As far as I know, Jackson is on twenty-six with Lauren Crane, who has recently been promoted from the file room to work as his assistant until his secretary arrives from New York. If everything is going well, he’s walking the floor with her and giving both Lauren and the construction staff directions on where to put up walls and doors, where to set up drafting tables, and all the other minutiae that comes with getting his area built out the way he wants it.
Since a couple of guys from his New York staff are arriving in ten days with his secretary, he’s been crazy busy, and I would be seriously surprised if he’s noticed anything happening out in cyber-land.
I don’t say all of that to Cass, though. Instead, I just text back, I doubt he’s seen any pics. What up?
She responds with two links. The first leads to more advertising photos of me, some of which have been merged with recent images of Jackson and turned into social media graphics. Great. My childhood trauma has become someone else’s social media pastime. Isn’t that wonderful?
The second link is more immediate, and just as disturbing. On this site, I find a picture of Graham Elliott, his arm hooked buddy-buddy style around Jackson’s shoulders.
Well, hell.
My fears are confirmed when I get Cass’s next text:
Buzz is that the movie is a go and Graham is playing Jackson. Tell J not to blow a gasket.
I roll my eyes. Easier said than done.
I tell Cass I need to get back to work, which is technically true. But instead I scour the internet. Sure enough, the speculation is back about the movie, with the press opining that Graham was the go-between, healing the rift between Reed and Jackson Steele, who was recently arrested for assaulting the producer-director.
Isn’t that just so sweet?
I consider giving Jackson a heads-up, but decide that he has enough to worry about. Since there’s nothing he can do about the pictures and comments, I might as well wait until work is over and he has a drink in his hand.
I’m just settling back into work when my intercom buzzes. “Mr. Stark asked me to tell you that you and he and Mr. Ward and Mr. Steele are scheduled to have dinner at Cut 360. Seven tonight with Dallas Sykes. I’ve already told Mr. Ward,” Karen adds, referring to Aiden. “And he said to tell you that Mrs. Stark will be joining you.”
“Wait, slow down.” I click frantically on my computer to open my calendar. “I don’t know a thing about this.”
“Apparently Mr. Sykes is in town and wants to meet Mr. Steele. Mr. Stark said to apologize, but that you two need to be there unless it’s absolutely impossible.”
Which, I know, translates to just be there. Dallas Sykes is a gorgeous, brash, tabloid-friendly department store mogul who is also the primary investor in The Resort at Cortez.
“Okay,” I say, because what else is there to say? “I’ll let Mr. Steele know.”
“Great. And you have a call holding on three. He says he’s your brother.”
That’s odd, since Ethan has my cell phone number, and knows I prefer not to take personal calls through the office number. I answer warily, but it really is my little brother.
“What’s up?” I ask, immediately on alert. “Are you okay? Why aren’t you calling my cell?”
“Hey, Silly,” he says, using the nickname he’s called me since he was three and I was six. My full name is Eleanor Sylvia Brooks. But that’s what came out of his little baby mouth. “Great to hear your voice, too.”
“My darling little brother. How wonderful to hear from you on the phone you never call me on, thus making me worry. And then teasing me about worrying.”
“I’m fine.” I hear the laughter in his voice. “I lost my phone and couldn’t remember your number.”
I shake my head, but I am smiling. That’s Ethan. My scatterbrained brother, whom I absolutely adore.
“Do I need to arrange to have your phone surgically attached to your body?”
“I think I’ll just scour the apartment again. The place is a mess from all the packing. It’s probably under a box.”
Since his stuff is being shipped from London—and that process takes weeks—I hope it didn’t accidentally end up inside a box. But I keep my thoughts to myself. No point in being the voice of doom.