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“Mostly I hire contractors to fix them up now, and managers to live in and run them. I spend most of my time looking for new properties to invest in. I have a knack for spotting neighborhoods that are about to turn around.”

  “And you work out in your spare time,” Zane added.

  “And I work out.”

  “Social life?”

  “Not much of one.” If Zane was fishing to find out if he was single and looking for love, Sebastian wasn’t eager to play ball. The last thing he needed was to complicate this dangerous situation with relationship issues.

  Zane tilted his head and studied him far too intently for comfort.

  “What?” he finally blurted.

  “The staff at the swankiest hotel in town knows you by name, and you didn’t bother to ask what this suite was going to cost, which means you’ve got not only money but buckets of money. That makes you both a rich and good-looking guy. How old are you? Thirty, thirty-one?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  Zane whistled. “What’s your skin care regimen, my dude?”

  “Good genes. Healthy lifestyle.”

  “You fucking bitch.” Zane delivered the insult with such good cheer that Sebastian took it for the genuine compliment it no doubt was. Then Zane picked up his previous train of thought. “As I was saying. It’s getting late for you to find yourself a trophy husband and settle down.”

  Sebastian didn’t hear a question in there, so he didn’t offer up any answers.

  “God knows the sharks have to be circling around you hard.”

  Sebastian snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “You forget that I work in the fashion industry. I live right in the middle of the scheming socialite shark tank.”

  Sebastian was saved from responding to that by a cell phone ringing. Zane leaped about a foot in the air. Wow. That was quite a startle reflex. He watched Zane fish in his left pants pocket and come up with a red cell phone, look at the surface, and say in oddly profound relief, “It’s my agent. I have to take this.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Zane spoke into the device. “Hey, Janice. Yes, I made it to New York, more or less in one piece. Airline lost my luggage, though. Pain in the ass.” A pause. “This afternoon? Yeah, I’m up for it. I’ve got ratty jeans or a designer suit—” Another pause. “Right. Jeans it is. Yeah, I know the place. Yes, I’ll behave. Don’t I always? Don’t answer that.”

  “Job interview?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Good for you. Where are we going?”

  One perfect eyebrow arched. “We?” Zane asked ominously.

  Chapter Five

  ZANE STARED across the breakfast table at Sebastian in dismay. “I’m not taking you with me on a go-see.”

  “Sorry, buddy. I’m velcroed to your side until the handoff happens.”

  “I neither need nor want a bodyguard. That’s not how the fashion business works. I mean seriously. Would you take a chaperone with you on a job interview?”

  “No. But that’s not the point.”

  “But it is the point. I need this job. I have to let the New York fashion scene know I’m back, and I need to strike fast and land work right away to let them all know I’m still the hottest commodity in town.”

  “And I wish you luck with that. You’ll be doing it with me there with you, however.”

  Good grief. He truly could not show up at a go-see with a Neanderthal in tow. Granted, a hot Neanderthal, but still. The second they set foot inside the fashion house, the designer would ask why Sebastian was with him, and Zane couldn’t very well say that he needed a bodyguard now. No designer on earth would hire him if he brought any threat to a show. And no model with an ounce of professionalism would dream of bringing a boyfriend to work.

  Desperation flowed through Zane. He couldn’t show up with a frigging babysitter! They would all claim to understand. Of course it was no problem having a big, beefy bodyguard with him. They would be polite and smile… and he wouldn’t get a single gig.

  “I’m serious, man. You’ll ruin my life. Everything depends on me getting work this season. I’ve only got one good year left in me before I age out of the business. This is it for me. You can’t screw it up.”

  “What if I promise not to get in the way?” Sebastian offered.

  “What if you promise not to go in with me?” he snapped back.

  Sebastian frowned. “I suppose I can work with that. It’s not likely the owner of the plates will call you right away. He’ll ascertain that you made it through Customs with the plates first. Then he’ll have to arrange for a drop site. Check it out. Get his people in place. Not to mention he’ll have to figure out how to get in touch with you. Speaking of which, is your cell phone number public?”

