by Nancy Warren
There was a silence, heavy with confusion and heat and close to twenty-eight years of getting her way whether she wanted it or not.
“You’re fetching to break up with me.”
“I am not.”
He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Peeled off a couple of fifties. “I’ve got no idea what your going rate is, but here. I’m hiring you.” He slapped the money on the top of her car. “Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Break up with me.”
She threw the bills back at him. Nobody ever broke up with her! Never.
She hadn’t even planned to break up with him. Had she? All she wanted was for it to be easy and fun, with lots of sex and laughs. No talk of love or the future and now he’d gone and spoiled everything.
“I won’t take your money,” she snapped, shoving the bills back toward him. “This match I’ll break up for free.”
Chapter 27
Chloe walked into the restaurant and scanned the tables. It was ridiculously easy to work out which one was Alice. She could have spotted the about-to-be-dumped woman without a physical description at all. The woman’s body language told her everything. She was tense, too eager, too hopeful. On some level she already knew it was over. Poor dear.
Chloe walked over to the table for two with only the one person sitting there and said, “Alice?”
A puzzled glance met hers. “Yes?”
“I’m Chloe. John sent me.”
Puzzle turned to quick alarm. “John? Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine.” Apart from being a rat bastard who would pay someone else rather than do his own dirty work. She slipped into the opposite seat without asking permission and said, “John asked me to come today on his behalf.”
The woman looked at her wristwatch. Funny how people nearly always did, as though the time mattered. “Why didn’t he call and cancel lunch?”
“It’s complicated, and I think he thought this might be easier coming from another woman. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Usually I don’t drink at lunch, but something tells me I’m going to need this.”
Chloe beamed at her. Women were so smart and intuitive. “And let’s order an extremely expensive lunch, on John.”
“That bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Alice took a quick breath. In and out. “Tell me one thing. Are you sleeping with him?”
Chloe blinked. What was there about her that suggested she’d have such appalling taste? “Heavens, no,” she said.
“Then why are you here? Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me like it is.”
“John wants to break up with you and he’s too much of a chicken to do it himself. So he hired me.”
“He hired you to break up with me?”
“Yes.”
The woman stared at her. She was in her early forties, stylish and obviously successful. She wore a smart suit and a silk Givenchy blouse. “John paid out money so he wouldn’t have to break up with me himself?” The woman didn’t seem particularly hysterical, more that she wanted to be absolutely certain she understood.
“That’s right.”
“How much did he pay you?”
She thought about hedging, but really, in the other woman’s shoes she’d have wanted to know too. “I’m very expensive,” she replied, and then stated the fee.
The woman across the table started to laugh. “Order the most expensive bottle of wine on that menu. I’ll call the office and tell my secretary I won’t be in this afternoon.”
When they were enjoying a nice bottle of wine and munching on salads, Alice said, “You know what really burns me? I’m smart, I’m successful, I’m together, I’m great at what I do. And with men?” She shook her head violently. “I’m pathetic. Why is that?”
Chloe felt like saying, Look, they pay me to break up, not to give therapy, but the truth was she didn’t know. She thought about Matthew and wanted to weep. “I’m a mess too, in my personal life.”
The woman snorted, well into her second glass of wine. “You? You’re the nightmare women like me fear all our lives. You’re gorgeous and sexy and you wear the right clothes. I bet no one’s ever broken up with you in your entire life.”
Obviously not. However, she was beginning to realize that that wasn’t necessarily because she was universally adorable. She rather thought it was because she was the bail-out queen. She always dumped men long before they had a chance to tire of her. “I’m as much a mess as the next woman,” she admitted. “I have a bit of a commitment problem.”
“You and John.”
Over lunch they had a surprisingly good time. Alice loved art and was well traveled, so they had quite a bit in common. It was an odd way to meet someone, but she thought by the end of lunch she’d like to include Alice in her growing circle of friends. Besides, she was a successful stockbroker and Chloe was beginning to realize she had to begin taking control of her life and not letting everyone else take care of her.
“May I come and see you? Professionally?” she asked when they were winding down the lunch.
Alice laughed again. It was a rich, horsey laugh, and it reminded her a bit of Nicky’s. “I have to say this is the most bizarre way I’ve ever met a client.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a business card. “Sure. Give my office a call. Once I get through the crying jag I’m working up to, I’d be happy to help you.”
“Come on. Let’s get you home. I’ve got a bag of treats and lots of tissues.”
Alice rose and straightened her skirt. “You’re going to see me home?”
“Of course—it’s part of the service.”
“You’ll come to my house and hand me tissues?”
“Tissues, brandy, lashings of tea, herbal or proper English tea, and four kinds of ice cream.”
Alice started to shake her head, then paused. “What flavors of ice cream? Ah, what the hell. I’ll eat ’em all.”
