Indiscreet

by Amélie S. Duncan

  “That must take time,” I said. “No one mentioned the cost of this service.”

  “If you received a card, someone has paid the fee on your behalf,” he explained.

  I shook my head. “No, a friend gave me hers.”

  He picked up a pad and barely glanced down at the screen. “There is nothing outstanding, no need to worry. Now, do you have any other questions?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t right now, but I may have some later. This all seems well organized, but besides the health check and psych screening, I don’t see how your company is different than any of the other matchmaking companies out there.”

  “The Agency is different—better,” he replied. “We haven’t had any disappointed clients.”

  I raised my brows, doubtful. There was no way you could please everyone, but why argue?

  He closed my file and gestured toward the door.

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  “Yes. The questionnaire and exam will tell us everything we need to know. You’ll hear from us soon.”

  I shook his hand and left. The veil of mystery hadn’t been lifted, and I was still curious about how The Agency would match me and just what I’d gotten myself into.

  ***

  I returned home and unpacked a few boxes before giving up and driving over to the local gym for some cardio and toning. I hadn’t been for a while and found that I was exhausted after the first twenty minutes. I pressed on for the full fifty minutes I had planned. Afterward, I rewarded myself with a small latte at the café next door. The whole time, I kept wondering about my experience at The Agency. How long would it take for them to process my information? Who had paid the fee for me? Liz? With the car, complete physical, and lab work, it went beyond what I’d consider a reasonable holiday gift. It made me uneasy. I planned to discuss it with Liz and cover the cost of whatever fees she had paid for my membership.

  When I arrived home, there was a floral delivery van parked out front. I raised my brows. Christmas gift from a friend?

  Pulling into the driveway, I was met by a delivery man on my porch. Once I got the door open, I cleared off a space on the table and he came in with twenty-four long-stem white roses in a crystal vase with a Tiffany’s bow. He refused the tip and handed me an elaborately crafted embossed card. In it was a gift certificate for a full-day treatment at Spa Noir along with a beautiful invitation.

  You’re invited to a private party tomorrow night at

  Westbrook Estate on Mercer Island

  A limousine will pick you up at 9:00 p.m.

  Dress: Formal

  RSVP if you are not available

  Please present invitation as admittance

  I stared down at the invitation and frowned. Tomorrow? That was a bit too quick for me. It left little time for introspection. I’d have to decide now whether to attend, not to mention get my hair done and shop for something to wear. I wasn’t sure what to do and thought advice from Liz would settle whatever nerves I had. She answered on the second ring and I told her about the invitation and the fee having been paid. “Is this a Christmas gift?”

  “I didn’t have to pay either, but I was told they have a lot of rich clientele that want to make sure the participants meet their requirements.”

  What she said made sense, but it still didn’t sit right with me.

  “I’m glad it’s fast so you can’t change your mind,” she said in a light tone and laughed. “The mixer I went to was in downtown Seattle. I suppose they hold them at different places. Do you know who the host is?”

  “It just says ‘Westbrook Estate on Mercer Island’. I don’t know, I’d have liked to be more informed,” I said, picking up my iPad and going into the kitchen. I took a seat at one of the four stools I had positioned around the laminate kitchen island and scrolled for the number of the spa.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “There will be plenty of men and women there to meet and you can always leave, but I hope you meet someone—wait, did you say Westbrook?”

  “Yup, I did.” I bit into my lip. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied. “Even if someone knew about the party, they wouldn’t just be able to walk in. Besides, I gave you the card.”

  “True,” I agreed. “Who do you think the host could be?”

  “You said Westbrook on Mercer Island, right? That could only be the architect, Dane Westbrook,” she said. “He was the one you asked about at the restaurant.”

  I grinned, remembering how incredibly good-looking he was. “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. He and his friends are quite the mystery,” she said. “Honestly, I didn’t even know he hosted parties. Every mixer is custom to profiles. I’ve never been to a party he attended, but Marco says some are exclusive. Could it be something you wrote on your questionnaire?”

  “I honestly don’t have a clue,” I said. “But if The Agency has attractive men like him, I’m definitely interested, at least for a night or two.”

  “You’re bad.” She laughed with me. “You must tell me what happens.”

  “Just like you shared your dates with Marco?” I said as I poured a glass of water from the dispenser in the refrigerator.

  She giggled. “Well, I didn’t want to break the spell. He’s been so…sweet to me. God, I’m like a teenager in love here.”

  I bit my cheek. I wanted her to be cautious, but it was so good to hear her joy that I didn’t want to ruin it. “Just be careful,” I told her.

  “I am,” she said. “But now that I’m alone, I don’t see any reason to not try something new. Now that you’re single, you don’t have to settle. You don’t need to depend on a man for financial security. You have your business, and your parents’ estate too—unless Patrick got alimony?”

  I grimaced. “He tried, but his affair with Hannah put a wrench in his alimony plan—although I wouldn’t put it past him to keep his lawyers sniffing around for a way to get more money from me, the slimy bastards.” We bashed him a bit and I smiled when I hung up.

  Almost immediately, the phone rang again. This time Patrick’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hello, Gia,” he said in a cheery voice.

