He agreed. “Yeah. I asked if I needed to dust off my passport, and she said no.”
“Hmm. Okay.” She spun ideas, trying to think like Chelsea. “Maybe something tropical. That way people would show skin, and she could tie in sales for some resort or something. Hawaii? US Virgin Islands? Puerto Rico?”
“Now you’re channeling her. That would be my guess. But I suppose we’ll find out next Monday.” He pulled her to his side. “Hey, it will all be okay, you know that, right?” He ran a hand down her back. “You just tensed up so hard. This is really stressing you out.” He sounded like this was a new realization.
“Dylan, it’s been stressing me out!” She pulled away and picked up her purse. “From the beginning. I don’t know why you and Connie and everyone else seem so calm.”
“Maybe it’s all an act.” He smiled, but his face seemed serious.
“I don’t know. Maybe I get too worked up. I just want to do well, you know?” She stopped herself. Yes, they’d slept together, but it didn’t mean he was going to pretend to like her service better than Connie’s to reward her, or even do it out of some subconscious motivation because he liked her. Or would he? Should he? People had given blow jobs for less in this city. Although that’s not why she’d done it—God.
Feeling conflicted, she looked to the door. “We should get going, probably.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She smiled, feeling her features soften. “For?”
“For?” He raised an eyebrow. “For the fucking best afternoon ever, that’s what for.” He kissed her lips.
She giggled. “My pleasure, Dylan. Thank you, too. And also, for showing me your art.”
His face got serious. “Please don’t tell anyone about this, yet. Not Chelsea. Not anyone.”
“But why? You’re so good!” She waved her hand around, drawn once again to the amazing things he’d crafted. “I don’t understand why you want to keep this a secret.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a secret,” he corrected, crossing his arms, looking off into the distance. “But I sell them under a different name—Dylan Thomas.”
“Why?” She blinked at him.
“Why?” He took a breath. “Well, that’s my real name, for one. When I started doing television hosting, my manager decided that a Dylan Chambers had a better ring to it than Dylan Thomas, and I didn’t care. Right? So I used it. And then it didn’t seem to fit together, my art world and my TV world. And I didn’t keep it an actual secret. But Chelsea doesn’t know, because I’ve never told her. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t fit together? If it’s you, of course it fits. Besides, if you asked, I bet Chelsea would feature your gallery on the show! You could get so much more publicity. Think about it! The vacuous TV host who’s also a deep, sensitive artist—”
She broke off, eyes wide, and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Shit. I didn’t mean that. I don’t think that! I don’t. Dylan…” She grabbed at his arm as he turned away. “I mean, that’s the general perception of TV hosts in general, not of you. I didn’t mean you. Fuck.”
She took a deep breath. “You know I don’t think that way about you.”
“I know that.” He didn’t look at her. “It’s fine.”
“I was just talking, thinking in generalities.”
“I know. I know you have to think about marketing a lot, how to get your business out there.” He sounded tense. “But my art isn’t like that. It’s private right now. It’s just for me right now, okay? And I do sell in one gallery, Infinite Soul, but I asked the owner not to feature my picture. I’ve sold some things, and I’m gaining popularity. But I don’t want a flash, a meaningless burst of sales because Chelsea babbles about it on her show.” He sounded bitter. “I want it to come organically because people see it and like it.”
“You don’t want to be a Damien Hirst.” She lowered her voice.
“If Chelsea is the one to share my stuff, that’s how it will come across. That’s how people will see it. The vacuous host trying to be an artist. And it won’t be—real.” He ran his hands through his hair.
“I didn’t mean that!”
“But you said it. And when people blurt things out, it usually means they were thinking it at some level. And you’re right. The job, the one I do, doesn’t give much room for…intellectual showcasing.” He grimaced.