Since Alice had walked to the restaurant from her office and Chloe had come by cab, they took a taxi to Alice’s apartment. A modern high-rise with high ceilings, and white walls covered in art. Chloe got out bowls and spoons and unpacked the ice cream while Alice changed into jeans and a ratty old blue sweater that was obviously as comforting as a security blanket.
“What am I doing with someone so pathetic he can’t even break up with a woman? He hires someone to do it for him?”
“I was wondering that myself.”
“Low self-esteem issues.”
“But why? You’re a wonderful person. John is a fool.”
“Of course he is. I’m hardly ever attracted to the good men in the world. It’s a sickness. I go out with men who will treat me like crap. It’s like somewhere inside me I don’t think I deserve any better.”
“But surely you can change.”
Alice shrugged, then put a hand to her forehead. “Ow, I’m getting brain freeze from the Pecan Fudge Ripple. Ow, ow, ow.” But she was laughing as she said it. “You know, there should be a club or a school or something for women like me where they can figure out how not to be treated this way.”
“My dear,” Chloe said, “you’re brilliant.” She took a tiny spoonful of her own bowl of ice cream. “I think I know just the person to run it. Her name is Deborah Beaumont. She’s a therapist, and a good one. You might want to pop along and see her.”
Maybe she needed to see Deborah herself. Since her new friend Alice seemed to be almost relieved to finally have getting dumped by John out of the way, she left soon afterward.
Something about her day with Alice, though, made her face a very unpleasant fact.
She’d messed up.
The old Chloe would have chucked a lovely, noisy, spectacular wobbly and run home to Mummy and Daddy after she and Matthew had had their row. The new version, what she liked to think of as the American Chloe, had no such desire. Oh, she’d chucked a pretty decent wobbly, and sabotaged her relationship the way she always did, but this time
, she wasn’t running away.
Going home hadn’t even occurred to her. It was time to face up to who she was and what she wanted.
Perhaps Alice’s words had hit a nerve. All her life she’d been drawn to men she ended up despising. Men who let her control them, who spoiled and petted her but didn’t take her seriously or see that there was a good brain lodged beneath the first-class cosmetics and trendy hairstyles. Of course, she’d taken great pains to hide her intelligence until she’d come to America and started a new life. Now she had to rely on her skills, her intelligence, and herself.
She didn’t even make it home.
Her cell phone rang and she answered it in the cab. “Hello?”
“Is this The Breakup Artist?” It was Matthew. The sound of his voice was so very dear and so unexpected that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Silence hung between them.
“Ma’am? Have I got the breakup agency?”
For some reason Matthew was pretending to be a stranger. Well, she’d played plenty of bizarre games in her time, like acting as though she didn’t recognize a voice she knew intimately. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes, it is.”
“May I speak to your customer service division?”
Chloe put a hand to her chest and felt the urgent thud of her heart. “Customer service?” she echoed stupidly. What on earth was he going on about? One of them was clearly barking mad.
“I’m not happy with the service I received from your agency. I want to complain.”
She sank back against the upholstery of the cab, her legs feeling wobbly as she began to guess, and wildly hope, that she knew where he was going with his odd question.
“I am the president of The Breakup Artist. What seems to be the problem, sir?” She liked the way she’d added sir onto the end of her question. It made them sound so formal.
“One of your, ah, operatives got a little carried away and broke up my relationship by mistake. I want it put back.”
Chloe felt a lump form in her throat. “You do?”
“Damn right I do. I love that woman.”
“You do?” she asked again, her voice wobbling at the end.
“Yes, ma’am. She’s crazy, spoiled, a little high-maintenance for my taste, but I’m nuts about her. I want you to put that match back together.”
“Put a match together?” She let some of the annoyance she was feeling from the spoiled and high-maintenance nonsense leak into her tone. “But, my dear sir, this is not a matchmaking agency, it’s a matchbreaking agency.”
“Then I suggest you branch out, or you are going to have one very unhappy customer. I want a match put back together. Oh, and I want something creative.”
“Creative?”
“Yeah. Surprise the hell out of me.”
“I suppose you’re going to order a timeline as well for your surprise,” she snapped, glad he couldn’t see her, since the snippy tone in her voice couldn’t possibly reveal the smile beginning to bloom on her face.
“By the end of next week.” And he hung up on her.
Chloe sat there so stunned she forgot to push the Off button on her phone, holding it against her ear until an annoying buzz disturbed her.
Matthew was completely insane.
The smile was in full bloom now. Yes, he was. He also understood her, as perhaps no man ever had. In his shoes, she might have done something similar.
So, he wanted to be surprised, did he?
She waved her feet up and down in her delight and was momentarily distracted by the gold bows on the red straps. She’d paid a fortune for the shoes on Bond Street. Well, if all went well, she’d end up wearing tooled leather cowboy boots for the rest of her life, she supposed, and yelling yee-haw.
From her cell phone in the taxi, she called Deborah’s office. It was almost five, but she called anyway, and was lucky enough to be put through.
“Deborah Beaumont speaking.”
