He was a calm, pragmatic man, who had already accepted his father's death well before he lost him; he just had to see him before died, and he already did that. That business was taken care of, but Crystal had tried to stop that from happening. He couldn't let that go. He had to find a way to get back at her, and get over her, or he wasn't going to be able to move on. He knew how things went with her. She would always find some way to weasel her way on in, and unless he found somebody to take her place, she would succeed. She was just too sweet, too manipulative, and he couldn't stop himself.
He was done. The woman was lucky to be alive, and out of jail. The only reason he knew that was because she was already calling him, sending threats and apologies every few minutes, pleading with him and making excuses, but this was over.
He sat in his jet, on the way home with Hank across from him. “You see this? There is 72 new messages in the past two hours.”
“We'll have your number changed,” the man was sitting across from him in an all black suit with a tailored goatee. He looked like someone out of a gangster movie. He knew how to take care of business, and that's why Johnny was coming to him. He didn't have it in him to do what he needed to do, not after all they'd been through.
“I will have to, but she knows all my friends, my business partners. She can do some real damage.”
“That is a serious issue.” Hank took a sip of coke.
“I want to know that this woman gets it. If she still thinks there's a chance, she'll keep pushing my buttons.”
“She's got a short attention span.”
“I need somebody real, but I need them quick.”
“There's ways to find women. I know some marriage services.”
“Mail order brides?” He couldn't believe Hank was suggesting something like that.
“Elite matchmakers, who facilitate marriages after extensive scrutiny. You will know this woman's entire life story even before you meet her. I'm making an appointment. I want that little tramp dead, but this is the next best thing.”
Chapter 9
Marlow had taken everything she had from the house and moved into an apartment within 3 days. That house was killing her, and every time she went back, she felt that old sadness creep up. She didn't know what to do about finding somebody. She didn't know anyone, and she didn't feel like sitting down and faking it.
She'd heard about marriage agencies before, and she wasn't sure at first. The idea of going with somebody to marry with them like that scared her. Most of all, she was worried about the kind of man that would try to meet a woman that way, but she needed something. She had to have that life still, and she knew that if she spent another Christmas alone, it would kill her.
She had a black jacket with a white blouse and black skirt. She wanted to look elegant but professional. They were the only nice clothes that she could stand to look at. Everything else brought back memories that she just couldn't think about. She looked good. She'd spent hours in the shower the day after thanksgiving, trying to wash away the grief. She tweezed her eyebrows and curled her hair. She even bought new makeup. There's nothing that can change you like a good makeover, and she needed one.
Celestial Coupling claimed to give you a marriage made in heaven, and they dealt with the best. Her first interview was strenuous, and it cost her an entire day's pay. They did background checks, took her blood type and put her through hours of psychoanalysis. Today, she was driving through the freezing cold so that she could meet with the head of the agency to see if she met up to her standards.
She walked into the expensively decorated waiting room, marveling at the portable waterfall they had posted up on the wall while she waited for the receptionist to get done with her call. The petite blonde finally looked up to address her after a few minutes.
“Hi, my name is Ma—
“She'll call the girls in shortly.” The woman looked down at the her computer.
Marlow saw several modelesque figures in designer dresses waiting around the lobby. They didn't look up, but she could feel the conceit dripping off of them. Twenty somethings don't get married; they play house. If this was the place for her, the Head Mistress would see that.
Marlow wasn't going to put up any pretenses. She wasn't a designer dress woman, and her husband wouldn't be one either. She didn't have to have fully makeup and nails every time she was in the presence of another human being, and she was not a model to be shown off by pretentious men insisting on a prenup. She was a real woman, not a plastic one, and if this place didn't have real, genuine men then she wasn't in the right place.
Chapter 10
Johnny traveled all the way to the Texas panhandle from his mansion Paradise Valley so that he could meet with one of the most prestigious women in the matchmaking business. She called herself simply, the Head Mistress. Nobody knew her name or how old she was, but they knew that she was a sorceress when it came to matchmaking. She had an eighty percent success rate, and nobody knew exactly why.
Johnny was surprised when he was ushered into the backdoor of her office, how plain it was. She must've been nearly as rich as he was, but all she had there was two plain black chairs. He went and sat in the one farthest from the door and looked around. Aside from a black vase in the corner, that obviously hid a camera, the room was completely bare. He decided that the only thing he could do was wait.
She was playing a trick to see how he reacted. The room was freezing cold, the same temperature as the house, and it was gradually getting warmer until he was sweating. She wanted to see if he was overly passive or angry. Heat makes you mad, and cold makes you tired. It was a personality test, and it tested his reaction to patience. That was no problem. He sat back in the chair with his arms folded, and let his thoughts drift by.
