by Nancy Warren
The gleam of amusement was back and something about the way he looked at her had lust curling in her belly. “Being one yourself, you recognize the type.”
She smiled at him. Eventually, of course, he’d find out exactly who she was and what she did, but she didn’t want him finding out anytime soon. It would spoil all her fun. And, she realized with a shock, she was having fun. More than she’d had in ages. Part of it was this man she was so obviously driving crazy. One of her specialties.
“Where did you go while you had me tailing that guy?”
She shrugged. “I had some business to transact, and then I had a manicure. Which your fifty dollars paid for.” She held up her hands as though he might not believe her. She’d resisted all the fun colors and stuck with a good old French manicure, since it seemed more like something a businesswoman ought to sport.
“Nice,” he said. Once more his eyes sobered. “Look, I know you’re a long way from home and you don’t know anyone here. I told Gerald I’d look out for you.”
“That’s very sweet, but—”
“All I’m trying to say is that I’m here. If you get stuck and need anything.”
She was surprisingly touched by the gruff words. She tried not to think about the fact that she was thousands of miles away from everything and everyone familiar. “Thank you.”
“Just stay on the right side of the law.”
“Fair enough. I think—” She never had a chance to finish the sentence. Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said to Matthew. “This is probably business.” In fact, it was most likely Nicky, bored, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a business call.
“Is this The Breakup Artist?” asked a nervous-sounding man who was keeping his voice so low she could barely hear him.
“Yes, it is. How can I be of service, sir?”
“I have a problem.”
“I see,” she said. “What kind of problem?”
She waved a hand good-bye to Matthew, and then let herself out the front door and headed back to her own place.
“I need to end a relationship, but the woman is my boss.”
Sounded very efficient to Chloe, to be able to chuck a job and a romance all at once, but she was aware that not everyone shared her talents for drama, unemployment, and uncoupling.
“I see,” she said, suitably grave. “That is a problem.”
“Yes.” The word was a sigh. “So, do you think you can do something? She can’t know it’s me wanting to end the relationship.”
“You want to keep your job?”
“Yes. I like my job and I’m good at it.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
There was a short pause. “Can I rely on your discretion?”
“Of course.” She became mildly interested. Perhaps he was a spy, or a famous celebrity, or—
“You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Certainly.”
She entered her own home and ran lightly up the stairs.
“I’m a relationship counselor. My boss wrote a book and I helped her with it, so she made me a co-author.”
“What is the book called?”
“Perfect Communication, Perfect Love.”
She didn’t laugh, at least not aloud, so that he could hear her on her mobile, but she did have to put her hand over her mouth to stifle her reaction. This was either a practical joke, which, given the fact that the call wasn’t from overseas, seemed unlikely, or this man was buggered.
“I see,” she said at last. “Tell me about the relationship.” By this time she’d reached her office. While he talked, she settled at her laptop and searched an online bookstore for the title of the book and sure enough, found it listed. It was doing rather well, too.
Oh, hello. Here was something interesting. She interrupted whatever the man was saying without ceremony. “It says on the Internet that the authors are appearing live on a chat show here in Austin.”
“Yes, that’s why I had to call you. I feel like such a fraud.”
“Ooh, there’s an idea. Tell you what.” She was thinking fast. So many possibilities with a chat show. “We could have somebody show up in the audience—you know, a plant. And they could claim that the book’s ruined their life, that it’s a load of old rubbish, and perhaps you could use the ensuing professional disaster to ease out of the affair.”
There was a pause. “This is your solution?”
“Well, you’ve got to admit she’ll never know you wanted to break up with her.”
“Could you think of something that wouldn’t destroy our careers and our business?”
“Sounds to me like your business might be better off without this book.” She was skimming the reviews and it did sound like a load of old crap.
“Please. I’m desperate.”
“All right. If you don’t want to do the chat show, we’ll have to get her to fall in love with someone else.”
He laughed in amazement. “Deborah? You think Deborah would fall out of love?”
“Why not? You did.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then you’d better explain it to me. No, no, not now,” she said when he began to speak. “In person. Meet me—” She flipped to her onscreen calendar, which Gerald had so cleverly sorted for her. “—tonight. We’ll meet for a drink.”
“Somewhere quiet, where no one will see us.”
“I know, there’s a lovely restaurant and bar at the Judge’s Mansion on the Hill. Do you know it? Corner of Rio Grande and MLK.”
“Near the university?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay.”
“Seven thirty?”
“Sure. How will I know you?”
“You won’t. Carry a copy of your book. I’ll find you.”
When she arrived at the Judge’s Mansion a few minutes past the appointed time, Chloe was pleased to see her newest customer. He glanced around nervously from one of the tables in the lounge area, a copy of the book lying on the table and pointing toward the door. He had reddish-brown hair and was what you’d call nice looking if he were going out with your best friend and you were trying to be generous. He had a chin that was neither strong nor weak, more irresolute, with pale blue eyes and the kind of skin that blushes easily. He was impeccably groomed, however. She’d never seen such a perfectly knotted tie or such shiny loafers.
