Kiss Me, Chloe

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  We were ushered to a small table next to a window, where Geoff seated me with a flourish. The tablecloth was real linen, if I wasn’t mistaken, with matching napkins and actual silverware. The china didn’t look like the cheap stuff, either. A waiter appeared to pour ice water into our glasses, and I could tell from the slight sing as an ice cube hit the glass that they were real crystal. I told myself sternly not to break anything.

  I glanced at the offered menu. Even a plain old green salad was over twenty pounds. There better be gold dust in that salad for that price.

  “Order anything you want,” Geoff said with a wide smile. “I got a promotion at work. This is sort of a celebration.”

  “Oh, really? What sort of work do you do?”

  “Investment banking. I’m afraid it’s not terribly interesting, but I enjoy it.”

  I nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He had a real job and a good-paying one at that. Definitely not a flakey artist type. I shouldn’t judge. My best friend was a writer, after all, and her husband was an actor, but flakey they were not. Unfortunately, in my experience, dating an artist type was a far different creature.

  “Well, congratulations on your promotion. That’s great.”

  “What do you do?” he asked, his dark, velvet eyes gazing at me so intently over the menu, I felt myself blush.

  “I work for a charity. The Historical Trust. I admit it’s not the most glamorous job, but it’s very rewarding. We’ve saved several buildings that would have otherwise been torn down.”

  “That’s fantastic. Good for you. More people should take the time to give back.” He went back to perusing his menu.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. It was such an off-hand comment. I chose to take it as a compliment and went back to deciding between the chicken and the lamb.

  Once we were settled with wine and our dinners, talk turned to more interesting things. “Where in America are you from?” he asked.

  “Portland, Oregon. It’s on the West Coast,” I explained. Most British people I spoke to hadn’t even heard of Portland, never mind Oregon. The few who had was thanks to the show Portlandia.

  “Near Los Angeles?”

  “Closer to Seattle.” I gave him a strained smile. Sure enough, he was one of the majority.

  “Portland. Isn’t that the place where that television program is filmed? Something about werewolves or witches or something.”

  “There are a few TV shows filmed there, yes.”

  “Interesting. How did you wind up in London?”

  I cut into my chicken. “After I finished university, I worked for a non-profit in Portland. After a while, I got a little bored with the same old routine, so I decided to look around, see what was out there. When I found this job, I applied straight away. Couldn’t believe I got it. But I did, and here I am.” I didn’t mention the inheritance from my grandmother, the one that had let me buy property in London and put enough money in the bank that the Home Office decided they could safely give me a visa. People tended to get the wrong idea and think I was rich or something. Especially slacker-type people, who thought I was the perfect target to sponge off. Not that Geoff was one of those, obviously, but I was still uncomfortable talking about that at this early stage in the game.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. Never.” What was this, twenty questions?

  He seemed surprised. “Why not?”

  My hackles went up instantly. “That seems rather rude.”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean... a beautiful woman like you. I’m surprised someone hasn’t snapped you up.”

  I smiled at his flattery. “I guess I haven’t met the right guy. How about you?”

  “Have I met the right guy?” There was laughter in his voice.

  “No,” I giggled. “Have you been married?”

  He paused. Oh no. That wasn’t good.

  “I have. Actually, my wife and I are separated. We’re getting a divorce.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should tell him I was sorry or happy. What was the proper etiquette for such things?

  “Things haven’t been working between us for a long time. We’ve been living separate lives for years now. It’s just... divorce is expensive, you know. And complicated.”

  Didn’t I know it. Kate’s life had been a nightmare thanks to her ex-husband. “I get that. But you’re definitely separated?” I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some temporary thing. No way was I getting caught in the middle of some kind of domestic dispute.

  “Oh, yes. There’s nothing between us anymore.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about dating a technically married man, but I knew how crazy British law was. Divorce could take forever. Lots of separated people just went along with their lives, not bothering with the legalities of divorce simply because they couldn’t afford it. They even lived with and had children with other people. It was just the way it was.

