Jackson adjusted his white, seventies suit jacket before letting himself in the house. He walked through the door of his living room and stopped short.

Was that Meghan? Instead of dark dreadlocks, the woman standing in front of him had long, platinum blonde hair. Yes, it was definitely Meghan, her stunning eyes accentuated with black makeup. He’d been looking forward to seeing her in period costume, mainly so he could tease her some more. But she wasn’t wearing the oversized, swaying dress he’d expected.

What was she wearing?

She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and gave him a challenging look. “What do you think of my costume? Pretty great, right?”

He looked her up and down. “Is your dress made from meat?”

“I’m Lady Gaga. This is the famous meat dress she wore to the 2010 MTV Awards.” She stroked the bacon draped over her thigh. “It’s not actually meat, it’s made from some kind of felt. Looks real though, doesn’t it? The costume maker did a great job.”

“This is your costume?” He put a hand to his mouth to hide his laugh, but kept his tone stern. “Freya didn’t try to talk you out of it?”

“She talked me out of my first idea. I thought I might go as Prince, like in his Purple Rain phase, in a sparkling purple suit and curly eighties hair. A prince is a kind of lord, right? And there was nothing stating I had to go as a lady. But Freya thought Lady Gaga would be better, and she was right.”

“Oh, so much better,” he said in a tone as dry as the Sahara. “Remind me to give her a raise.”

Truth was, once he’d gotten over his surprise, he had to admit the Lady Gaga look suited her. She had on a pair of teetering platform heels that were also wrapped in the red meat-like cloth, and her dress was cut high on one side. The result was that her legs went on for miles. Plus, the blonde wig almost looked real, and with light hair framing her face, her eyes and red lips stood out even more than usual. And her nose piercing and tattoos went a lot better with this outfit than they would have if she’d worn an old-fashioned gown.

Meghan’s brow creased. “Aren’t you going to wear a costume?”

Jackson pulled a pair of seventies sunglasses from his top suit pocket and put them on. “I am. You think I’d be seen dead in this suit if it wasn’t a costume party?”

“You don’t look like a lord. Wait, don’t tell me. I want to guess what you’re dressed as.” She took a step back, studying his white suit and wide-lapelled shirt he’d copied from the one Al Pacino had worn in the movie Scarface. “Are you a gangster?”

He gave her a mock frown, enjoying every minute of his costume reveal. “A gangster?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. My costume’s incomplete, that’s why you can’t tell what I am.” He tugged an oversized cigar out of his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “There,” he said around it. “Now it must be obvious.”

“Now you’re a gangster with a cigar.”

“Otherwise known as a drug lord.”

She snorted a laugh. “A drug lord? That’s cheating!”

“Is it, Lady Gaga?”

She gave him a wicked grin and held her hand up for him to high-five. “I guess neither of us has to wear ruffles tonight, huh?”

“That’s the idea.” He tucked the cigar back into his pocket for safekeeping, before taking her arm to walk her out.

“We’re not driving the Aston?” she asked when he led her to the front door, rather than the garage.

His limo was waiting outside, his driver already holding the door open for them. “So I can have a beer or two,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s exactly what I do,” she said as he helped her in. “The Toyota you ran into was my Thursday car. On Fridays, I drive my Ferrari.”

He settled onto the large leather seat next to her. The limo wasn’t overly long, but its ceiling was surprisingly high, and it had a large empty space between the back seat and the front where the driver sat. His driver had filled the ice bucket and stocked it with a fresh bottle of champagne.

“Drink?” he asked Meghan, nodding to it as they drove down his driveway and onto the road.

“How far are we going?”

“Ten minutes.”

She shot him a sideways look. “Then I think I can wait until we get there.”

He couldn’t help but smile. The women he usually took out liked to soak up every luxury on offer. Meghan was the opposite. He was tempted to shower her with more opulence, just to see her flash that ‘are you for real?’ look from the corner of her eyes.

“There’s a lot more room in here than in the old rattler you used to drive.” She ran her hand across the leather seat. “And at least I don’t have a drum kit crammed onto my lap.”

