The Agile Four

by Aubrey Parker

  Table of Contents

  The Agile Four

  Copyright

  The Agile Four

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Want to know what happens next?

  The Agile Four

  Aubrey Parker

  Copyright © 2017 by Aubrey Parker. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting Aubrey Parker

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chloe waited, saying nothing to Andrew.

  They were sitting in a middle-of-the-road cafe, nice but certainly not fancy. There was middle-of-the-road art on the walls, and the cafe had chosen middle-of-the-road furniture and accents to toss around its undifferentiated space. The place was colorful, almost eccentric. Green chairs were set against red tables with (fake) purple flowers.

  Somehow, yesterday’s pirate vidstream hadn’t broken her. Quite the contrary. Chloe had been assaulted from all sides: worried and hurt, but also sure that she had no reason for either. Before stumbling across Andrew’s secret, Chloe had been confused.

  The tumult remained inside her now but the confusion was gone.

  Chloe had clarity. The horror in her heart had at least been galvanized.

  No, she hadn’t just felt the uncertainty that came with being in love.

  No, her fears hadn’t been groundless after all.

  Andrew had betrayed her, but her internal compass had not.

  He sat across from her now, eating bits of meat and broiled zucchini from a skewer. Chloe’s senses absorbed every nuance. The skewer was burned at the ends where it had been near grill fire, preserved in the middle. A blond wood, probably engineered bamboo. She could smell the char. The kitchen had drizzled the whole thing with a hot sauce, aromatic notes that, even from across the table, tickled her nose. She could see every muscle moving in Andrew’s face and jaw. Every time he shifted his weight on the chair, she could hear the rustle of fabric.

  Maybe I’m wrong to be mad. Maybe there’s another side to the story.

  But the internal voice was foolish — a vain cry of hope. A sucker. It reminded Chloe of whatever voices must have been in her mother’s head after Spooner had left. Nicole lied to herself for years, and there were self-deceptions she still told herself today.

  Chloe wouldn’t be as stupid. How could there possibly be another side to the story? O had hired Andrew to seduce her. To be her boyfriend. To pretend to love her … then gather the data and deliver it to them.

  Everything they’d done together, O would know.

  Every moment they’d spent together, O probably had on video.

  Every time they’d made love — correction: every time they fucked; there had been no love — O’s board had the footage.

  Thinking of that last one always hit Chloe below the belt. Up until she’d gotten sloppy, she’d kept that impenetrable wall between Chloe the Escort and Private Chloe, work on one side and Andrew on the other. Escort Chloe loved that others watched her fuck; it’s what she’d been put here to do and she did it well. But Private Chloe wasn’t a performer. What she did with her body was for her and her man alone to know and feel and see.

  The fact that Andrew had tricked Private Chloe into performing unknowingly for others? It was the worst kind of violation. She’d been vulnerable. And after the wall had crumbled — for Andrew’s benefit and at her mother’s urging, no less — the Chloes had blended.

  Chloe the Escort couldn’t work with other men because of Private Chloe’s rules. And Private transformed what she and Andrew shared in the bedroom into something made for them both.

  But it hadn’t been for them.

  Private Chloe hadn’t been private.

  And none of Private Chloe’s bones-deep, closely held emotions had been real — no more true than Andrew’s emotions for her.

  Don’t jump to conclusions. Don’t shut the door. Don’t do it, Chloe. You’re mad; of course you are. But you wouldn’t be on this date if you didn’t want to give him a chance for … for …

  Well, for what?

  To confess, so she could justify her idiot way into forgiving him?

  To confess so she could rip him apart?

  Chloe had no idea. Her fists were clenched under the table.

  If Andrew was an actor, she was determined to match him. Chloe could adapt her manner to fit a client’s desires, so she could adapt her mood for Andrew.

  Chloe smiled, offering no sign that she wanted to leap across the table and slap Andrew to the ground. She’d throttled the anger from her voice when he’d called her last night, then pretended to believe his assurances.

  “Everything’s fine, Chloe. I’m sorry it was weird when I left this morning.”

  “Did you take care of what you needed to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “This is tricky for me, Chloe. It’s …” A dramatic pause. “You know I don’t like to talk about my personal life. About my past.”

  And Chloe thought: No, you don’t, do you?

  She’d been with him for months. She didn’t even know his mother’s name … or whatever fake name he’d invent so he could lie to her face.

  Why hadn’t that rung all of her internal alarms? What kind of man shared your bed but none of his thoughts? He’d distracted her with talk of being in the moment, but it had all been bullshit. A snow job meant to blind her silly little mind from the truth: that he had no outside life. That everything she’d been fooled into believing they’d built together was really only sets and facades.