When the door opened, a young blond woman walked in wearing a tight white shirt and a short skirt. She had no bra and no panties on. It was too obvious, but it was still a little tantalizing.
“Tell her this is stupid. I'll pick the woman.” She was holding a clipboard and started jotting something down. “Right this way.” He did watch the girl's butt while she walked down the hallway. He was a man, no matter how much control he had.
They stopped in front of a black door and she said, “Wait,” then walked in, leaving him in the hallway. There was a short wait then a tiny woman, not much taller than five feet walked out. She had a stern glare a roller set that was almost a foot high. She took herself seriously. Judging by her age and her reputation, she had a right to.
“That way,” she pointed down the hallway to the left. “Second to last door on the right.” She waited for him to go, then followed him . They walked into a square room that looked like an interrogation chamber with a desk and a two way mirror.
“You're not gonna torture me, are you?”
The Head Mistress scowled and took a pad out of her black a-line dress and jotted down some notes. “You are wanting a wife?” She had a thick, dark accent, but he couldn't place it.
“Yes. I want somebody I can actually settle down with, a woman that really understands me.” She was writing furiously. “I am a billionaire, and that means she can't be petty or dramatic. She has to be down-to-earth, trustworthy—someone I can entrust those type of things to.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Look to the left.” The mirror went transparent, and he saw a line of women, but he could tell they couldn't see him.
“Do you find any of these women attractive?” It was a line of models.
“What do you think?”
She nodded her head and started jotting down notes. “You want more from your woman?”
“Of course. I don't know that I want these women. I want a real woman—not a piece of plastic.”
“OK,” She pressed a button on the side of the mirror. “You may enter.”
A more diverse group of women walked in. One was a blond with short curly hair in a tight knit sweater. She was imperfect, but she h
ad charm. Another was a skinny red head with a lot of freckles. His eyes kept sticking on a brunette with long brown hair. Her outfit was ridiculous, not because it looked bad, but because it stood out. She looked like she was trying to seem like one of the other women and he could see why. The bottom of her eyes were lighter than the rest of her face. She had dark circles and her shoulders hunched just like his.
He knew the signs of loss better than he knew his own hand. He could see the way her cheeks puffed up from too many tears and the way she tried too hard to smile. It was endearing because she would understand him. He turned to the woman and she looked over at him.
“You recently lost somebody,” she said. “I can see it in you.” She sighed. “Do you think that woman is beautiful?”
He saw something in her, a dreamer maybe, or perhaps a bit of passivity. She reminded him of a Botticelli angel, who had the right shape, and for him, the right size. “Dear Jesus, yes.”
For just a second, he thought he saw a smile come over the Head Mistresses face, and had he not seen it, he wouldn't have thought it possible. “You meet her tonight.”
Chapter 11
The women were standing in a long line in the interview room. Marlow found the whole experience rather demeaning. She wasn't a piece at a supermarket, and they weren't going to be able to hide the fact that she was on display. She could see the black glass in front of her, and she didn't like being judged like that. She was just as good as the rest of those women.
The Head Mistress walked in and stood in front of the line, holding a silver key. She turned to the models and said, “You may be dismissed.” They left the room, leaving the other women looking a little disturbed. “It was not my intention to cause you distress,” the Head Mistress addressed them. “Our bachelors are here to get wives, but they cannot do that if all they care about is the way you look, so I have hired models in an effort to interview you, and the men. If you cannot deal with them confidently, and he cannot stay away from them, then your relationship will be filled with insecurities and mistrust.” She cast her gaze at every woman, then stopped at Marlow. “Marlow, you will have your first date this evening.” The door to the right opened, and the same blonde met with Johnny walked in. “This is Andrea, she will take you to get ready.”
Marlow followed her into the hall, and then another room where there was a mirror and a rack of clothes. Andrea had her step in front of the mirror and turn around. “You should get rid of those clothes. We'll keep them here until you are done, but...”
“They're not that bad, are they?” Andrea shrugged ambiguously.
“When was the last time you had your hair done?” She picked up a strand of hair and looked at it closely. “It's not that bad, but I wanna do something different with it. Is that OK?”
“I want to keep it long.” Andrea nodded her head.
“I think we can do this. Let's go.”
“Where are we going?” Marlow seemed puzzled.
“There's no stylist here and you have no good clothes. We are going to go to the mall.”
She led Marlow outside, into a black luxury SUV, that looked like it belonged in a car show. She looked over at Andrea sitting in the driver's seat and noticed that all of her clothes were designer, and she had a huge wedding ring on her hand. Not only was the girl married, she had money. “Were you one of the Head Mistresses clients?”
Andrea pulled out of the parking lot. “Yes, but that was a long time ago.”“Was is hard starting out?”
“It was terrible,” she scoffed. “You're going to wind up learning to love this every single day until it gets easier, and that takes a lot of work.” Marlow didn't like the sound of that.
