Page 42 of Saving Ian Pope

“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “Nobody is buying anyone mansions in Malibu.”

“You could always ask.” Chloe twirled her finger in the air. “You kinda have him wrapped around your finger.”

“What nonsense.” But I secretly felt a little glow in my heart even though I didn’t completely agree with Chloe. To have someone wrapped around your finger implied you held all the power, but I felt helpless to resist Ian. Every time we made love, he possessed me, body and soul. It terrified me that I’d allowed it to happen.

As the waitress delivered our food, Chloe waved a fork at me. “That smile right there says Malibu mansion.”

I thanked the waitress and kicked Chloe under the table, risking my newly painted toenails. “Just shut it. If I do decide to move across the pond, you’ll be the first to know, and of course you can stay in my place—in Santa Monica.”

We spent the rest of lunch discussing my current book, Chloe’s extended contract for work, and gossiping about our friend, Diego, who stumbled across his boyfriend’s Grindr account.

Two mimosas in, Chloe got a call from her current client requesting a meeting. After paying for brunch and refusing a ride from me, she hopped into an Uber, furiously crunching mints.

I sent a text to Ian, and he confirmed he was still working, so I decided to give him space and do some work of my own. I’d brought my laptop and when I left the restaurant, I headed across the street to a coffee house to work on my book.

Ian’s vast amounts of money hadn’t swayed me, but my conversation with Chloe had brought me closer to chucking it all and moving to England. Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have even considered giving up laundry day for a guy. The speed and intensity of my relationship with Ian left me breathless and a little, no alot, scared, but I trusted him. I could trust my heart with him. He made me feel...safe.

Mid-way through a scene where the heroine literally trips over a dead body, my phone buzzed. Without thinking or checking the display, I tapped to answer. “Hello.”

“Hey, sis. Finally. I’ve been texting you for weeks. You have me on ignore, or what?”

My heart stuttered, just like it always did when I heard from my brother. I took my phone off Speaker and held it to my ear. “What do you want, Matt?”

“That’s cold. You can start by setting me up with that total smoke show, Chloe. Nothing I like more than a black-haired bitch with fake tits.”

I almost choked on my tea. “Yeah, I’ll tell her you said that. She’ll be swept off her feet at the sheer romanticism. I told you before, she has a boyfriend.”

“I know she thinks I’m hot, so you can let her know I’m available.”

“Things didn’t work out too well for you the last time you dated a woman of that description. I think she got you arrested.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” He hacked. Matt had a smoker’s cough already at thirty-two. “How’s yourwriting careergoing?”

I didn’t know if he tried for that sneer in his voice every time he mentioned my career, or if it just came naturally to him. “It’s going okay. I have two new books out, one ready to go, and I’m working on a fourth.” I almost bit off the tip of my tongue. I should know by now, never to brag about success to Matt.

“Any ‘New York Times’ bestsellers in that bunch? JK Rowling level success? Hell, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ success.”

“Sorry, no. Just enough to get by and keep writing.”

“That’s dull, but you don’t have to be coy with me,Ivy Chase.”

“Yeah, well you can probably look up the sales yourself. Not that exciting.” Matt usually had two reasons for calling—he needed money, or he’d gotten himself into some mess...and he needed money. I didn’t have any money to give him, and I’d just about run out of fucks to give about his problems.

He'd gotten the same share of Dad’s life insurance money as I did, but he’d squandered his on gambling, booze, weed, and women. The fact that Dad had life insurance had shocked both of us, but Matt pointed out later our old man had probably gotten it as a prelude to some kind of scam or insurance fraud—he just died before he could implement it.

“I’m not talking about your pathetic career, sis. I’m talking about your new boyfriend.”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I gripped the edge of the table with one hand as my head spun. “I-I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Not only do you have a boyfriend, he’s rich as fuck.”

Wiping a damp hand on my thigh, I licked my dry lips. “Oh, you mean those stupid pictures at the concert of me and Ian Pope. He’s not my boyfriend. I just met him there. Haven’t seen him since.”

I should’ve known Matt would see those pictures. He didn’t follow celebrity gossip, but he did follow Van. We both got our musical tastes from our father—about the only thing we got from him except for the insurance money. Matt loved Van as much as I did and even had alerts on his phone for any mentions of him online.

I held my breath as Matt mulled over my response.

“You’re lying. I saw the pictures. You’re holding hands. He kissed you.”

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