Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  “Oh, thanks,” she says, plopping down in the chair opposite me, “but I’m vegan and sugar-free now.” The disapproving look she tosses my way as I take a sip of my own drink implies she thinks I could benefit from a similarly restrictive diet.

  “Seems like a lot has changed in your life since the last time we saw each other.”

  “I know! Isn’t it fabulous? I’ve got everything I ever wanted—the clothes, the car, the house in Echo Park, an incredible guy, and best of all, my new biz, which has really taken off.”

  “Yeah, about your business . . .”

  Her phone buzzes with a text, and she holds up a finger tipped in a long, coffin-shaped acrylic nail that’s been painted rose gold to indicate she wants me to hold that thought while she checks the incoming message. Whatever it says makes her smirk and she quickly types back a response, her claws tap-tap-tapping on the display screen as she does so.

  When she’s finished, Quinn asks, “Where were we? Oh, right, you were about to congratulate me on Quinntessential Romance. Great name, don’t you think?”

  I answer her question with a frown. “It would have been nice if you had let me know you were leaving Straight from the Hart in order to start a rival business.”

  She raises a professionally-arched eyebrow. “We’re rivals now? Are you going to tell me this town isn’t big enough for the two of us?” The idea seems to amuse her.

  “Of course not. LA has plenty of couples to go around for all the romance concierges, which is why you stealing clients from me is unnecessary.”

  Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “I worked with those clients too, so I could argue that they were just as much mine as they were yours.”

  This is how she justifies what she’s been doing? I can hear Cole’s voice in my head saying, “Bitch please!” but I’m not going to resort to name-calling.

  In a level tone, I say, “You worked with them when you were my employee and only in a supporting role. Those clients signed contracts with Straight from the Hart, and their personal information is stored in my company’s database, which is protected by a host of privacy laws, all of which you violated by taking those names, phone numbers, and who knows what else for your own personal use. What you’ve been doing is extremely unethical.”

  She purses her oversized lips thoughtfully. “I get it. You’re mad because your clients are deserting you for someone younger and hipper who’s got a more fun and inventive approach to romance. Don’t worry, I’m sure the Baby Boomers and Gen Xers will stick with you since they like all of that conventional hearts-and-flowers stuff.”

  “You’re only five years younger than I am, so don’t act like there’s some big generational gap between us. And there’s nothing conventional about the romantic experiences Straight from the Hart provides!” I assert heatedly.

  “Rose garden picnics? Sunset horseback rides on the beach?” Quinn snorts derisively. “That’s so old-school you could have lifted the ideas right out of one of the Harlequin Romance novels my mother read back in the ‘80s.”

  How the hell does she know about the promo we just came up with yesterday? Do I have a mole at Straight from the Hart? If so, it’s definitely not Cole who can’t stand Quinn, or maybe that’s all been an act to throw me off the scent? I can’t trust anyone anymore!

  I’m opening my mouth to demand that Quinn reveal her source for this information when her phone rings and she grabs it, letting me know that she considers our conversation less important.

  “Hello? Yeah, I’m just wrapping things up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer. Mmmmm, maybe, but what’s in it for me?” she wonders, then chuckles throatily at whatever the caller’s reply is. “Oh, you’re so bad! I just might have to spank that cute bottom of yours. What if I play teacher and use a ruler? Would you like that, you naughty boy? I know I would. Okay, get naked and I’ll be there in ten. Bye, Zekey.”

  Alarm bells are going off in my head and not only because I’m grossed out by having to listen to Quinn engage in some verbal S&M with her boyfriend, but because of the name she just called the guy on the phone.

  “You’re dating a guy named Zeke?”

  “Mmmmm hmmmm.” Quinn pulls her clear Lucite purse with tortoiseshell handles into her lap and extracts a tin of Altoids from inside, which she opens then pops a mint in her mouth.