“Hello, Deborah. This is Chloe Flynt.”
“So my assistant said.” She didn’t sound happy to hear from Chloe, or hostile, simply neutral. “What can I do for you?”
Chloe wondered what on earth she was doing. She’d followed her instincts and not thought through the fact that the last time she’d seen Deborah, the woman had been shouting at her. “I’m wondering—I know it’s late—but is there any chance you could see me today?”
There was a long pause. She thought her cell phone had cut out, when finally the woman said, “You mean professionally?”
“Well, I’m not asking you for a date.”
Thankfully, the other woman chuckled. “I’ve had my last appointment for the day, but I’ll be here for a while. Where are you?”
She squinted at the street signs. “About two blocks away.”
“All right.”
When the taxi dropped her off, she took a deep breath and then rode the elevator up.
The young receptionist was packing up when Chloe got there, and luckily, there was no sign of Jordan.
Deborah greeted her and ushered her into an office that was more like a living room. She noticed that Deborah was looking a lot more relaxed and somehow more human than the last time they’d seen each other.
“This is lovely,” she said, admiring her surroundings. “Very homey. I watched you on television, by the way, and I thought you were very good.”
“Thanks. Have a seat. Can I get you some tea?”
Thinking about the last time they’d had tea, Chloe smiled. “No, thank you. I just finished two bowls of ice cream. Long story, but I did refer a very nice woman named Alice who may be calling here.”
If Deborah thought that was strange behavior she didn’t say anything, merely settled herself on one chair and motioned for Chloe to sit across from her. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I broke it off with the man I’ve been seeing. We had a stupid row and I lost it.”
Deborah nodded as if people did that all the time. God, they probably did. “Why do you think you did that?”
“Because I love him!”
“Why don’t you tell me all about it.”
So she did. Chloe wasn’t one who had to be prompted. She loved to talk about herself. She’d been through all the top therapists in London, including one who wanted to throw away his practice and take her around the world on his sailboat. But most of them had been very helpful. She understood she was terrified of commitment; she’d simply never been able to do anything about it.
When she got to the end of the recital, Deborah said, “You know, Chloe, change is terrifying. I see people all the time who, like you, understand what’s holding them back, but they are so afraid of changing that they are stuck in their old patterns.”
“But I do want to change.”
The face Deborah showed her wasn’t soft and understanding, but tough and uncompromising. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. “This is only my first session. Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?”
“You’re the expert on breaking up relationships. I’m the one who knows about healing them. That means that in this room, I’m the boss. Okay?”
She might have liked Deborah better when she was a ranting emotional wreck. “Okay.”
“So, what are you going to do about changing?”
She nibbled a corner of her thumbnail, something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. “I’m going to get him back.”
“Pardon? I didn’t hear you.”
Chloe sat up straight. Put her hand in her lap. Took a deep breath. “I’m going to get him back.”
If she wanted Matthew, and she knew she did, certainly for the long term—probably forever—she was going to have to work to get him back, something she’d never in her life done.
Well, she’d discovered she could run a business, she could actually help people avoid unhappiness and therefore, hopefully, come a step closer to happiness. She could get herself a man. “
What I need is a plan.”
“You know, Chloe, most women in your position would go and knock on Matthew’s door and apologize.”
“I am not most women.”
“No, you certainly aren’t. All right. Let’s talk about your plan.”
“What, just the two of us?”
Deborah sat back and looked at Chloe as though in all her years she’d never come across anyone quite like her. Which, naturally, was true. “How many therapists do you think you need?”
A feeling of hope, of sneaking happiness, began to seep through Chloe. “In London, I would call an emergency meeting. They never fail. All my friends and I get together and they help me sort out my problems.”
“London is a long way to fly to solve your problems.”
Chloe laughed. “God, in the old days, I’d have done that, you know. Perhaps you’re right. I have changed. Or I am changing. No. What I need is a Texas support team for a Texas-style plan.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Talking things over with friends can really help.”
“Excellent. So, are you free tonight?”
“For what?”
“My emergency meeting, silly. I always say there’s no time like the present.”
“You think of me as a friend?” Deborah didn’t sound annoyed as much as surprised. Chloe was a little surprised herself.
“I think we could be friends, yes. You’ve helped me a lot.” She glanced up through her lashes. “And don’t tell me I haven’t helped you, because I heard everything from Jordan. I saved your relationship.”
“You tried to break us up!”
“But it didn’t work. My interference only breaks up a relationship that’s already on its last legs. When two people are truly in love, all I do is make them realize it.” She smiled smugly. “You and Jordan being a case in point.” She shifted on the couch, curling her feet under her. “Don’t you want to be my friend?”
“Strangely enough, I do.”
“All right. I’ll call Brittany and Stephanie and we’ll do it tonight.”
“Who’s Brittany?”
“Matthew’s old girlfriend.”
Deborah put her hand over her eyes. “Don’t tell me. Don’t even tell me.”