  “No,” Zane answered. “Too many fans would bug me.” More accurately, too many ex-boyfriends, ex–drug dealers, and ex-partiers would try to drag him back down into the world he’d left behind three years ago.

  “So. The counterfeiter will have to find your phone number. And give you time to arrange to get to the drop-off. Furthermore, you’ll need time to get there without arousing suspicion or being followed…. Nah, it’ll be a couple days at least before anyone calls you.”

  The black cell phone in his right pocket all but burned a hole in his jeans. Of course, the counterfeiter had already taken care of a good chunk of that list and knew exactly how to get in touch with him.

  But it worked to his advantage to have Sebastian off guard and thinking no contact had happened yet. The guy would be easier to give the slip when the time came. Given the ultimatum staring him in the face—cooperation and wealth or death—he didn’t see how he had any choice except to go along with the counterfeiter. He was going to deliver the briefcase, pocket the money, and then he could walk away from the fashion industry with his head held high.

  Of course, he had to seriously consider the idea that there was no million dollars, and that only the lead portion of the ultimatum was real. But why did this shadowy criminal group choose him specifically to be their mule? He was known to be a bit wild, to color outside the lines. He had been a partier, a jetsetter to whom the rules didn’t apply. He would be the kind of guy to think it was entertaining to deliver some crazy plaques to someone. They probably assumed he would think those stupid plaques were a big joke. He would go along with the program, not look too closely at what was in the suitcase, not ask questions, and be too dumb and dazzled by the cash to cause any trouble.

  Zane’s guess was the criminals had chosen him because he would do the job and move on with his life without telling a soul where the windfall of cash had come from. For that matter, a top fashion model could plausibly land a million-dollar contract without raising any suspicion. He was relocating from Europe to the States, so nobody here would likely ask where the sudden cash had come from. His New York contacts would assume he’d appeared in some high-end European magazine or landed a product endorsement deal they hadn’t seen.

  Nah. The counterfeiters expected to pay him off and then part ways with him, no fuss, no muss. And a million dollars would transform his life.

  He took a nap after breakfast to help get rid of the jet-lag-induced bags under his eyes and woke up an hour before he had to leave. He showered and shaved using the toiletries the hotel conveniently supplied, then slipped on the robe hanging on the back of the door. It was fluffy and soft and felt amazing against his naked skin. No doubt about it, he did like his creature comforts.

  He rinsed out his only pair of underwear and used the blow dryer on it. After today’s go-see, he would have to go shopping. He had about twenty bucks in his pocket. That should get him a toothbrush and a couple of pairs of boxers, at least. He dressed, slipped both cell phones in his pockets, and headed out into the suite’s living room.

  Any thoughts he’d had of ditching Sebastian before this go-see evaporated when he saw him lounging on the sofa, reading the Wall Street Journal, looking every inch the successful businessman. I
f the guy were in the market for an affair, Zane could totally go for his dark, brooding sizzle. And no lie, the smell of money had always been a turn-on for him.

  There was no shame in being a little shallow. His mother had always told him it was as easy to fall in love with a rich girl as a poor girl. Gender notwithstanding, she’d made a good point. Somebody had to love the rich ones.

  Sebastian peered over his newspaper, and his gaze slid lazily down Zane’s body and back up again, setting Zane’s flesh on fire everywhere that dark, smoky gaze landed. Zane had always enjoyed the exhibitionist element of being a model, but for once he felt naked in a vulnerable, overexposed way. Lord, this man threw him off-balance. He flashed an impudent grin and did an end-of-the-runway pose-and-twirl in the middle of the living room before flipping his middle finger at his audience of one.

  Sebastian laughed. “Watching you move makes me think of a gazelle. So quick. Graceful. Unpredictable.”

  A flash of warmth filled his belly. He got complimented all the time, but it counted more coming from Sebastian, who didn’t strike him as the type either to lie or to butter up anyone with empty flattery.

  “Ready to roll?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yup.”

  “My driver’s waiting for us downstairs.”