  My stomach churns uneasily. Zeke doesn’t have to be short for Ezekiel, I tell myself so that my green juice and coffee don’t come back up. Even if it is, there are probably other Ezekiels in Los Angeles, right? Surely, Quinn wouldn’t sink that low.

  “Ezekiel Thorne?” I query while praying her answer is no.

  “The one and only.” Now she’s reapplying her dark, vampy lip gloss to prep for her mid-morning assignation.

  I gasp in horror. “But he’s got a wife and baby!”

  “He did, but then he met me and that was the end of that.” She smiles smugly at me before dropping her gloss back in her bag.

  So Quinn doesn’t just steal clients, she steals husbands too! And this one was a client of mine.

  Ezekiel came to Straight from the Hart, wanting to arrange a romantic evening for his wife, Bree, who had given birth to their son a few months earlier and was feeling overwhelmed. I thought it was sweet that he wanted to dote on her and give her a break from the demands of motherhood, so I organized a special date that would take them back to their honeymoon in Barcelona. A masseuse and glam team were sent to their house to pamper the new mom and make her feel beautiful for the date. Then the couple was taken to a Spanish restaurant where they were seated in a private courtyard lit by the soft glow of string lights and served a wonderful meal including tapas, paella, and flan. Afterward, they danced the bolero to the sultry sounds of the music played by a pair of Spanish guitarists. Everyone from the waitresses at the restaurant to the driver who chauffeured Ezekiel and Bree home that night said they’d never seen a couple more in love. I can’t believe Quinn ruined all of that! She broke up a family, and it’s partially my fault since I’m the one who unleashed that viper in their happy household.

  “You’re horrible,” I exhale the words on a shaky breath.

  “Am I? The way I see it, I saved Zeke from a life of boredom and being covered in baby puke. He’s too young and hot to be tied down like that. Being with me, a sexy, fun-loving girl, is much more on-brand for him. And you don’t need to shed any tears for his ex and their squalling brat. Zeke is giving her a very generous settlement, along with alimony and child support, so she’ll be fine.”

  Except she won’t have a husband and now she has to raise their child on her own!

  Ugh, this is so awful, and it makes me angry that Quinn is being just as callous about destroying a marriage as she was about stabbing me in the back. Clearly, the woman has no conscience, and it would appear she’s got Ezekiel wrapped around her little finger since he has to be the one funding Quinntessential Romance and all of the changes to her face, body, and wardrobe. That well isn’t going to run dry anytime soon either as Ezekiel’s got family money (the Thornes have a construction empire worth billions), plus he owns Thorne’s Brewing Company, a very popular craft brewery and tap room in Boyle Heights.

  Glaring at Quinn, I say, “I can’t imagine anyone will want to hire you as their romance concierge once word gets out that you seduced a client and lured him away from his wife.”

  She shrugs. “Just shows that I’m adept at getting a man and keeping him; skills that can benefit my female clients.”

  “Don’t be so cocky,” I snap back. “You’ve only been with Ezekiel a handful of months, and you have no way of knowing if he’s staying with you because he actually cares about you as a person or because you’ve turned yourself into a blow-up doll.”

  Quinn’s eyes widen in shock, and she’s not the only one who’s surprised. I had hoped to keep things civil at this meeting, but her ungrateful, selfish, and destructive behavior has pushed me to the breaking point. Gloves off, homewrecker!

  �
�Rude!” she declares.

  “Just speaking your language. And while I’m at it, here’s another home truth: Quinntessential Romance is doomed to failure because you don’t know the first thing about love or romance, and you don’t give a damn about helping other people.”

  “You’re such a sap,” Quinn retorts. “And if anyone’s company is going to go belly up, it’s yours because you’re a total cliché with your pink champagne and truffles and your flowery clothes . . .” She gestures at my very chic Michael Kors wrap blouse that’s black with a pattern of pink roses that match my skirt. “. . . even your last name is too on-the-nose. Of course, if you didn’t use it for business, you probably wouldn’t have any clients since the only reason they come to you in the first place is because your mother and grandmother are famous.”