“That wasn’t an old rattler, but a perfectly good vehicle. And without it, we would have been catching a bus to all our gigs.” He hadn’t thought of his van in years, but it had been his pride and joy back then. Shame he’d had to sell it when he’d arrived in Brisbane, but it had funded the fresh start he’d so desperately needed.

“Remember that time you used one of my stockings to fix something that broke inside the engine?”

“Got us there, didn’t it?”

“I still don’t know how. That van ran on rust and prayers.”

“And women’s lingerie.”

She shot him a sideways smirk. “You mean I wasn’t the only woman who donated her undergarments for a good cause?”

With a rueful quirk of his lips, he shook his head. “Sadly, you were. I didn’t date much in those days.” He realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Now she’d ask why not, and he’d have to make up something plausible. He wasn’t about to confess it was because he’d been too busy dreaming about Meghan, even though he’d classed her as strictly off limits.

“Why—?” she started.

“We’re almost there,” he interrupted. “Once I find the people I’m looking for, I’ll need to leave you on your own while I talk business. But because you’ll be waiting for me, I can pressure them into making the meeting a short one. If I can keep them focused, we should be able to get the deal done in half an hour or so. An hour, tops.”

“What shall I do while you’re having your meeting?”

“Dance. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.”

“Okay.” Meghan rubbed her palms against her dress. “Who are you going to see?”

“Three men and two women. We’ve arranged to meet at the bar at eight.”

“But who are they?”

“Why do you ask?” The question came out too sharply. Dammit, there was no reason to be suspicious of her. Meghan blinked, but before she could say anything, Jackson softened his tone. “They’re the division heads from a technology company I want to partner with.”

Meghan nodded, but she was silent for a while, staring out the window.

Jackson let the silence stretch out. It wasn’t fair to Meghan to keep wondering if she could be a corporate spy. The idea was ridiculous and he should never have let Derek plant it in his head. So, enough was enough. It was time to put suspicion aside and just enjoy his evening with a beautiful woman. His lips quirked. Or rather, a beautiful Lady Gaga.

Putting his hand on her knee, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”

She bit her lip. “Honestly? I’m a little nervous about the party.”

“Don’t be. I guarantee you’ll be the most popular woman there. Everyone will be irresistibly drawn to you like moths to a flame.”

She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? You’re wearing bacon.”

She gave a huffing guffaw of a laugh that triggered his own laughter. And they were still chuckling when the limo pulled up at the conference center.

But the moment they walked into the ballroom together, arm in arm, all heads turned to look at them. It felt like a scene from an old Western, when an infamous gunslinger walks into a saloon making the noise instantly cease and everyone stare.

Meghan froze, her hand jerking his arm. Her eyes were wide, gazing at the upturned faces. The entrance to the ballroom was raised, and the sea of people they were gazing down on all wore period costume. It was an ocean of froth and frills. An endless expanse of wigs, cleavage, lace, and skirts.

“They’re staring,” she said, putting her mouth close to his ear so he could hear her over the music.

“They’re all wishing they’d thought of wearing a meat dress,” he replied around his cigar.

She squeezed his arm. “Either that, or they’re wondering how much you charge for a line of coke.” If he hadn’t known her so well, he might not have caught the quaver in her tone. As it was, he took the cigar out of his mouth so he could give her a reassuring smile. “You look gorgeous,” he said. “And delicious. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

He led her down the steps onto the ballroom floor where they both took glasses of champagne from the tray offered by a waiter. The theme of the party obviously hadn’t included the music, because there was a DJ booth in the corner, and the DJ was playing Get Into The Groove by Madonna.

The crowd was tightly packed, so Jackson took Meghan’s hand. “This way.”

He led her to the bar on the other side of the room and looked around for the people he’d be meeting with. It was early, and there was no sign of them yet.

“Want to dance, Lady Gaga?” he asked.

“Sure.” She drained her glass of champagne and they left their glasses on the bar.

When they got to the dance floor, the music had changed to the latest Ariana Grande song. He would have preferred a slow song to pull her close, but watching her dance was good too. She had a sinuous way of moving, and great natural rhythm. And those legs of hers were incredible. It was a crime against nature for her to keep them hidden in jeans. Although, come to think of it, her butt had looked delectable in her faded Levis. And if he had to choose between getting to admire her legs or her butt—

Meghan leaned forward, mid-groove. “What are you thinking about?” she asked over the music. “You look so serious.”