  Damn. No chance to jump in a cab and do this go-see alone. Spying the stubborn set of Sebastian’s jaw, he thought better of picking a fight over it, though. He couldn’t afford to be late. Instead he said lightly, “You’re going to spoil me.”

  A shrug. “What’s the point of having money if it doesn’t make life more convenient?”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” It was just that money never managed to stay in his pockets for long. Maintaining his image and lifestyle was not cheap, and he was a naturally generous person. And unfortunately, he tended to have friends who were always broke and needed cash for rent or utility bills or some other emergency.

  Zane followed Sebastian from the suite and down to the private exit from the Waldorf Towers. It was a slick arrangement for guests in search of privacy. Sebastian held the door for him, and Zane slid across the back seat while Sebastian piled in behind him.

  “Hey, Etienne,” Zane said wryly. With the burly driver along, he basically had not one but two bodyguards.

  “Mr. Stryker.” A nod. “Where are we going today? I hear I’m chauffeuring you around town.” Zane gave him the address, and Etienne replied, “I’ll have you there in fifteen minutes, barring any accidents and the New York City Department of Transportation getting a wild hair to shut down the whole damned island.”

  Nothing had changed in the years he’d been gone. It seemed like half the streets in Manhattan were always clogged by some sort of building project.

  The town car pulled out smoothly into traffic. Zane sat back and closed his eyes to prepare.

  Once more into the breach.

  He gave himself the pep talk. He was young. Energetic. Hip. Dynamic. He could do this. He could flirt with the girls, laugh at the inane jokes, suck up obsequiously. It was honest work, dammit.

  Jamming in his earbuds, he chose some random dance music—loud, fast, and with a pounding beat that jacked up his pulse and his blood pressure. Losing himself in the music, he let his body move to the bass line. Let it fill him. Let it seduce him. He pictured a dance floor. Writhing bodies. Half-naked, sweaty bodies rubbing against his equally bare and slippery body. Oh yeah. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The remembered high of a good line of blow coursed through him. He was invincible. He could fucking fly.

  “We’re here, sir.”

  His eyes jerked open, and he jolted back into the dark interior of a plush town car. Hot, blue eyes stared at him intensely. A pulse visibly pounded within the open neck of Sebastian’s shirt, and Zane noticed a fine sheen of perspiration on Sebastian’s upper lip. The guy’s legs were crossed. The way a guy might if he was hiding a hard-on. And all of a sudden, the fake high Zane had hyped himself up to was real and thick and sexual, hanging in the air between them.

  “Uhh, I’ll be going in now,” he mumbled.

  If possible, Sebastian’s eyes burned even brighter. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.”

  Right. Day-umm. His pulse just shot up another dozen points. He actually stumbled a little getting out of the town car. He turned to face the nondescript gray office building holding the House of Kato, one of the hottest designers in town.

  “Zane!”

  Startled, he half turned to look over his shoulder at the car.

  “Your portfolio.” Sebastian was holding out his flat leather photo portfolio case.

  “Crap. Thanks.” Bemused, confused, and half-seduced, he jogged up the front steps and into the building. Conveniently just inside the front door was a full-length mirror. He checked his hair—the perfect amount of tousle for this young, boho-goth design house. No food between his teeth. He slapped his cheeks to put a little more color in them and slapped his ass once for good luck.

  He walked up to the second-floor design studio slowly, pausing outside to make sure he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath when he went inside. His whole vibe was easy, breezy, young and fit. He couldn’t afford to walk in huffing like some old chain-smoking hooker.

  A leggy blond with shaved hair on one side of her head, black under-eye liner, black leather leggings, and sporting a sleeveless V-neck top that enhanced her androgynous look, greeted him with a hug and an air kiss.

  “Oh my God, Bryce. You look fabulous!” he gushed.

  “You’re looking fab yourself, Zane. Italy’s been good to you. We’ve missed you here in the Big Apple. You back for good?”

  “That’s the plan, boo.”

  “Still got your moves?” she asked slyly, thumbing through his latest glamour shots.