They were silent for a few seconds, but she couldn’t resist asking. “Dylan, I’m really good at Photoshop, and I studied digital design. I could make you the most beautiful post-card ads, and flyers. Would you let me?” She got excited, thinking about it. “I could co-advertise for you on my website, something about love and life and art. Oh! I could feature some of your stuff in my office for clients to see! It doesn’t have to be Chelsea doing this. It could be you. I can help! Get your name out there. Why not?”
“Fia!” His voice was hard. “No. Stop. Let it go. I don’t want your help.”
She flinched. “But your work is so gorgeous, and ethereal, and beautiful. I really mean that. You can tell when a person is lying, and look at my eyes, I’m telling the truth.”
He turned, slowly, and looked at her face. “I know.” His voice softened. “I can tell you like them. But I’m asking, please don’t talk about my art. Not yet. No new marketing, no ads.”
She shrugged. “All right. I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
They stood, looking at each other for another few seconds, then he turned to the door. “I’ll drive you home.”
When they reached her house, she asked, “So…dessert again tomorrow?” Sure, they’d said one night, no strings. But then there was the incredible passion. The trust between them—that wasn’t something you gave to a one-night stand! Surely there must be more, he must want more?
He hesitated, and suddenly her world tilted from its axis. Was he going to say no?
“I can’t.” He gave her a regretful look.
“Oh, never mind, no worries.” She grabbed for the door handle, cursing herself for pushing.
“Wait! No, not because I don’t want to, Fia. I’m going out of town for a few days, and I’ll be back just in time for next Monday’s show.”
“Okay.” She sat back in the seat, relieved and confused.
“Otherwise, I’d love to get dessert with you anytime.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “You’re my favorite dessert call.” He laughed.
“Sure, that’s great. Dessert call, haha.”
“It sounds a lot sexier than booty call, right?” He gave her a cocky grin. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Fia, are you busy?” Gracie came in with a cup of Starbucks. “Can you taste this and tell me if it’s soy milk or skim? I asked for skim, and I think she put soy, and I’m really annoyed.”
Fia quickly minimized the internet browser window and spun her chair around. “Hey! What’s going on?” She darted her eyes at the screen to ensure that “Dylan Thomas: Works” was definitely not showing, then smiled at her assistant. “Give it here. My palate is exquisite. I will tell you whether the barista skunked you or not.”
“What are you working on?” Grace handed over the cardboard cup.
“Just the usual stuff.” Fia sipped the lukewarm beverage. “Ugh. I don’t think it’s cow milk or soy milk. I hate to say it, but this tastes like a cat pissed into the brew.”
“Yes! That’s what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to say it, because then you’d refuse to taste it. It really does have a urinal aftertaste, right? I mean, not that I drink pee. I don’t. But it tasted like how pee smells.”
“Some people drink pee.” Fia casually reached out her hand and put a folder on top of the pages of Dylan’s art she’d printed out in color. Although she felt uneasy that his last comment had been about “dessert calls,” which seemed specifically chosen to remind her that their relationship was temporary and physical, he’d still shown her his art. That had to mean something, right? And she loved it
so much that she couldn’t resist researching.
“But if they do, it’s probably refined and curated and specifically chosen. If I’m going to drink pee, I want to choose the brew. I don’t want random urine.” Grace took the coffee cup back, smelled it, and winced.
“Truth.”
“But it’s probably definitely not pee, though. It just has an off flavor, right?” Grace put the cup down onto Fia’s desk, in the corner.
“Right.” Fia adjusted the folder.
“So tell me what’s going on with Chelsea and Dylan and the whole dating finale. When is she going to clue us in on what’s happening?” Grace followed the movement of Fia’s hand on the folder.
“Well, she’s supposed to come in later today to talk personally about it. Which is funny, because usually she makes me come to her. I’d say I like it, except it’s weirding me out, like she’s respecting me more or something.”
“Maybe she does, after you brought out your love couples. That was smart and clever. She probably does respect someone who can outplay her.”
“Maybe.” Fia frowned.