  I hate it when people accuse me of cashing in on my family name. What else am I supposed to do? Change it as if I’m ashamed or don’t want to be associated with the accomplished women who came before me? Screw that!

  “Unlike you, I have better things to do on a weekday than sit around, trading insults with a pretender. So . . .” I push back my chair and rise to my feet. “. . . I’ll leave you with this.”

  Reaching into my tote, I pluck out an envelope and toss it down on the table in front of Quinn. “That’s a Cease and Desist Letter from my attorney. You must immediately remove both my name and my company’s name from your website and any marketing materials. Failure to do so will result in litigation. Let’s see how well you and Quinntessential Romance do when you can no longer piggyback on the name recognition and success of the brand I built.”

  I take great pleasure in seeing the flabbergasted expression on Quinn’s face before I strut triumphantly out of the coffee shop, feeling like Viv must have when she had all of those dramatic exit lines on Made-Up!

  CHAPTER 11

  Entering the reception area of Straight from the Hart, I say, “No, thank you for being so gracious and understanding,” into my cellphone.

  As I pass by Natasha’s desk, she gestures frantically like she’s got something important to tell me, but I mouth the word “later” and truck on by, intent on finishing this call and getting to my office.

  “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you as well, Bree.”

  Cole pops out of his office, intercepting me as I’m halfway down the corridor to mine. He looks like he’s bursting to talk, probably more smack about Quinn. After I relayed what happened at my sit-down with her, he called her every name in the book, then threatened to badmouth her on the “gay grapevine” so that no queer couple in LA would ever want to work with her. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to give him the go-ahead.

  “Please keep me posted on what happens with Jacqueline and let me know if I can help in any way. I am at your disposal,” I vow as I continue toward my office with Cole attached to my side. “Okay, take care.” I disconnect the call right outside my office.

  “So she went for it?” Cole deduces from hearing my side of the conversation.

  “She did. When I told her I wanted to offer Jacqueline’s matchmaking services to her by way of an apology for what Quinn did, she jumped at the opportunity. I guess she’s had enough time to grieve over the end of her marriage and is ready to get back out there, but she wasn’t sure how to do that since it’s hard to meet people when you’re home with a baby most of the time.”

  Cole grimaces. “Jacqueline’s going to have her work cut out for her with this one. Not many guys are going to be excited at the thought of dating a woman who’s going through a divorce and has a kid in diapers. Did you ask Bree if she’s lost all that baby weight? Because she was still packing an extra fifteen last time I saw her.”

  “Cole!” I admonish him.

  “What?” He looks nonplussed. “I only speak the truth. These LA men like their women skinny, and they don’t care if they get that way by swearing off carbs or getting liposuction just so long as the ladies look bangable in their yoga pants and bikinis.”

  Sadly, that’s an accurate depiction of the men in this town and how superficial they are. Nevertheless . . . “I have every confidence Jacqueline is up to the task of finding someone who is kind and family-oriented and will appreciate Bree whatever her current size is.”

  I place my hand on the knob of my office door, preparing to go in.

  “Wait!” Cole shouts. “There’s something you should—”

  “Did you label Ezekiel’s account ‘inactive’ in our database so that he won’t receive any future mailings or calls from us?” Once I found out Quinn was in bed both figuratively and literally with my former client, it was clear he was the one who’d passed our Spring Into Romance flyer on to her and I wanted that leak plugged ASAP.

  “I labeled Zekey . . .” Cole sticks out his tongue to show his disgust for Quinn’s nickname for her beau. “. . . inactive, dumb, and a total jerk who has terrible taste in women. I can’t believe I ever thought he was cute!”

  “You were feeling that long beard of his.” I remember Cole waxing rhapsodic about that hipster affectation of Ezekiel’s every time we had a meeting with him while I wanted to hand our client some shaving cream and a razor because overgrown facial hair has never been my thing.

  “It’s probably hiding a weak chin,” my assistant says sullenly.