  “Of course I’ve got my moves, babycakes. Learned some new ones in Milan.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’ll put the word out that you’re back in town. Maybe I can send some business your way.”

  God, he hoped she could hook him up with some decent modeling jobs.

  “Hey, Zane, we’ve got a wacky photo shoot coming up tomorrow. Kato thinks it would be a great idea to hang the models in chains to show off his new line of body-conscious athleisure clothing. I just had a flaky newbie kid cancel out, and I need a pro to step in for him. You game?”

  “What does it pay?”

  “Two thousand for the shoot, another thousand for each major magazine it gets placement in.”

  It was a shit job. Runway work paid ten times that. But this house was an up-and-comer, and the photographer Bryce named was top-notch. An actual artist who did edgy, avant-garde work. Good starter job to reestablish his bona fides in the New York fashion scene. And given that he had barely enough dough in his pocket for a cup of coffee, he couldn’t afford to be choosy.

  He said brightly, “Sign me up.”

  “Awesome, babe. Don’t eat before the shoot. We don’t need you puking all over the set. Plus, Kato’s clothes are wicked unforgiving. You still a perfect 34?”

  “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

  “Got it.” She made a note on a clipboard. “It’s mostly Spandex, so we can get away with a last-minute fitting right before the shoot. You’re so easy to make look great, boo. Fitting’s at 4:00 p.m. tomorrow. Makeup at six. We’ll start shooting when it gets dark. Should take around six hours.”

  “Thanks for the job, Brycey-baby.”

  “Anytime for you, Zane. Just like old times, eh?”

  God, he hoped not. He nodded, smiling, and managed to mumble something noncommittal.

  All but running from the building, he nearly killed himself on the stairs when an unfamiliar ringtone sounded in his pocket, startling the hell out of him. He was almost to the front doors and could see Sebastian’s profile in the car outside. Backing up fast into the shadows of the lobby, he dug out the black burner phone, fumbling in his haste.

  “Hello?” he said breathlessly.

  �
��Zane Stryker?”

  “Yes. That’s me. I mean, I’m him.”

  “Go to the American Ballet tonight. Wear the suit and bring the briefcase.”

  “It’s the season premiere. It has been sold out for weeks. How am I supposed to get a ticket? Not to mention I’m a little short on cash at the moment—”

  “A ticket will be waiting for you at the Will Call window. We’ll give you further instructions there. Come alone and don’t fuck it up.”

  “You’ve got it. And I have no intention of messing this up.” He added, in keeping with his brainless fashion model persona, “This is fucking exciting. All very James Bond. Can you tell me who you’re punking with those plaques?”

  The line went dead. But not before he thought he heard a snort of derision.

  Good. Wouldn’t want the homicidal criminal syndicate to overestimate him.

  No telling if the man at the other end of the phone believed his “this is so cool” schtick or not. Now to convince the man in the car outside that a last-minute excursion to the ballet was totally normal and nothing to worry about.

  He slid into the back seat of the town car, smiling brightly. Sebastian Gigoni was no fool. He wouldn’t be taken in by a fake “everything’s fantastic” act.

  “Did you get the job?” Sebastian asked without preamble.

  “Indeed I did. I got lucky—the shoot supervisor is an old friend of mine, and she had a last-minute cancellation to fill tomorrow.” Inspiration struck and he continued, “In fact, she invited me to go with her to the premiere of the American Ballet Company’s new production tonight. Had I refused, she would have grilled me about what my other plans were, so I went ahead and accepted her invitation. I figure it’s a public place with big crowds, so I’ll be safe. Not to mention, I can use the exposure to announce my presence in the Big Apple. God. I wonder if there’ll be paparazzi outside. It is a premiere, after all.” He tapped a front tooth thoughtfully with his fingernail.

  “No way—”

  He cut off Sebastian, saying brightly, “It’s not like I have any choice but to go. Once word gets out that I’m back in town, it would cause gossip and rumors if I didn’t go out and be seen. It’s what I do.”