Page 32 of Saving Ian Pope

“Van Morrison.”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t he about eighty years old?”

“Yeah. What can I say? She loves Van and has seen him loads of times.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if there would be any other celebrities there, but that won’t matter. I’ll put in some calls and see if I can get some photographers to the Greek. Pictures of a happy, sober Ian Pope out for an evening with a non-celebrity. Don’t worry. I won’t give them Ivy’s name, if she wants to stay incognito. Even better. Ian Pope out with mysterious auburn-haired beauty. That’ll work.”

By the time I ended the call with my manager, I had a queasy feeling in my gut. I should probably tell Ivy, so she won’t feel ambushed, but if I told her, she might refuse to go, and she really wanted to go. I didn’t want to ruin her evening.

Eh, I could protect her. She could put her head down, and I’d tuck her behind me. The hired paps could get their shots, Jack would be happy, and the record company would get off my ass. Ivy didn’t have to know a thing about it.

***

Later that evening, I leaned into the mirror in the bathroom and ran my fingers through my long hair. I wanted to look half-way decent for the pictures but didn’t want to make Ivy suspicious. We’d been dressing down most of the time.

I jumped when she tapped on the door. “Are you almost ready in there? I don’t want to leave too late and end up parking miles away.”

I swung open the door, and my gaze swept her head to toe. Auburn-haired beauty, indeed. Even though she didn’t know it was coming, she looked paparazzi worthy in her light-colored, straight-legged jeans topped with a navy blue, fitted, lacy top with a V-neck, revealing a nice peek at her cleavage. Ivy had great tits, all natural, but she didn’t usually flaunt them. She’d complained to me that she got enough unwanted attention to draw any more focus to herself. Ivy didn’t like unwanted attention, and the guilt roiling in my chest just got a little more acidic.

“You look fantastic, so sexy.” I wedged a finger beneath her chin and kissed her.

“So do you, baby.” She ran a hand over my face. “You shaved your scruff, and now you look younger.”

“People are going to think you robbed the cradle, you cougar.” I growled and made claws.

Smoothing her hands down my short-sleeved, green linen shirt, she said, “I like this. Looks good on you. Just one improvement.”

She unbuttoned one more button at the neck and drilled the tip of her finger into my bare chest. “Just don’t get any tattoos on your chest. I like it like this.”

“Okay, anything else?” I patted the side pockets of my tan cargo pants. “You don’t need to do an OOTD check, do you?”

“What the heck is an OOTD?” She scrunched up her nose.

I should’ve known Ivy would be oblivious to the influencer lingo. “That, my out of touch Tink, stands for outfit of ...tedious delusion or something like that, and all the best influencers take selfies of their OOTDs to post on their social media for all the likes and narcissistic pleasure at the fawning compliments.”

I realized my tone had turned bitter when she stared at me with her mouth slight ajar.

“Okayyy. No, I’m not going to do that because I don’t think anyone gives a fuck what I’m wearing tonight. I only care if you like it, and you do.” She ended with a pirouette.

I herded her out of the bedroom because I liked what she was wearing so much, I had an urge to rip it all off her body and worship what was beneath it. I said, “About the parking.”

“Yeah, it’s a pain at the Greek. I pre-paid, but all I could get was the lot farther away from the venue, and it’s a dirt lot with gravel.” She extended her leg, a strappy, gold sandal on her foot. “These are okay for walking, though.”

“Let me order a Town Car to take us and pick us up. It can drop us right in front of the entrance. You paid for the tickets. Let me do this.” She’d never guess my ulterior motive was a quick getaway. Who knows what Jack told the paps. They just might get it in their heads to follow us all the way to Ivy’s car, and I’d hate that—even more than I’d hate their flashing cameras.

“Umm, okay. I already paid for the parking, though.”

I took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I’ll pay you back for the parking.”

Either Ivy didn’t realize how much money I had, or she preferred her independence. Before I could even offer, she’d made the plans for the LA trips and always paid for the tickets online. I could barely pay for our dinners or even groceries because she never asked.

Due to the wealth I’d amassed as a member of one of the most popular boybands in history and the investments I’d made with that money, I didn’t think twice about it when girlfriends in the past had hit me up to pay for their clothes or trips. I’d been happy to do it, but Ivy’s distinct disinterest in my wallet made me feel...special and wanted in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“In that case...” she kicked off her sandals “...I’m gonna swap these for a pair of sandals with heels.”

Forty-five minutes later, a black limo rolled to a stop at the curb in front of Ivy’s place. Ivy covered her mouth with one hand. “It’s huge. I thought you said Town Car.”

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