  How much of the rest had he been involved with? Had Alexa told Andrew all of Chloe’s mysterious past? Had she pumped him for clues? Or worse: had Alexa solved some of those mysteries and told Andrew, who had then kept the truth from Chloe? Did Andrew know who her father was? Did he know about Spooner?

  Was this really a six-decade project for O? How much of that had Andrew been involved in?

  “I know you don’t like to talk about the past,” she’d told him, innocently, on last night’s call. “I understand. Or at least, I try to.”

  And behind her smile she’d thought: I know your secret. I know what you did to me. And you sit there lying to my face.

  “I want to tell you everything, Chloe. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

  “Then tell me,” she said.

  Tell me how you lied. Or, if you prefer, just lie even more.

  “I need … time. After today, I need time to process before I tell you.”

  “Of course.” Then, to twist the knife, she’d added, “I just worry. I try to understand, but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re keeping something from me.”

  A twitch of Andrew’s face.

  “Meet me for lunch, tomorrow. I promise I can explain everything.”

  Then she’d hung up.

  A night without sleep.

  The next morning, when she’d faced her reflection, she’d wanted to lash out and smash the mirror to bits. Who was she angry at? Andrew, or herself for falling into his trap?

  A fitful morning that passed too slowly.

  And now this table in a colorful cafe. Andrew had ordered skewers
and Chloe had ordered nothing. She couldn’t imagine eating. He'd want to pay for her. Fuck him.

  Then all those questions had ceased to matter. Who cared how she’d come to be and who held the other half of her genetic heritage? In all likelihood, nobody would ever figure it out. But Chloe could learn to live with it.

  All that mattered now was Andrew and what he’d done.

  All that mattered was the uncertainty on his face.

  Was it because he somehow felt bad about what he’d done to her?

  Or did he look that way because he was trying to summon the courage to explain himself with another giant lie?

  A small voice inside said he does love me. That part was real.

  But a more rational voice said you’re fooling yourself.

  Maybe he just got in too deep. Maybe if I don’t push him, he’ll confess.

  And lose all that O must be giving him? Why? He hasn’t confessed so far.

  But I was sure he loved me. I can tell the difference.

  This time, the second voice didn’t respond. It laughed at Chloe’s naiveté.

  I should find a way to trust him. I should give him one last honest chance.

  What you should have done, said the cold voice, was to keep your internal wall up, and never let him in. Now look what you’ve done. Now look at how you’ve ruined both halves of yourself. You’re not strong and independent, Chloe. You’re waiting on a man to save you.

  Just like your mother.

  “You okay over there? You seem so serious.”

  Chloe forced herself to brighten, but now her light had an edge. “I’m fine.”

  “You look like you’re solving math problems or something.” He looked down at the empty spot in front of Chloe. “You’re sure you don’t want anything?”

  “No. I couldn’t possibly eat.”

  “This place is too fancy, isn’t it? I just figured—”

  “You said you had something to tell me.”

  Andrew looked at her, but then his eyes flicked away.

  “You said you needed ‘time to process.’ Have you had long enough?”

  She kept her voice sweet, but there was a verbal knife behind her back. The quotes around time were almost audible.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Um. Yes. I’ve thought it over.”

  “And?”

  “Well, like I said: I’ve wanted to tell you everything from the start.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not good with emotion.”

  “Good thing you’re not an actor, then.”

  “Hard emotions, I mean,” Andrew continued. “I can do emotion.”

  “Of course.”

  “Like, I’m emotional with you.”

  “What a clinical description. Thank you, Andrew. I’m ‘emotional with you’ as well.” But she could feel that her smile wasn’t right. Toothy, like she wasn’t precisely happy, but was instead preparing to bite.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?”

  “Well, sure. I … you know. I love you.” He said it like checking off a required item on an intake form.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “But over the past few weeks …” He stalled.

  “Something’s been going on for a few weeks?”

  “Yes. You know. When I’ve been acting sort of strange?”

  “Have you been? I didn’t really notice.”

  Amid the sounds of other diners, Andrew watched Chloe as if trying to decide whether she was kidding.

  “You noticed yesterday.”

  “Oh, yes. Yesterday was definitely weird.”

  “I mean like that,” he said. “When I say I’ve been ‘acting strangely.’”

  “But that was just yesterday, Andrew.”

  “You’ve felt it before yesterday. I know you have.”

  But now he looked like he was on unsteady footing, wondering if he was hanging himself for no reason.

  Maybe Chloe hasn’t noticed after all, his eyes said, but now I’m bringing her attention to it.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  He gripped his glass with a trembling hand, and she could see ripples on the surface of his water.

  “But just the past few weeks,” Chloe said.

  “Right.”