She hadn’t expected much, considering he was too timid to break up with a woman he no longer loved. He hadn’t even ordered himself a drink; he was sitting there looking jumpy.
She slid into the chair across from him and said, “Hello. I’m Chloe.”
He glanced around as though she might have brought his boss along, before saying, “Yes, hello. I’m Jordan.”
Since Chloe believed that a meeting conducted at seven thirty in a drinks lounge would go more smoothly with an actual drink in hand, she gestured to the sweet-looking young man polishing glasses behind the bar, who obligingly made his way to their table.
“Hi. What can I get you folks?”
“I would like a champagne cocktail, please.”
Her companion ordered a glass of red wine and she’d have bet anything he was thinking of the health benefits to his heart as he drank it.
“First, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do a spot of market research. How did you hear about my company?”
“I found your business card in my partner’s office.”
She laughed aloud. “Are you sure she isn’t as eager to break up with you as you are with her? Why else would she have my card?” Damn, she was good. A few days of dropping off brochures and cards at salons and fitness clubs and she was already reaping the rewards.
“No. Not at all. One of her clients gave it to her. She showed me the card because she couldn’t believe anyone would go around breaking up relationships for money.”
“Well, that’s like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” She pointed at the book lying on the table. “She makes mo
ney convincing people they’re in love. All I do is fix the mess.”
He blinked pale blue eyes at her. “It’s not really that easy. I mean…”
She waved a hand imperiously. “All right. We won’t argue about the value of our respective professions.” She sent him a reassuring smile. “Let’s just say, I’ll particularly enjoy this job.”
“You won’t do anything terrible. I don’t want her hurt.”
“Of course not. We’ll come up with something that makes sense all round. So, what’s she like?”
“Deborah?”
Yes, boy genius. “Yes, Deborah.”
“Well, she’s kind of a neat freak. Nuts about order.” He straightened the coaster in front of him. “She grew up in a dysfunctional family, very confrontational and argumentative. Completely disorganized and chaotic, so Deborah craves order. She needs it to function.”
“Do you think that’s why she was drawn to you? Because you are quiet and orderly and nonconfrontational?”
He pondered her words. “It’s certainly a theory that could well prove sound.”
“So, you’ll have to turn yourself into a mess.”
“What?”
“It’s basic. Whatever she likes about you, you must change. Be the opposite. I used to… that is, I had a client who used to laze in bed in the morning drinking tea and reading the paper. This woman was always up late at night, which suited the man. When she wanted to get out of the relationship, she simply began to get up ridiculously early and bustle about in the kitchen making a great deal of noise.” She shuddered mentally, recalling how awful it had been to wake up at six and then pretend to be capable of bustling at that hour.
“And did it work?”
“Like a charm. He was sleep deprived and miserable in no time. I imagine that if she’s a neat freak, all you have to do is make sure to create disorder all over the place. She’ll be running for the hills in no time.”
“But I couldn’t live that way.” He touched the knot of his tie as though checking that it was still perfect. “I’m a neat freak too. It’s one of the things we have in common.”
At the end of ten minutes, Chloe thought that Jordan and Deborah were the most boring couple she’d ever heard of and they had far too much in common. “Are you sure you want to chuck her? You do seem perfect for each other.”
He sighed deeply. “I know. I think maybe we’re too much alike.”
“Whom have you fallen in love with?”
He blinked. “I never said—”
“Of course you didn’t. Call it my female intuition.” And the fact that he was so clearly the kind of man who wouldn’t upset the status quo without a reason.
He sighed like a teenager with his first crush. “Her name is Pia. She’s in fine arts at the university.”
“Fine arts?”
“Yes. She’s an artist.” He sounded pretty enthusiastic. She guessed he’d thrown himself full-on into this affair with a girl who was likely a fair bit younger. “She paints these huge murals, big bold splashes of paint, very abstract.”
“Is she the orderly type?”
“No. Not at all.”
She nodded her head, satisfied. How could a man who talked as though he had about seven advanced degrees be so dim about what was under his nose? “I have a theory about order and chaos.”
“Chaos theory? Like a physicist?”
Laughter trilled out of her. “No, silly. A theory about people. I think that order always looks for chaos and chaos responds to order. It’s a basic theory of opposites attracting. Of course!” She tapped her nails on the shiny mahogany table between them. “I had it all wrong. Deborah won’t be put off by your becoming disorderly. It will give her a purpose to try to fix you.” She shook her head. “It’s so simple. I’ll set up a man as a client who will be such a mess that she’ll be drawn to straighten him out.” She chuckled.
“But I’m neat and she fell in love with me.”
Chloe looked at him for a long moment. “Let me tell you another of my theories. Sometimes what we think we want and what we really want are two different things.”
His expression told her that he thought his degrees—and something about his scholarly demeanor suggested he had several—and his work gave him a superior knowledge of human relationships. But there was a ping! under her breastbone as she’d related her thought-up-on-the-spot theory that told her she was on to something.