  “What do you want?” I asked. My voice wasn’t fake; it was downright snippy.

  “We can be pleasant even if we are divorced,” he said in his most polite tone. “I was wondering if you remembered the contacts in Senator Ellis’s office.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course he was calling because he needed to use me for help with his campaign. I was the one who’d handled all the pesky details he never seemed to make time for. Too busy cheating. Call it a moment of holiday mercy, but I ran through a contact list off the top of my head.

  “See, I knew you would know,” he said. “You know…now that we’re divorced, I was wondering if you could give Hannah some pointers on fundraising?”

  I smirked. Had hell frozen over? Had he completely lost his mind? “We’re not friends anymore, Patrick. I don’t want you calling me. You replaced me, now work with your replacement.”

  “We both know it wasn’t that simple,” he said. “You checked out of this marriage, spending all your time on that little project—”

  “The little project you and your slimy lawyers are trying to get a hold of,” I said tersely. My little project had turned lucrative over the years, growing well beyond his original investment.

  “No, I invested, and it’s communal property from the time we were married. We contracted our agreement. I agreed to change, and you agreed to be helpful,” he said in a sharp tone. That voice had once been used to keep me in line, but now that was totally not going to happen. While my family had money and connections, my father wouldn’t give me a startup loan, wanting me to stay away from business. In the end, we had agreed to use a percentage of Patrick’s salary for the initial funding for Perfetto, and even after replacing his investment, he still found a way to bring it up to get something fr
om me.

  “No. I agreed not to do anything that would jeopardize your election.” I drew in a breath. “Such as telling them about how your affair with Hannah came about.”

  He coughed. “We both agreed not to discuss Hannah. She is being introduced as my new public relations consultant, not my girlfriend. I may have had relations with Hannah earlier than one would expect, but we were not together until after the separation.”

  “Liar,” I snipped. This was his typical song and dance, anything to avoid telling the truth. “You fucked her on our bed.”

  “The way it all happened was a mistake,” he said, and it was the closest he’d ever come to admitting his affair. “When was the last time you wanted to have sex with me?”

  My lips twisted. “Are you really trying to blame me for your cheating? I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait, please,” he said quickly, his tone rapidly becoming civil again. “We’re past arguing…I just wanted to find out some information.”

  I sighed. “You have the notebooks I kept. They are very detailed,” I replied. “I’m sure you must have them because I can’t find them.”

  “You used codes,” he said tersely. “If you could tell me and maybe introduce—”

  I twisted my mouth. “That’s never going to happen.”

  “After all these years, you can’t be this cruel.”

  My mouth went dry. Seriously? This was just going around in circles. I decided to take another route. “From what I’ve heard, Hannah’s father is well connected.”

  “He’s being a hard ass,” he griped. “He wants me to work on it myself—”

  I smiled wickedly. Too fucking bad. “I like his thinking. You should work on it yourself. I’ve got to go.”

  “Christ, Gia, don’t be a bitch.”

  I hung up and made plans for The Agency’s mixer.

  I was ready for a change, whatever that happened to be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  The Spa Noir package was a full day that included a facial, manicure, pedicure, and wax, and Astrid came along for a holiday break. We both found the pampering divine, and afterward, we went dress shopping. The red and black pumps I’d ordered had arrived by express carrier and went well with the cocktail dress we found at Nordstrom, with its Italian lace, floral print, V-neckline, and sheer georgette material.

  “You look stunning,” Astrid said after I added a light sheer powder and finished off my makeup with run-free mascara and the crimson lipstick. The makeup was strictly Perfetto, of course. “You’ll have them fighting over you.”

  I laughed and brushed through my long hair, which I was letting hang free down my back in curls. “Maybe one or two of them,” I joked back.

  Outwardly, I felt confident in my appearance, but inside, I was a bundle of nerves. Who would I meet? What if I didn’t meet anyone I wanted to date?

  “Really Gia, I was surprised you took Liz up on her offer to go through a match service,” she said, handing me my ruby and black pearl earrings. “What was the name of it again?”

  “The Agency,” I said as my phone beeped. I checked the message and found it was the driver. “The car service is here.”

  “That’s an odd name for a company,” Astrid said, buttoning up her coat. “The Agency could be anything, but if Liz is happy, it can’t be all that bad.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you for coming with me today. It made me less nervous, but now I’ve run out of time and I’m not sure I’m ready—”

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Quit worrying. Just go have fun.” We hugged each other and left in two different directions. Astrid’s would take her back to her little family, while mine…well, who knew where it would take me?

  The drive over to Mercer Island didn’t take long from where I lived in Bellevue. Visibility was limited with the night sky and snowfall, but with the headlights of the limousine, I could make out rows of landscaped poplar trees and gates to contemporary mansions. The car stopped at one of the stone and iron gates. This one was open with a row of exterior lantern lights. A female hostess in a winter coat and suit opened the door and helped me onto the sandstone driveway, up to a wide staircase that had two Tuscan columns next to the large windows and door at the entry. There, another host was waiting to take my coat, and after consulting his list, he provided me with a small red ribbon corsage to wear at my wrist.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Identification. This is your first mixer?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “This is a pheromone mist. It’s non-toxic, hypoallergenic, and unscented.” He sprayed my neck.