“A difficult business decision.” The music changed to a slower song, giving him the perfect opportunity to move closer and put his hands on her waist. “You know me, always contemplating the serious issues.”

Meghan froze. Her body went rigid and he leaned back to look at her face. The color was draining from it and she wore a look of shock.

“You okay?” He dropped his hands. “What is it?”

“This song.” Her voice was choked.

Jackson frowned as a male singer started crooning. It wasn’t anyone he recognized, but the tune was catchy. “What about the song?”

“I can’t believe it.” Her fists clenched. “That despicable slimeball rat-fink bastard piece of shit.”

“You know the guy who sings this?”

“I have to talk to the DJ.” She whirled and stalked to the DJ booth, pushing through the crowd to get there. He followed, and saw her motion the DJ to lean over his equipment and tug his headphones off. She yelled a question over the music, but Jackson couldn’t make out what she said, or the DJ’s answer. He moved closer to hear her next question.

“You don’t know his name?” Meghan shouted.

“Some new guy.” The DJ yelled back. “Debut single, out today.”

“Is it charting?”

The DJ shrugged. “Hot off the presses. You like it?”

Meghan stepped back, shaking her head so hard that her long, blonde Lady Gaga hair flew around her head. Then she spun to face Jackson. Her eyes glistened. “I can’t… I just…” She dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know I’m letting you down, but I need to get out of here. If I stay I’m going to punch somebody.”

He caught her arm, frowning at the way she was trembling. “What’s wrong?”

“Honestly, I can’t talk about it yet. I’m too damn angry.”

Her cheeks were flushed. She looked like she was about to explode.

“I’ll take you home,” said Jackson, leading her toward the door.

“No.” She tugged out of his grip away from him. “Go and have your meeting. I don’t want to ruin this for you any more than I already have. I’ll try and cool off, and see you at your place later.”

He grabbed her arm again before she could stalk away. “Wait. I’ll have the limo take you home.”

“You don’t need to—”

“You’re not leaving alone. I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“Fine.” She took off toward the door, pulling him along with him as she wove through the crowd.

He wanted to question her further, to get to the bottom of what had made her so mad, but that wouldn’t help her. It was clear she needed to be alone, to rage or shout or cry. Instead of pulling her into his arms and demanding to know what was wrong, he put her in the limo and instructed his driver to take Meghan home, then come back for him. “I won’t be long,” he told her. “You’ll be okay until I get there?”

“That depends.” She gave him a tight smile. “Got any booze at your place, and do you mind if I drink it?”

“The tall cabinet in the living room.”

“Thanks. And sorry again for this. Not a great start to our arrangement, huh?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Jackson tried to push the puzzle of what had upset Meghan so much out of his mind while he had his meeting, which lasted almost two hours in spite of his efforts to hurry it along. But on his way home later, he looked the song up on his phone. The singer was a guy named Trey Finnegan, and this was his first single, released today. An album would be coming out in September.

If this Trey character had hurt Meghan, Jackson would… He took a deep breath, forcing his fists to unclench. He was getting ahead of himself. First he needed to make sure Meghan was alright. Then he’d have vengeful thoughts about the guy who’d hurt her.

When he arrived, Jackson strode into the house in such a hurry, he let the door slam loudly behind him. But in the living room, he found Meghan fast asleep on the couch, snoring softly. She was still in her meat dress, but barefoot now, with her discarded shoes and wig lying on the floor. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a fully-empty tub of chocolate chip ice cream sat on the coffee table. The door’s slam hadn’t woken her.

“You went straight for the hard stuff,” he murmured, bending to brush her hair from her face and wrinkling his nose at the whiskey fumes on her breath. “That’s just like you. No half measures.”

She gave a little grunt, snuggled into the couch, and started snoring louder.

Jackson fetched a blanket and drew it over her. He took the whisky bottle and ice cream tub away, replacing them with a large glass of water and some pain killers for when she woke up. Then he bent and kissed her forehead.

“Sleep tight,” he whispered. “Tell me about the slimeball rat fink bastard in the morning.”