Golden Dancer by Tara Lain Read Free Book Online Page A

and took a deep breath. She always teased him, since he told her the boys were for clients, but he wasn’t in the fucking mood. He wiped the sweat off his upper lip. Yeah, right. He was afraid that’s exactly what he was in—a fucking mood.
    He chucked the phone into the hidden compartment, wiped his palms on his cargo pants, and went into the conference room. Most of the senior editorial staff were gathered already.
    “Hi, Mac Mac.” Woo waved from the far end of the table.
    Debbie shoved a chair out beside her, and he took it. She leaned over. “How are you, buddy?”
    Crap, she’d been looking at him like he was damaged goods, and he was sick of it. He was going to tell her to cut it out. Okay, so he’d done a dumb thing. Not the fucking first time. As for the “did he like guys, or one guy specifically” issue? The further he got from the experience, the less it seemed likely or important. He’d lived this long as a straight man, and he was perfectly happy. Well, not perfectly happy. Probably not even very happy, but he liked his work and his friends. That was more than most people had.
    “Okay, troops, listen up.” Woo called the rowdy group of staffers to order. Kind of. “So what we got for this month?” Everything moved so fast at the Window , they had to plan a month in advance and then adjust content day-by-day as news broke and issues changed.
    Hands rose, and topics got shouted out when the hand-raising produced no results. The school problem in Los Angeles, the plight of women in Afghanistan when the US pulled out, who would be nominated for the big music awards, could cats smell diseases, recipes for summer barbecues, and on and on.
    “We got a big entertainment story?” Woo looked at Hirschfield. The man shrugged his elegant shoulders. He was the only one among them that wore a suit. “I will be attending the new chamber orchestra performance later this week. They have a new clarinetist who’s supposed to be quite good.”
    Woo rolled her eyes. “Clarinetist fine, but don’t get new subscribers.” Her darting black eyes landed on Mac. “So, Mac Mac, you got that dancer story for me? Med…whatever?”
    Hirschfield’s eyes widened. “Medveyev? You have a story on Medveyev? He doesn’t do interviews except regarding performances.”
    Woo waved a hand. “But Mac is big ballet guy. He tells me he can get a profile on this super Russian. I even have the big dinner receipt to prove it. So, Mac, you got my story? They say he’s real pretty. Pretty sells.”
    Debbie looked at him, her look of compassion all over her face. He wanted to smack her, even if he did love her. “No, Hirschfield’s right. The guy weaseled out, after telling me he’d give me a story. Sorry, Woo.”
    She crossed her arms. “After eating some real expensive food, he weaseled out. So, you got to first base with this guy?”
    Mac cringed at the reference.
    “If he like you enough to eat big dinner, maybe you can talk him into giving us just a little story.” She held her fingers a half inch apart. Then she smiled. “And some really big pictures, okay?”
    “I think he’s already gone.”
    Hirschfield looked at him with proverbial daggers. “No, he goes back to New York next week. That’s after he’s completed his little idyll with his new lover.”
    He felt as if his heart had stopped. “What lover?”
    “Oh, that billionaire art collector, Daniel Terrebone. Medveyev was seen getting into the man’s limousine after his performance last night. Seems Terrebone’s collected himself a real masterpiece this time.”
    Mac couldn’t breathe. What man could steal the Golden Dancer —twice?

Chapter Six
     
    Trelain stretched, extending his legs across the huge bed and arching his back. Christ on a bike, when had he slept this well? When he got to Terrebone’s mansion by the sea last night, his charming host, true to his word, had provided a masseur with magic hands, a splendid meal of salmon and creamed corn so