“So…what’s happening with you and Dylan?”
Fia blinked and wiped at an eyelash. “Nothing.”
“Oh. Did you see him again, though?”
“Um…no. We talked on the phone, but nothing else.”
Fia felt bad about lying, but right now she was having a hard enough time processing what had happened and how she should feel about it. Usually she’d run right to Grace for support and advice, but this time she felt like she needed to treasure the experience privately for just a little longer.
“Let me know when you need me, okay? I’m going to work on the new intake forms.” Grace gave her a little wave.
“Cool.”
When Grace headed back to her desk, out of eye view of the screen, Fia opened her browser, and pulled up the sample flyers she’d made in Photoshop. She’d copied Dylan’s head-shot from the Morning Brew website, and created a gorgeous brochure featuring pictures of his art she’d pulled from the gallery website. Then she’d written some copy to go along with it, and a little bio that she thought sounded good.
This wasn’t the kind of thing that anyone could publish. She’d need to get photos from him that allowed copyright usage, and, of course, his permission, first of all. But she thought maybe she’d show him the mock-up someday, when he seemed in a receptive mood.
She printed one on deluxe paper, just to check the colors, and put it into the blue folder with the printouts of his gallery and the bio things from the TV show, and shook her head. Time to focus.
Later, when Chelsea arrived, all trailing perfume and clicking heels, Fia was ready for her.
“Chelsea! Come on in. I have water and coffee. Let’s sit in my interview room.”
She led Chelsea into the pretty, decorated area. “I’m eager to learn what you have in store for the final date.”
Chelsea crossed one leg and checked her watch. “First let’s get something straight. I don’t appreciate surprises, like the one you did with the couples on live TV. In the future, you need to run anything like that by me for permission.”
Fia took a breath and spoke carefully. “I felt it went well with the theme, and would be of interest to viewers. Everything I do is, of course, geared to maintaining viewer interest. I think I saw that episode got, what, five percent higher ratings than usual? I certainly believe my segment contributed to that.”
Chelsea frowned. “People are very interested in the dating theme, and ratings are up because of the overall concept. I need you not to try to manage this because managing the video feed and delivery is my job. Mine. Not yours. Yours, per the contract you signed with me, is to provide dates for Dylan and stand there and talk. Not plan filming details.”
Fia’s face got hot. “The way I understand the contract—”
“It’s very clear. Don’t do it again.”
Fia bit her lip. “I understand. But I don’t appreciate that you’re making my service look bad. You deliberately cut only the negative portions of my dates for Dylan, and kept the good ones from Connie. That’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry, are you five?” Chelsea laughed and stood up. “This is television.” She waved a hand. “I’m providing entertainment. This isn’t a government hearing or something, Fia. Lighten up. You’re getting a hell of a lot more publicity than you ever did before, so you should be getting on your knees and thanking me, not criticizing the way I do my work.” She narrowed her eyes.
Fia sucked in her cheeks. “Chelsea, your attitude isn’t appropriate.” She struggled to find words. What did one say in a situation like this? “You can get the ratings you want and still treat me equally.”
“I can treat you,” Chelsea said, pointing a manicured nail at Fia, “exactly the way I feel necessary to make my show rock. And you can learn from me. I’m an expert at this. Now for the final date.” She sat back down, then extracted her phone from her purse when it rang. “Excuse me, I need to take this in private. Wait for me here.”
She stood and brisked out of the room, already talking. “Michael? No. Absolutely not.”
In the sudden silence, Fia could almost hear her blood pressure rising, feel her arteries constricting. By the time Chelsea got back, she was ready for battle. She stood, and opened her mouth, but Chelsea cut in.
“Fia, please forgive me.” She smiled and put her hand on Fia’s arm. “I apologize so much for before. I was way out of line, you were right.” She blinked her eyes. “You know, I’m diabetic, and I was getting a little hypoglycemic, and that makes me cranky. It’s not okay, and I’m truly sorry.”