  “We’ll try that too.” A handsome man dressed in a tuxedo appeared at my side. He had short blond hair with thin-framed square glasses and a wide grin. He was holding the hand of a smiling brunette. She was short and curvy with shoulder-length hair, and she was dressed in a black sequined mini-dress and stilettos. Her big brown eyes glimpsed me before settling back on him. “I’m Bradley, and this is Sophie. You are?”

  “Gia,” I said and took his hand then let go first. “Nice to meet you.” When I went to shake Sophie’s hand, I was surprised to find a green corsage around her wrist. That was when I noticed Bradley had a green bow around the red rose pinned to his collar. I wondered what the colors meant.

  Before I could ask, he said, “Come with us. I’ll get the two of you drinks. Wine okay with you?”

  I smiled and took them up on their offer. “Red, please. Thank you.”

  Following them past the foyer and double marble and mahogany staircase, we arrived at a spacious living room where a diverse group of men and women congregated on seats and stood chatting. The room itself contained a tasteful mix of antiques and modern furnishings, including a large fireplace, bronze sculptures, and framed renaissance artwork that worked for the space. The overall assembly was beautiful, including the Italian marble and stone on the floor, the exposed wooden beams along the vaulted ceilings, and the carved wooden paneling. A row of windows the length of the room provided a view out to Lake Washington, and I suspected Dane Westbrook had a view of Mount Rainer during the day. The place was wonderful.

  Sophie and I settled in at the bar while Bradley ordered drinks for us. The men were mostly in tuxedos or designer suits, the women in various cocktail dresses. The Agency hadn’t disappointed in options—the gathering was entirely made up of attractive people. Although none of the men caught my eye at first glance, I didn’t rule any of them out either.

  “Do you come to mixers often?” I asked Sophie.

  “Not often,” she responded. “I came to get my mind off losing my job—”

  “Now, now, Sophie, we agreed this night is for us to have fun,” Bradley said then kissed her cheek. “You’ll have something new before you know it.”

  “Yes, I will,” she said, staring after Bradley as he went to collect our drinks. “Bradley and I come occasionally to meet new people.”

  I lifted my brow curiously. “Oh, I assumed you were—”

  “Together,” she finished for me and nodded. “We are. We have an open relationship.”

  “Oh,” was all I could think to say.

  Bradley returned and handed me my glass. “What’s our topic?” he asked, his green eyes shifting between the two of us.

  “Our open relationship,” she said, touching his arm.

  He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “That came up quick.”

  “I didn’t ask,” I clarified politely. “Sophie mentioned it.”

  “Now that we’re on the subject,” he said, not missing a beat, “what are your thoughts on open relationships, Gia?”

  My lips parted. I didn’t know what to say right on the spot, but since they were asking, I thought it was best to go with honesty. “I don’t have many thoughts on the subject. I believe I’m open-minded regarding whatever anyone chooses to do that’s right for them. As for myself, I’d be too jealous.”

  “That’s what we had thought pr
eviously,” Sophie said. “But sex for most species on earth isn’t monogamous. We all have different attractions. It’s only natural to want to copulate with others, but real intimacy is beyond sex.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. Whatever gets you through the night. “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to agree, of course,” Bradley said. “It’s whatever you’re comfortable with.” He placed his arm around Sophie’s waist, and she leaned into him then kissed him deeply.

  I took a sip of my wine and tried not to stare. They were being affectionate while simultaneously talking about sharing each other. I didn’t understand the concept, and I liked that they didn’t try to get me to. When they came up for air and returned to our conversation, I said, “I can’t really speak on open relationships. I’m recently divorced, and this is my first time getting back out there. I feel like I need training wheels.”

  “Or you need a good teacher,” said a man’s voice, smooth as silk behind me. I turned around as he came closer, and I recognized him at once: Dane Westbrook. He stood close to six-two, and instead of a tuxedo, he wore a designer black suit and dark gray shirt that contrasted with his pale gray eyes as they met my light brown gaze.

  “Dane,” Bradley said, greeting him warmly with a handshake and a clasp on his broad shoulder.

  “You look lovely tonight, Sophie,” Dane said, moving on to her. He kissed her cheeks, causing her to blush pink, which made me curious. Had he been a part of their open relationship?

  It wasn’t my business, but when it was my turn and I stood under his shrewd gaze, I had to fight hard to school my face into passivity or he’d get my version of the golden look—wide welcoming eyes and a grin that spreads from ear to ear. It was a look reserved for a very short list of fantasy men. It was a look that, when he saw it, would let him know he wouldn’t have to try to win me because he already had me. I would go to bed with him.

  Just the thought brought heat to my face and made my breaths come faster. It was unnerving, but so was Dane Westbrook. He was positively breathtaking. I’d always had a thing for men with dark hair. His was coiffured back in waves that tapered neatly just above his collar. His bone structure was elegant, his jaw freshly shaven. His full lips turned up into a broad smile and revealed an even set of white teeth.