  I decided to enjoy myself. I didn’t even know if this would go anywhere. No sense worrying about tomorrow.

  “What do you do in your spare time?” I asked. “When you’re not lost in the exciting work of investment banking.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, you know. I like a bit of music.”

  “Really? What’s your favorite?”

  “I like hip hop, you know. R&B.”

  “New stuff or old school?”

  He made a face. “Nothing older than the ’90s. That old school stuff isn’t for me. I like things to be fresh.”

  “Ah.” Definitely not my cup of tea, but I figured that was okay. I didn’t need to like everything he was into. We moved on to other interests. I never mentioned my love of jazz or my singing. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was his dismissal of old school R&B? Or maybe I needed to keep it to myself for now. But something made me hesitate.

  At the end of the meal, the waiter brought our check, and Geoff whipped out a platinum credit card. I swear I held my breath until the waiter brought back his card and a slip for him to sign. I breathed out a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t get stuck with the check this time.

  As Geoff ushered me outside and helped me into my coat, he said, “I had a lovely time.”

  “So, did I. Thank you for dinner.”

  “We should do this again.”

  I smiled. “I’d like that.”

  He leaned down and brushed a light kiss across my lips. It was nothing earth-shattering, but it was nice. The perfect first-date kiss.

  He tucked me in the cab, whispered goodnight, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mr. Perfect

  FUNDRAISING WAS PART of my job at Historical Trust. One of my very first and most successful attempts had been a Speakeasy Night for some of our more flush supporters.

  Thanks to my boss, Mr. Brentwood’s, connections, I’d gotten a steal on the venue, a chic, industrial-style space near the Olympic Stadium. In fact, the space itself was reminiscent of the stadium’s architecture, with enormous, round steel beams crisscrossing the floor. Red uplights had been placed strategically to give the room the right ambience. Small round tables had been tucked into corners and around the beams, a vintage-style bar was against one wall, and casino games had been set up at one end of the room. A band played Roaring Twenties music, and servers dressed in uniforms of the era and loaded with trays of gin rickeys and mint juleps flitted among the guests decked out like a scene from the Great Gatsby. It was, in a word, perfect.

  Eagle-eyed, I strolled around the edge of the party to ensure nothing went wrong. This was my moment to shine, to show the boss he hadn’t made a mistake hiring me all the way from the other side of the planet. I stopped at the roulette wheel as the players suddenly let out a wild cheer.

  One of the players gathered his winnings, a huge grin on his handsome face. The sleeve of his exquisitely cut wool suit slid up, revealing pristine white cuffs and a sweet pair of Tiffany & Co lapis lazuli cufflinks. Things weren’t cheap, either. I’d seen them while perusin
g the website for a gift for my mom. The man not only had taste, but clearly he could afford the best. Especially if he was on our list. I didn’t recognize him, but I was still new. I knew that if he was a donor and he was at the party, he’d donated some pretty substantial money. I didn’t care about how much money he had, except where it concerned the Trust. We were always in need of donations. But I figured if he was on our list, it was a safe bet he wasn’t in search of a sugar mama.

  The man glanced up and caught me staring. I didn’t bother looking away, although I might have blushed a bit. A smile quirked the corner of his lips and heat rose in his eyes. It was impossible in the dim light to tell what color they were. He clearly liked what he saw. He waved me over.

  I made my way to his side, putting a little extra swing in my walk. I may be working, but a little flirtation never hurt anybody.

  “Hello, sir. Chloe Daniels of the Historical Trust. I hope you’re enjoying your evening.”

  “Miss Daniels... it is Miss, isn’t it?” He took my hand, his thumb caressing the back of it ever so slightly.

  I nodded and his smile widened, showing a perfectly straight set of movie star-white teeth. His face was one of those smoothly handsome ones without any sharp angles. Like Marlon Brando. They looked great when they were younger, but they didn’t age well. Not that it mattered. To me, a person’s looks were always overridden by their inner character.

