We’re not moving in together… yet. On that front we’re being practical. Give it a few months, probably until the end of my lease, and then decide from there. I might downgrade to a studio apartment farther out to save some money, because there will be days I need to get away from his dominant personality, or at least to have a guaranteed escape where Ian’s forced to talk to a doorman to come up and see me.

We are most definitely not talking about marriage yet. Hilariously, I think Ian would be more relaxed about the idea than me. I’m not the type to sit here and doodle out names like, “Kathryn Mathers,” or “Kathryn Alison-Mathers.” I’m more the type to cackle at the thought of, “Ian Alison” or “Ian Alison-Mathers.”

My name sounds better in the front. Don’t you think so?

Of course it does.

I’m sitting here, smiling like an idiot while Eva mumbles about insufferable heterosexuals, when the doorbell rings.

Um, excuse me. I didn’t have anyone shown up after they buzzed in. So what’s the deal?

I warily glance at Eva before going to the door. Nobody’s there.

Nobody, but there is the city scandal rag lying at my feet.

“What the…” I don’t subscribe to this. Nevertheless, I pick it up, reading the fresh headline that makes my breath still in my chest.

“HOLLYWOOD SWEETHEART STEPHANIE MAY LIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.”

“Oh my God,” I hear Eva behind me snort. “Bring that shit in here.”

For once, I find myself obeying a fellow Domme.

The front page article is absolutely outrageous. From the first word, Stephanie May is slammed with a pile of receipts that claim she not only lied about her age – by ten years! – but that she was previously married to a man fifty years her senior and had one kid by him. A son. That she hasn’t talked to since she bailed on him five years ago.

Both Eva and I whistle.

There isn’t a kind word about her. Between the lies and the shitty, neglectful mom angle, it’s safe to say that Stephanie is having one of the worst days of her life. She’s reportedly been dropped by half her promotional contracts and a big director who was scouting her has now decided to go with another up and coming actress.

Ouch.

Inside, though, I’m howling in laughter.

This must be Caroline’s work. My hunch that she hired a private investigator must have been a good one, because this is the kind of dirt only a real pro outside of the tabloids could have dug up. Stephanie’s career is ruined. Dominic Mathers is mentioned once as her current love interest, with the paper further slamming Stephanie for moving on to the father of the man she was previously involved with.

“For more on this matter, turn to Page 6.”

Before Eva can finish reading the smack about Stephanie, I flip the pages until I’m…

I’m looking at pictures of Ian and me.

“Uh oh.”

Eva ain’t shitting. Uh oh is right.

“Romance between two powerful families? A credible source states that playboy Ian Mathers and Kathryn Alison, a local rich philanthropist, are getting serious. The couple has been seen enjoying time alone at high-profile restaurants and, most recently, at the opening ball for the reopened Grand Hotel. But that’s not all! Rumor also has it that these two share more in common than money and work projects. Both Mathers and Alison are known dominant personalities in the local kink scene. So who’s serving who? A photo too salacious to print suggests that it’s Ms. Alison who is making some changes to her personal life.”

 

Eva yanks the paper from my hands and tosses it onto the garbage.

We’re silent. My gut says call Ian, but my gut also really wants to throw up.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

IAN

 

I know something is terribly wrong when I pick up my phone and see a dozen harried messages from Kathryn.

There’s a gathering behind me. My father, his friends, some of my friends, a bunch of fraternity bullshit we Mathers have been sucked into since my grandfather’s time. About once or twice a year, we boys of the exclusive Beta Kappa Phi meet up to talk about the good ol’ days of drinking too much and waking up to find a bevy of women in our beds.

You know, typical male bonding.

Today’s bonding isn’t what you normally find in Man Land, however. When I showed up today, I found my father halfway to drunk and telling two friends about the horrible way he and Stephanie finally had to break up.

Apparently she’s closer to my age than any of us thought. Close enough to say she’s older than me.

Also, she has a kid that she conveniently never mentioned to anyone, including the kid.

And something about an old and dead husband conveniently targeted for his money.

I mean, the horror story continues.

Here I am, laughing into my expensive beer, wishing I could tell my father I told you so. Yet somehow I doubt that’s why Kathryn is killing my phone.

Well, it has to do with the paper, but not for the reason I thought.

Apparently a little birdie has been talking about Kathryn and me.

“At least one of us is having a good day for love,” my father says, nearly slurring. He never slurs unless he’s depressed and drinking at the same time.

“Were you really in love with Stephanie?” I counter.

To the tune of “you old dog” and “she’s still a hot young piece of ass to me” from his buddies, my father rubs the top of his graying hair and says, “That’s beside the point. No man likes being lied to like that.”

“No man likes it when his dad steals his girlfriend, either.”

“Now, son!”

“I heard that a private investigator fucked her up,” says my friend Eddie. He was my roommate my first year in the frat. Real party animal back in the day, bringing home the kind of girls who would go with him until he passed out drunk and then made their ways to me. “Followed her for weeks, invaded her hometown, and made life hell for everyone involved until they started spilling her secrets. Apparently, she had charmed a good amount of the men in that town into staying quiet.”

The others nod sagely. Eddie further reveals that he knows this factoid because he used the same private investigator for a business dealing a few months ago.

“Same one your mother uses, Ian,” he says, laughing.

My father hears this. “That weasel little fuck? He followed me around all during the divorce. Was trying to find as much dirt on me as possible so Caroline got to keep half the money. I would come home and find him going through the garbage and cornering my employees. I… fuck!’ He leaps up, knocking over someone’s beer and nearly stumbling into a table. “Caroline did this!”

Now I really am laughing. My mother would. She’s as vindictive in love as she is greedy for money. Bless her.

Of course, my father doesn’t think this is so funny. I kind of feel sorry for him. He says it wasn’t love with Stephanie, but he stuck with her longer than he has any of his previous girlfriends, and he’s taking this breakup hard. In fact, if my father were your average rich guy and not the patriarch of an old money company, he’d probably still let Stephanie suck him dry. As his son, I should support him, or at least try to make him feel better. As a man sick of Stephanie’s shit, however, fuck that.

Dominic Mathers is, at this very moment, raging around the room, screaming about how he’s going to teach that woman a lesson while his old frat buddies try to get him to calm down and let it the fuck go. Easier said than done when you’re as drunk as he is.

“You got what you deserved, Dominic!”