  “To go with his weak, easily led astray personality. I almost feel sorry for the guy since Quinn is just using him, and he gave up his family for her.”

  “Whaaaat?” Cole makes a dramatic show of clutching the pearls he’s not wearing. “You don’t think it’s true love for Zenn?”

  “Hardly. He’s just a means to an end for her . . .” I only hope that end isn’t my business being shut down by whatever devious plan for romance concierge world domination Quinn’s got in mind.

  Shaking off that unpleasant thought, I say, “. . . but enough about my least favorite couple. I’ve got some time before my meeting with the Roarkes, so let’s assemble the whole team in the conference room and start mapping out how we’re going to implement all of these promo packages.”

  “But—,” Cole protests.

  “And I’m going to need the rolling whiteboard.” I twist the knob on my office door and push it open. “Would you hunt that down and make sure it’s clean?” I toss the question over my shoulder as I move into the room, stopping short when I see I have a visitor, who’s made himself right at home, perching on the edge of my glass desk with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  Looking up from the iPhone in his hand, which he was reading something on, the work-crasher flashes me a smile and says, “Hello, Nessa.”

  “What’s he doing here?” I ask my assistant, refusing to speak directly to Alex. Cole knows all about my history with the man we spent weeks thinking of as Xander, and I can’t believe he’d allow my ex to violate the sanctity of my office.

  “Uh, well, I tried to tell you. Mr. Farr—”

  “Please,” my unwanted guest interrupts with another of those annoyingly charming smiles of his, “call me, Alex.”

  “You’re not staying, so there’s no point in you becoming chummy with my assistant,” I snap, then walk around my desk, being sure to give Alex a wide berth. “What do you want?”

  He stands and pivots to face me. “To hire you.”

  “To help you woo back Astra?” The thought is so ridiculous I can’t help but chortle. “She’s moved on,” I assert, “and I suggest you do the same. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.” Depositing my things on the floor, I take a seat behind my desk.

  “It’s a client of mine who requires your services, not me.” Instead of leaving as I indicated he should, Alex has the audacity to sit down on one of my guest chairs.

  “Not interested.” Anything that might bring me into close contact with Alex over an extended period of time is a non-starter.

  “A young, A-list client.” He dangles a very tasty-looking carrot in my face.

  Since opening
this business, my number one goal has been to get some of the big names from Hollywood’s star-filled upper echelon on my client list. I’ve been slowly, but surely, working my way up to that point, but I still haven’t caught my white whale whom I’m convinced would open all kinds of doors for me.

  I narrow my eyes at Alex and ask, “Who is it?”

  He glances over at Cole, shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and says, “This is a delicate matter I’d prefer to talk about in private.”

  And I’d prefer not to be alone behind closed doors with this man whose mere presence is making my palms sweaty, but I suppose I’ll have to bend if I want to find out what he’s proposing.

  “Fine,” I acquiesce. “Cole, would you please prepare the conference room as we discussed? I’ll join you shortly.”

  Inclining his head in deference, Cole backs out of the room, pointing at the back of Alex’s head, than fanning his face and holding up nine fingers to let me know where my ex rates on his Doofus to Do-able Scale. Nine’s pretty high considering Cole doesn’t usually find fair-haired men attractive.

  There’s really no denying Alex is handsome, though. He’s looking especially sharp and GQ-ready today in a beautifully tailored suit that’s a deep ocean blue along with a crisp white shirt and a paisley print tie on a sky blue background. All those shades of blue really complement his lightly tanned skin and sandy hair and make his arresting, slate-colored eyes pop even more. Dammit! Why does he have to look so good? There should be a law against exes coming back into your life unless they’ve completely lost it.

  The two of us stare silently at each other until Cole’s gone and my office door is firmly shut behind him.

  “My initial consultation fee is five hundred dollars,” I lie. Normally, it’s half that and comes with no obligation. But if Alex wants my time, he can pay for it and he’s obligated to make sure I don’t regret hearing him out.