  “Not since we met. It hasn’t been strange ever since we met?”

  Andrew’s face became uncertain. “Have I seemed weird to you from the start or something?”

  Chloe forced a smile. Again, it wasn’t quite right. “Only in all the usual ways.”

  “Well, this is something recent.”

  “What is?”

  “The stuff that’s made me act strangely.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Chloe pulled her water glass forward. Sipped through a straw. She pursed her lips more than was strictly necessary, becoming more like a parody of a teenager in an old-time malt shop than Chloe here and now. The look was subtly sexual. She watched Andrew’s signals shift, trying to keep up with her unpredictable behavior.

  “Go on,” she said.

  But Andrew was now visibly nervous. Whatever came next, it wasn’t something he felt confident to do.

  Because he’s going to confess, said Chloe’s optimistic voice.

  Because he’s going to lie again, said the other voice, and part of him knows you won’t buy it.

  “Maybe we should go for a walk,” he said.

  “You still have skewers to finish.”

  “Well, maybe fuck it. I’m full anyway.”

  “Whatever you want, Andrew. You don’t have to tell me your secret at all.”

  His face twisted. “It’s not really a secret.”

  “You’ve been keeping it from me. Isn’t that the definition of a secret?”

  “Well, but …”

  There was no but. The sentence just ended.

  “It’s up to you, Andrew. It’s your choice whether to tell me the reason you’ve been acting strangely. I believe you, Andrew. I trust you.”

  A long gaze.

  “You know I love you, right?” he asked.

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “And you love me, right?”

  “That’s how it usually works.”

  “You sure you’re doing okay? You seem a little off.”

  “Now I’m acting strange?” A bitter little laugh. “Andrew, we came here to talk about the secrets you’ve been hiding. I don’t have any. I’m an open book. At least I always have been with you.”

  Then Chloe saw what she’d been waiting for: Guilt in Andrew’s eyes.

  “It’s not that I’m hiding secrets.”

  “Except that you are.” She took a sip. “But that’s okay. I trust you.”

  “It’s just that there were things that were hard for me to face myself, and I just sort of—”

  “I can tell you’re nervous.” She reached out and lay her hand over his, teetering between fury and an insane desire to make this right. “But whatever you have to tell me, I promise to believe you.”

  “It’s not that I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

  She could see sweat at his hairline.

  “It’s that I want you to understand.”

  “To understand why you did what you did?”

  “Yes.” Flustered. “I mean no.”

  “Ah — to understand why you lied to me,” Chloe proposed, trying again. Her voice was eminently reasonable: a rational girl in a rational situation, doing her best to rationally understand.

  “Not lies, really.”

  “But not truths.”

  Andrew looked around the restaurant. Sipped his water. Then, clearly unnerved, said, “Can I start over and try this again?”

  “Of course.”

  He took a deep breath. And Chloe thought, He’s going to tell me the truth. He’s going to confess. He’ll unspool it all and I’ll pretend to be surprised: about O, about the job, about how h
e got lost in his Alexa-assigned mission and found himself in too deep. There’s an explanation for everything. It’s not as bad as it looks. He loves me. He doesn’t want to hurt me. Maybe he was on O’s side once, but he’s on mine now … and when he tells me as much, I can move through the pain and pick up the pieces. And maybe, if the reasons are good enough, I can find a way to forgive him.

  But the other voice inside Chloe just laughed and laughed and laughed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Look, Chloe.”

  “I’m looking.”

  “Here’s the thing.”

  “Okay. What’s the thing?”

  “I never meant to hurt you. I want you to understand that. Okay? This was a hard situation. I didn’t know how far it would go. I didn’t know that you’d start to sense something was wrong, and that I’d decide to keep covering a little longer, and that would only make things worse … oh, fuck, this was just a little thing. It didn’t need to get so big.”

  Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs.

  Her fingers became claws.

  But that quiet voice said, Hear him out. He’s confessing on his own.

  “What is it, Andrew?” This time when she touched his hand, it was a bit more sincere. “What’s bothering you? What ‘hard situation’ are you talking about?”

  He shook his head. “I just hope you can understand.”

  “I promise to try.”

  “And hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Andrew …”

  “Back in school, I had a good friend. His name was Alex. We were best buds, did everything together. We lost touch when we were sixteen. He moved away.”

  Chloe waited.

  “He recently came back to DZ. With a serious meth habit.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed. “What about him?”

  “I’ve had to help him through some shit, Chloe. Whatever it took.”

  She closed her eyes. Opened them. Trying to fight the fire. “And that’s why you’ve been strange? you’ve been helping this guy deal with his problem.”

  “Yeah.” He stammered, regrouped. “But I didn’t help him enough, I guess, because …”