“My first marriage wasn't like that.”
“This is different. You get what you get and you have to work with it. You don't know what kind of baggage this person brings, and though the Headmistress does allow you to come back and try again, she isn't going to let you do it right away. She asks for a six month commitment.”
“Six months?” That was outrageous. She couldn't devote six months to somebody she barely knew.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if you run at the first sign of trouble, marriage isn't for you.” Marlow couldn't disagree, but the methods were a little too extreme for her tastes. She didn't have much option, though, so she would have to go along with it.
“This isn't after the first date, is it?”
“No.”
“Oh, thank God. That would be a little too extreme.”
“It's after the second date.” Marlow didn't like that at all.
Chapter 12
The Headmistress came into the reception area and pulled him back to what was obviously her real office. This woman had trick after trick. It almost made him wonder whether or not she just played with people.
Her office was more stately, with a plush dark burgundy carpet and white walls with white crown molding. She had various decorations, mostly following the same color pattern with dark purples with reddish tones. It was a use of contrast that intrigued him.
He thought the woman would be simple, but she had a style of her own. She had a long burgundy-colored wooden desk with a black leather chair in front and a larger one in black that fit her height perfectly. She was dwarfed by the thing when she sat down, which made her stern facial features look comical. He wasn't sure whether or not to take her seriously yet, but she did have a philosophy that made sense.
“The reason I called you back here, Mr. Casper is to lay out some of the rules regarding your dating period.” She pulled out a small silver box from her desk drawer and pulled out a cigarette, which she stuck on a long old fashioned cigarette holder. “We don't allow our clients to fund the dates.”
“Might I ask why.”
“Well, we don't want you to show off.” She took a long puff and blew smoke into the air. “If you do that, the women won't want you for who you really are.”
“What are we supposed to do on the date?” He wanted his lady to have the best, and he wasn't sure he could really impress her if he didn't do the things he knew he could do.
“We have many packages available.”
“What I guess I'm saying, if you'll excuse my candor, is what sort of quality can I expect?”
She gave him an icy glare and reached under the desk to pull out a black leather binder. “I get it,” she began. “You know what I'm saying is true, though. These women don't ride on private jets and travel to different cities for dinner. They live simple, middle and low class lives. Some of them will pretend to fall in love with you, whether they are doing it on purpose or not, just because of your wealth.” She ashed her cigarette and handed him the folder.
He let it sit for a second. “Do they know that I'm rich?”
“No, and we will not be telling them until they figure it out after the second date. During this time, your dynamic will be under close examination.”
He got it. Maybe it was for the best. Hank was the one that chose this place, and it was probably for that reason. Two dates was way too little time to really know whether or not to begin making a commitment, but it would be enough to begin to get a feel for this person. Johnny opened the booklet and flipped through the laminated pages.
“One that I would suggest is the Lantern. It is page six.”
He turned to it. It was a restaurant with paper lanterns, and a live band that played soft jazz music. “It looks alright.”
“It is casual, but it is also romantic.” He flipped it over to see one called the Garden. It was higher class with fine cuisine and rose gardens that they could walk through.
“What about the Garden?”
“It is more romantic. The walk is for people who want a more intimate experience.”
“I think I want that one.”
“It's too intimate.” She put out her cigarette.
“I'm looking for marriage. If it's the long haul we're talking about, there's no real easing in
to it. Either she's comfortable or she isn't.”
“It's a mistake.” She was insistent.
“It's what I want.” The preparations were made, and he was sent back to his room to dress. Johnny wasn't putting up pretense or sticking his toes in the water. He was never a cautious man, but he did have control. He knew that to be the correct combination. If he could turn the date into a more intimate direction without making it awkward, then things might just work. It might be hard, but if there was serious difficulty, then it wasn't right in the first place. He knew dating. He had reigned in quite a few women, so he knew that failure was often better than success
He wore his favorite white dress shirt, tight jeans and bolo tie. He wasn't dressing up, he was expressing his individuality to see whether or not the woman liked him. If he was trying to get in a girl's pants, he might try and wear something he wouldn't normally wear, and act carefully around her, but the Head Mistress wasn't giving them time to ease into things, and if he acted fake, then she really would just want him for his money.
They took him in a plain white Sedan to the mountains north of the city to a small estate, surrounded by pine trees and wildflowers where a private restaurant had been reserved in their honor, complete with a private dining area, and a table that sat next to the fire. The ambiance was perfect. It was low lit with tan walls and dark wood flooring. There were no centerpieces on the table in order to facilitate conversation, and the chairs weren't all that comfortable, so that the couple would want to walk around the ground, which Johnny was excited to do.
The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal: A Bad Boy MC Romance Page 6