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“Unfortunately, my time isn’t always my own,” Ivan said politely.
Henry’s smile was dismissive, saying he didn’t believe Ivan without having to use the insulting words. “We’re all set up upstairs. Follow me.”
A young man in a tweed jacket joined them when they exited the elevator on the fourth floor.
“This is Patrick,” Henry said. “He’ll be conducting your interview. Would you like breakfast before we start?”
“Most definitely,” Ivan said with a snigger in Ben and Donald’s direction.
Henry accompanied them to a meeting room where a breakfast buffet was laid out and excused himself to get back to work. Ben and Donald stayed in the hallway, guarding the door. Alice declined Patrick’s offer for pastries, but Ivan stacked a pile of food on his plate.
While she was pouring herself a cup of tea, Patrick, a rookie on the block, approached her with a curious expression. “You’re Alice Jones.”
This was more than an introduction. It was her job to know all the journalists on the beat, and most of them, being veterans, knew her and her history. New blood brought new questions, questions she couldn’t stomach.
She forced a smile. “Congratulations on landing the job. I was going to set up a lunch for us to meet, but the opportunity with Ivan beat me to a proper introduction.”
If she’d hoped focusing on Ivan would shift the attention away from her, it was futile. The young man was a bloodhound who’d sniffed an opportunity.
“I’d love an exclusive on your mother, if you’d be so kind to spare me the time.”
Ivan looked up from his plate.
To hide the tension she knew was written on her face, she brought the cup to her lips. “That would be like serving cold tea, wouldn’t it?”
“Not with a fresh perspective. Nobody’s told it from your point of view.”
Blowing on the brew made her glasses steam up, and some of the hot liquid spilled over her fingers. “Ouch.” Blinded for a moment, she spilled more tea as she aimed for the table.
Strong fingers took the cup from her hands. Before she could pull a tissue from her pocket, those same fingers gripped the sides of her glasses and carefully removed them. Near-sighted, she didn’t need them to see who her savior was. Ivan lifted the hem of his T-shirt, exposing a set of perfect abs, to meticulously clean each lens before sliding them back onto her face. He gave her fingers the same treatment, wiping each one with a paper napkin.
“Well?” Patrick said. “Is that a yes? We could—”
“I have a choreography appointment at twelve,” Ivan interjected. “I believe you still want me to do a photo shoot. Shall we get going?”
“Sure.” Patrick hastily popped a bite-sized quiche in his mouth. “Have a seat. Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
For the next hour, Alice sat while Patrick peppered Ivan with questions.
“Tell us more about your name,” Patrick said. “Your birth certificate states your name as Ivan Smith. Why did you change it?”
“For the same reason all artists take stage names.” Ivan flashed Alice a private smile. “Publicity.”
“Kray is more than a stage name. You also took it as your legal name. Why not Smith?”
Alice leaned forward. “That question is not on the list.”
“It’s not an inappropriate question,” Patrick said.
“I’m sorry, but you have to stick to the program.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job, Ms. Jones?”
“Of course, not. I’m asking you to remain professional. In this business, you won’t get far with bullying.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
“It sure sounds like a threat.”
Alice gave him a patient smile. “Just stick to the rules.”
“What rules? You get me interviews with celebrities, and I ask only the questions you want me to?”
“You had plenty of time to submit your questions. We stick to the approved ones.”
Ivan held up a hand. “That’s all right.” He turned to Patrick. “I chose to take another surname because Smith has a bad connotation for me.”
Patrick’s fingers moved fast over the keyboard of his iPad. “Can you please elaborate?”
“My father starved and abused me.”
Alice’s heart contracted painfully. “That’s enough questions, or we won’t have time for photos.”
“Happy?” Ivan directed at Patrick.
His calm voice didn’t reflect the hardness of his eyes, but knowing him as well as she did, Alice recognized the malice in that expression.
“Unless you’d like to say more?” Patrick raised a hopeful brow.
“Anything related to the matter is easy enough to research,” Ivan said. “Next time, do your homework. That way you won’t waste your questions.”
Patrick flushed a little at the chastising tone. “In that case, I think this will wrap it up.”
“Not yet.” Ivan pinned him with a stare so cold Alice flinched.
Patrick’s hands paused over his keyboard. “You have something to add?”
“No,” Ivan’s smile was wicked, “but you do.”
“Excuse me?”
Patrick wheeled his chair away from the table as if he wanted to put distance between him and Ivan, but Ivan caught the bar with his boot and brought the chair back so close the men’s knees touched.
