was, the man himself, standing big as life by the sitting area. She took him in, all six and a half feet of him. Well, this was something she hadn’t expected: he was even better looking in real life than in his pictures.
An aura emanated from him, power shimmering in the air. It was both enthralling and intimidating. She’d never experienced such energy.
This man was special, the aura said. Important. Different. More.
She realized that he was studying her as closely as she was him. His gaze was intent, his eyes eerily sharp, like they saw through her to ... what? She was imagining things. He was just a rich man, not a god.
Spell broken, she stepped forward. “Mr. Buckley,” she said, holding out her hand.
He stepped forward and took her hand in his. She wondered if he felt the same buzz that she did when they touched. Tiny goosebumps rose on her arms. He had a woodsy, comforting scent.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Howarth. And call me Ian. This,” he gestured to the man standing beside him, a man around Ian’s age, with sandy hair, trim and fit in an expensive suit that could have used a steam, “this is Sullivan Collins, my head counsel.”
A lawyer, huh? Jada shook his hand, too, and noted there was no buzz between them. Good to know it was specific to Ian, and not a symptom of a more serious condition, something like buzz-hand syndrome.
She told them both to call her Jada, and was soon seated in one of the cushiony leather chairs. Ian sent Carol for coffee.
Jada perched on the end of her chair, knees pressed together demurely, hands clasped lightly in front of her on top of her small purse, just as her mother had taught her. She hoped she looked calmer than she felt.
Ian’s eyes, which were bright blue just as Jada had imagined, sparkled at her. He seemed strangely pleased about something, though she couldn’t think why this should be so, it being an altogether weird day of the highest magnitude.
“How was the ride into the city?” Ian asked. “I trust everything went well.”
“Oh, yes. It was fine. It was a convoy, with extra cars in front and back. I felt like the president. The paparazzi didn’t stand a chance.”
“Good, good. The press can be a bunch of vipers.”
“My sister’s a reporter.”
That gave him pause. “My mistake. I should have said ‘some’ of the press can be vipers.”
Jada took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m nervous. I really, really want to know what’s going on. Are you behind all of this craziness? And if you are, why?”
Sullivan leaned forward, his handsome face severe. “No, Jada. We’re as taken by surprise in this affair as you are. I myself broke the news to Ian this morning, and I assure you he couldn’t have been more shocked.”
She looked at both men, hard. They seemed honest. “So what’s going on? Why does everyone think we’re married?”
“Some time overnight, information was posted on the Internet that said public documents from the Springer’s Glen courthouse had been discovered, an officially signed and sealed marriage license that shows you and I are married,” Ian said. “The press picked it up early this morning and has been running with it ever since.”
“So there’s a real marriage license out there with our names and signatures on it, and it’s official? That can’t be,” Jada said.
“I agree,” Ian said. “We haven’t seen the actual document yet, but sources assure us it exists. We’ll get hold of it soon, and when we do, we can begin to uncover the source of this honest error, publicity stunt, whatever it actually is.”
“Huh.” Jada thought over the few known facts. “I don’t know how this could have happened. It makes no sense. You mentioned publicity stunt. You don’t think that I had anything to do with it, do you? Because if you do, you’re off the mark and then some.”
“No. We don’t think you had anything to do with it.”
“Why not?”
Ian smiled. “I’d think you’d just be glad we don’t suspect you.”
“I am. But I don’t know why I’ve been ruled out as a suspect.”
“Let’s just say you don’t appear to be the publicity-seeking type.”
Jada chewed that over for a moment. “You’re right, but I still don’t see how you know that. For what it’s worth, I don’t suspect that you had anything to do with it either. Not anymore.”
“Thank you,” Ian said. “What convinced you?”
Her first thought was, the buzz you sent up my arm when you touched me, but she didn’t say it. Cathy saved her by returning with a tray of steaming coffee mugs. Jada busied herself by doctoring her coffee and savoring the fi
rst few sips. It was delicious. She had tried to get the driver of her car to stop at a coffee shop, or even a fast food place, on the way into the city, but he said they’d get overrun by the trailing press corps if they stopped.
She spoke without thinking. “It must suck being you.”
He paused in mid-sip of his coffee. “Pardon?”
“I mean, traveling everywhere with a security detail and reporters hounding you all the time. I’d hate it. They’ve ruined my lawn, you know. And I had to turn off my phone. They somehow got my number and I no sooner clean out my voicemail than they fill it up again. I can’t even text my own sister right now. How do you keep them out of your phone? It’s terribly annoying.”
Ian didn’t say a word, just stared at her with a strange expression. Sullivan cleared his throat and drew her attention.
“We have systems in place, Jada, to protect Ian’s privacy. And we’d like to help protect yours, too, while we work this out,” he said.
As Sullivan spoke, Ian waved Cathy over. She bent down and he spoke to her in hushed tones that Jada couldn’t overhear. Cathy nodded and left the office.
Jada looked back and forth between the two men. “Why would you want to help me?”
“For one thing,” Ian said, “the least I can do is protect my wife. And that’s you, after all.”