  “I’m Terrance Howell. Happy to meet such a lovely lady.”

  I kept my smile steady. I knew that name. He was one of the Trust’s biggest supporters. He was a self-made millionaire. Some rumors even said billionaire. The mysterious Mr. Howell rarely made public appearances and was never in the papers. Olivia had told me the man had never attended a single one of their fundraising events or thank you dinners. He simply mailed in a check every year on the dot. A very large check.

  “Mr. Howell,” I said, removing my hand from his possessive grasp, flattered by his attention. “I’m thrilled you could make it to our little event. It’s quite an honor.”

  “Well, I couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity to meet you, could I?”

  I had my doubts that meeting me was behind Howell’s sudden appearance, but I’d got with it. I needed to remain cool and professional. That was my role tonight. “I’m sure you couldn’t. Please, enjoy the evening.” I started to walk off, but he stopped me.

  “Miss Daniels.”

  “Chloe. Please.”

  “Chloe.” The way he said it warmed me in places that hadn’t been warmed in quite some time. “If you’ll call me Terrance.”

  “All right. Terrance.”

  “Please stay. I have a feeling you’re going to be my good luck charm.” His tone was laden with innuendo.

  I laughed. “All right. For a little while.”

  The man was perfect. Handsome, rich, and self-made. He clearly understood hard work and determination, traits I admired. Plus he gave to charity. My charity. That earned a lot of points in my book. Even better? He was clearly into me. This could be the start of something interesting. And best of all, he was financially stable. I’d never have to worry about him trying to take advantage of me. Economically speaking, anyway.

  Good luck was apparently not my thing. Terrance immediately started losing. I was starting to get nervous when a woman in a black beaded flapper dress leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Inviting Howell was a smart move. He can’t resist a good game.”

  Uh-oh. “How much is he down?”

  “Ten grand, I think. Might be more by now.”

  Holy crickets. A major donor had just dropped ₤10,000 on the roulette table? The boss would be thrilled, but I felt sick to my stomach. That was like $15,000 or more. That was a lot of money.

  I reached out to stop Terrance from placing a new bet, but it was too late. His chips were out, and the dealer had called it. I watched the wheel with its little black and red numbers spin round and round. The wheel stopped, and I winced.

  “How much this time?” I asked the woman.

  “Looks like twenty.”

  I wanted to let out a string of cuss words. “He’s down twenty grand?”

  “No. Twenty on top the ten. He’s lost thirty total. Maybe more. I haven’t been here all night.”

  Great. I had to get the guy away from the table before there was an incident. The last thing we needed was bad press because a donor had lost too much money gambling.

  I placed a hand on Terrance’s shoulder. “Terrance, why don’t we go dance?” I suggested.

  He jerked his arm away. “Honey, I didn’t come here to dance,” he snapped, eyes on the table. He placed another bet, and the wheel started turning. He might be a millionaire—or possibly billionaire—but the man obviously had a gambling problem. I needed to get the boss over here.

  I dashed into the crowd, darting here and there until I found Olivia’s dad chatting up an elderly couple. The woman was dripping with diamonds. Real ones, I’d bet. The man was at least twenty years her junior and a total silver fox. I felt like congratulating the woman, but I had more important things to think about.

  “Sir,” I interrupted as soon as there was a pause in the conversation, “I could use some help.”

  Mr. Brentwood excused himself. “What’s wrong, Chloe?”

  “We have a situation with Mr. Howell.”

  “Terrance Howell?” He frowned.

  “Yes. He’s...sir, he seems to have a bit of a gambling problem. He’s already down thirty grand. Maybe more by now.”

  Mr. Brentwood’s expression turned grim. “Darn.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. B. If I’d known about his problem...”

  He squeezed my arm. “It’s not your fault, Chloe. Nobody knew about his problem until very recently. I should have taken him off the list, but I didn’t realize until the invitations had gone out.”