Jordan had originally been attracted to Deborah’s neatness and order, but he’d been wooed away by a woman who lived in a world of paint splotches and drop cloths. She’d never known an artist—and she’d not only briefly been a painter herself, but she’d modeled for two of London’s hottest artists—who was a neatnik.
Perhaps Deborah also needed someone messy and chaotic to balance out her tidy tendencies and give her a purpose.
“If you can’t change, we’ll simply have to find someone else for Deborah to fall in love with.”
His eyes widened slightly. It was the most animated expression she’d yet seen on him. “You think that’s possible?”
Ah, yes, the male ego was no different here than at home. Instead of snorting and blurting, Are you joking? She was stupid enough to fall in love with you, wasn’t she? she reminded herself that she was a businesswoman and this man was obviously in a position to pay for her services. So, she gave him her best Top Texas Businesswoman smile and said, “It won’t be easy, of course, but try to remember that my team are professionals.”
“You have a team?”
“Of course.” She did, if she counted the receptionist she had yet to hire, and the operatives she could see she was going to need. She couldn’t break up all the relationships herself; she simply didn’t have the time or energy. Yet another job she’d have to add to her expanding to-do list. Hire more staff she couldn’t afford. Oh, well. You had to invest in your business if you believed in it. She’d read that in a business magazine she’d picked up along with the latest copy of Vogue.
“When do you think you could, um, get this done?”
“Do you want the breakup to happen before the television program or after?”
“Oh, gee. Before, I guess. It seems more fair.”
Personally, Chloe thought it was brutally unfair to break a woman’s heart right before she had her fifteen minutes of fame on telly. Who wanted to appear on millions of television screens with heavy eyes and a red nose? However, since she was quite happy to pocket her fee earlier rather than later, she let him decide on the timing.
“Right. The television appearance is in two weeks, so I’ll have to get started right away. Now, about my fees.”
He looked a bit shocked at the price, but Chloe had spent too many years shopping on Oxford and Bond Streets not to know that a marked-down item had no appeal. If you wanted top quality and hot fashion, you paid top price.
She fully intended this breakup to be both top quality and very fashionable.
She leaned forward and touched the tasteful blue cover of the book he’d brought along. “So, this is the book you’ll be shilling?” she said, pointing to the cover of Perfect Communication, Perfect Love.
Perfect load of shit.
“That’s the book we’ll be talking about, yes.”
“Excellent. I’ll give it a read.” At his look of surprise she said, “It might give me some ideas about Deborah.”
“Right. Yes. Of course.” His forehead creased in concern. “You will run everything by me before you act.”
“Of course I will. Don’t worry.”
“All right.” He drew out a checkbook and wrote the check for half the amount she’d specified. She tucked it into the book as a bookmark, and held out her hand to say good-bye.
Now all she had to do was find an attractive, disorganized man for a woman she’d never met to fall in love with so she’d then dump her partner.
Within two weeks.
Chapter 8
Stephanie sat at her teller’s station feeling the
minutes drag across eternity like snails across a parched highway. Surely the clock was stuck. It couldn’t be only two minutes since she’d last calculated that she had one hour and fifty-three minutes before her lunch break. Now she had one hour and fifty-one.
Her head was aching and her eyes felt dry. She hadn’t slept well; in fact, mostly she hadn’t slept at all.
Her pro and con list was folded neatly in her purse and she longed to leave her post to go and read it one more time, just to reassure herself that Derek was solidly winning the pro and con game.
“Next, please,” she said, as an older woman hovered uncertainly in the line. Waiting to be invited to visit the teller.
She manually deposited the pension check that could be electronically deposited into the woman’s account. However, like many older customers, Mrs. Arles didn’t trust the paperless system. She liked to receive her check, walk it down to the bank, and have her passbook updated. She withdrew one hundred dollars and Stephanie counted out five twenties by rote.
“Thank you, dear,” the older woman said.
“You’re welcome. Have a great day.”
One hour and forty-nine minutes.
“Next, plea—” She never finished the word, since her tongue seemed to swell big enough to strangle her when the motorcycle guy she’d never imagined seeing again strolled up to her with that cocky walk of his. The gleaming black helmet brushed his thigh.
She swallowed. Gave him her most blank stare. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, you can.” He let the words hang there for a moment, a moment that stretched. She noticed that his nose had a bump in it where it had obviously been broken. There was a scar bisecting one of his eyebrows, and another beside his mouth, narrow, like an extra smile line.
His mouth was tough-guy firm but his lips looked soft. Perfect for kissing. All that she noticed while he settled in on his side of the counter as though he planned to stay all day. “I’d like to take out some cash.” He handed over a bright blue debit card.
“You could use the banking machines over there,” she said, pointing to the bank of instant tellers.
“I know. Truth is, I kind of like the personal touch.” He emphasized the last two words so that they stroked her skin. Her gaze flew to his and she found herself once more lured by the darkness of his eyes, by the wildness she saw within them. His gaze dropped slowly and deliberately to her chest. “Stephanie,” he said, reading off her brass colored badge. In his mouth, her name sounded like an endearment.