“Oh.” Startled, Fia licked her lips. “I’m—sorry?”
“No, it’s fine, it’s managed, I’m all good! I just sometimes get aggressive and I can be difficult, I know that, but I respect you, and I enjoy working with you. And I’d love to talk about that last date.”
“Oh. Good.”
“So here’s the deal. You and Connie will both submit your last, final date choice to Dylan…and he’ll choose one before meeting either in person. No pictures, even…just the description.”
“So we just write up a summary for him?”
“Exactly! In two pages, you need to describe the woman in a way that makes him want to choose her. He won’t even know which service is which.”
Fia nodded. “That sounds fair, I guess.”
“Both potential dates will fly to Hawaii. You’ll bring your date, and Connie will bring hers. They’ll both stay segregated from Dylan ahead of time. We definitely don’t want him to see them first. I don’t even want you and Connie to meet each other’s date ahead of time. It will be a surprise reveal for everyone.”
Fia nodded. “Got it.”
Chelsea smiled. “Of course we pay airfare and hotel for everyone. So both dates will be on hand, on site, in separate trailers, hidden from view. He’ll reveal which woman he chose on camera. Then he’ll meet the loser—we’ll bring her out on camera. And we’ll bring him and the winner to a private restaurant, separately, for a special date where they meet for the first time. Awesome, right?”
“So he won’t even see their pictures at all, ahead of time? He’ll just pick, based on the summaries we provide?” Fia already started thinking of how she’d write up a resume in order to make her woman—whomever it was—really shine.
“Yes, that’s right. More exciting.”
“And will the viewers get to see the choices, too? Both the dossiers?”
“No. It will be a secret. More exciting for the big reveal. I myself won’t even know which one he chooses until he does it!”
“Okay. If that’s how you want to do it.” Fia started to warm to the idea. This could actually work! If Dylan didn’t know which date was hers, and which was Connie’s, he couldn’t sabotage hers even subconsciously. And she knew she could write a damn good description to win him over. Now that she’d spent all this time with him, she understood him—his ideas, h
is dreams, his passions. She knew exactly what she needed to say to get him to pick her woman.
“It is.” Chelsea smiled. “So get your best woman ready, and send all of the information over. Of course, she’ll need to sign a non-disclosure and all the usual forms, so we’ll do it ASAP.”
Maybe because art was on her brain, she couldn’t stop looking at Jessica Contreras’ profile. She was a painter and a concert pianist; she travelled a lot for her music, performing with orchestras around the world. Painting was a side passion, but she was good. And she’d gotten a score somewhere in the eighties with Dylan.
Maybe he wasn’t looking for love. And maybe he’d taken her to the stars and back just yesterday. But dammit, she needed him to pick her girl for the final date!
Her enthusiasm grew when Jessica was not only available for the final date weekend, she was willing to travel to Hawaii, perfectly fine with all the non-disclosures and forms, and excited for the opportunity. Jessica liked all the things Dylan liked, and she was an artist. All those things Fia needed to write about, to win Dylan over? She could, with this person.
“I’ve got this,” she said to Gracie. “Look how awesome Jessica is.” She set the laptop down and pulled up the profile, pointed. Then she picked up her water bottle and took a swig, wondering what it would be like if she could be the one to go on the final date with Dylan. Be the one he chose. She squeezed the bottle a little harder.
“She’s perfect!” Gracie nodded. “I love her for our final choice. I already started doing all the paperwork when you called and said she was a go. I wonder who Connie will choose? What kind of person?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. I just want to beat Connie for once. Haha. I mean, I just want Dylan to like my choice better.” But her fist clenched again on her water bottle.
“Do you?” Gracie crossed her arms. “Because you look like you want to kill someone.”
“All I want is to get through this without looking stupid, gain more clients, and finish strong.”
Perfect Match Page 18