  “We need to get him out of here.”

  He nodded. “I’ll get him. You have his car brought around. He’s not too drunk, is he?”

  “No, sir. Seems sober. He’s more interested in gambling than drinking.”

  “Good.” The boss man waded into the crowd while I hurried out front to have Mr. Howell’s car brought around.

  A few minutes later, the car was curbside, and my boss was hustling Terrance Howell out the front doors with the help of a very large security guard. Howell was sober but belligerent.

  “How dare you embarrass me in front of everyone, Brentwood,” Howell snarled, his formerly handsome face gone ugly. “The papers will hear about this. No one will contribute to your shoddy little charity now.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Howell,” my boss said, giving the man a little shake. “You know very well how any...unpleasant publicity will go down on your end.”

  Howell sneered. How had I ever thought the man attractive? He started toward his car as a tow truck swung up to the curb and a guy in greasy coveralls hopped out.

  “Evening, everyone.”

  “I didn’t call a tow,” Howell said, running his fingers through his blond hair. He suddenly looked pale.

  “No, sir.” The man held up a piece of paper. “What I got here is a writ from the courts. I’m repossessing your car. Sorry, sir.” He didn’t sound sorry. He snapped on the towline and started winching the car onto the back of the truck.

  “What the heck? Stop. You can’t do that.” Howell charged down the steps toward the tow truck driver.

  “’Fraid I can, sir. Court order. Have a nice evening.” He tipped his hat, hopped in his truck, and took off with a slight squeal of tires.

  “Chloe, why don’t you call the gentleman a cab?”

  “Forget it. I can find my own way home.” With that, the furious Terrance Howell stomped off down the road.

  I turned to my boss, eyes wide. “What was that all about? Isn’t he super rich?”

  “He was. Until he gambled away every last cent.”

  “What about the money he was gambling tonight?”

  His f
ace hardened. “Probably investor’s money. Don’t worry. I’ll hang onto it. Return it if necessary.”

  I stared after the retreating Howell. So much for stability.

  Chapter 7

  THE DAY AFTER MY DATE with Geoff, Kate and I met up at Milk & Bean. We stood in line chatting until we finally reached the front.

  Sophie grinned at us. Her blonde hair was up in a high pony tail, and she was wearing a pair of black-framed glasses that made her look adorable. Today’s streak was candy apple red. “Hey, ladies. Your usual?”

  “Yes, but make it a takeaway,” Kate said, pulling out a turquoise Kate Spade wallet.

  Sophie looked surprised. “You’re not taking your usual table? Is this the apocalypse?”

  We laughed. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “We’re not cheating on you or anything, but we have some shopping to do.”

  “Adam’s away filming, and when he comes back, I want to surprise him,” Kate said with a sly look that fooled no one.

  The light bulb went on. “Ah, got you.” Sophie giggled. “Got to keep the flames of passion alive, am I right?” Then she turned and shouted to the man standing at the espresso machine. “One white chocolate mocha and one caramel latte to go.”

  He turned and shot her a wink. “You got it.”

  “Who’s the eye candy?” I asked. He was crazy hot with a tumble of brown curls that kept falling over his insanely blue eyes. Muscles bulged beneath his snug black T-shirt. If they’d stuck him in a cravat, he’d have looked straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

  “That reprobate? That’s my brother, Nik. He was bored, so I took pity on him and put him to work. Family. What are you going to do?” She grinned as she handed us our drinks in baby blue to-go cups.

  We laughed as we forked over our money. That was so Sophie.

  Our first stop was the department store, Debenhams, and Kate’s favorite bra and undies brand, Floozie. She could totally afford to shop at some crazy expensive boutique, but Kate wasn’t one to spend insane money on a pair of knickers when she could get ones she loved perfectly well for half the price. I eyed the racks of cute bras and panties. Nothing in my size, of course, but the cute vintage look was very much Kate’s style. I whipped out a pink and blue floral number.