by Nancy Warren
Matthew snorted. “Big surprise. It’s in the title of the book.”
Chloe shushed him. The interviewer asked a bit about the pair of them and how they’d come to write the book, and then said, “I understand you two are personally involved as well as being business partners. Do you think you have a better relationship because you’re both experts in love?”
Jordan laughed. “No. We’re like a couple of MDs who get sick but are too busy to go to the doctor.” He looked at Deborah and Chloe thought, wow, who knew?
Deb picked up from there. “We love each other, but we’re working at this every day.”
Then the questions from the audience started. “Ooh, goodie,” Chloe said. “Look for Stephanie.”
But before they saw Stephanie, the camera focused on another familiar figure. Matthew shifted beside her. “What’s Brittany doing there?”
“I remember she said she was going to buy the book. She must have enjoyed it.” Brittany was sitting beside a jock boy who matched her like the salt shaker matches the pepper.
Pepper had his hand up. He got the mic and with a glance at a blushing Brittany, asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Deborah answered, “If it’s happened to you, then I believe it.”
There was laughter and clapping from the audience. Brittany’s new guy said, “I’m a gym teacher and when I started at my new school, I saw this woman and—” Here he mimed beating on his chest. “—ka-boom.”
Chloe glanced up at Matthew to see how he was taking this, but if anything, he seemed mildly nauseated. He looked over at her. “Ka-boom?”
Jordan said, “It doesn’t really matter whether it starts with shooting stars or a slow build, the important thing to remember is that every relationship is going to have problems. The really successful ones we see are where the partners talk to each other.”
She pressed the mute button because she really didn’t think either she or Matthew could take much more of this, but left the picture on in case Stephanie was shown on camera.
She traced her finger across Matthew’s collarbone, following the dip right in the middle. “Did you go ka-boom when you first saw me?”
“Honey, from the first moment I met you, I haven’t been sure whether I wanted to make love to you or strangle you.”
“Well, make sure you don’t mix up the two.”
He snorted. “How about you? Did you go ka-boom when you saw me?”
“Certainly not.” Their gazes caught and held. She thought she could stay like this forever. “There might have been a slight ping,” she acknowledged.
“A ping? Like a car that needs a tune-up?”
“Well, I was jetlagged at the time. Besides, the English are a very reserved people.”
“Like hell,” he said, yanking the cover off and revealing her naked body, which he proceeded to devour until she was thrashing noisily and anything but reserved.
“Come on,” he said when they finally got out of bed. “I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“Bats.”
Chapter 26
“Oh, look at them,” she cried. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
She was standing with Matthew and heaps of other people, many holding cameras, to watch the nightly flight of an enormous population of fruit bats who lived under the Congress Street Bridge and all flew out at dusk to hunt insects.
At first there were only a few, like blurry birds, then suddenly the sky was dark with them. Streams of dark bats flying off. The smell was a bit rank, but the spectacle was amazing.
After perhaps half an hour, it was all over. The bridge emptied as families took the kids home and lovers walked away hand in hand, like she and Matthew, to find a restaurant.
He liked to take her to places that would surprise and delight her. He said he enjoyed her reactions, and she liked the way he explained things.
One weekend he drove her down to San Antonio and they visited the Alamo, which actually brought tears to her eyes. She’d never realized how international was the force that fought so hopelessly to save their tiny fort.
Afterward, they ate in one of the many restaurants overlooking the river walk and spent the night in a grand old hotel that reminded her of Europe.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
On their last night, after a magical, romantic walk by the river, they made love in the big, opulent bed and while they were so intimately linked, he whispered, “I love you.”
He kissed her then, before she had a chance to reply, and she understood he was giving his love as a gift, not asking for an exchange.
What frightened her most was that she did reciprocate.
They were quieter than usual on the way home. A line had been crossed and she had no idea what to do about it. She knew her feelings for him were different, were deeper, than what she’d ever felt before.
And the knowledge terrified her.
When they reached home and unpacked the car, she headed firmly for her own home. “Thank you for a lovely weekend.”
He looked at her in that way he had that told her he saw more than she wanted him to. “You coming over later?”
“I haven’t slept in my own bed in over a week. I don’t think so.”
“You want me to come to you?”
She dropped the bag she was carrying and stomped over to him. “Matthew, I cannot go on like this. You crowd me. Control me.”
“Like hell I do.” He grabbed his own bag and turned for his house. “You want to sleep alone tonight, fine. All you had to do was say so.”
“I did! And it’s not the sleeping, it’s—” She threw up her hands, feeling a theatrical sense of frustration spill out of her. “—everything. I look out the window and there you are. I—I can’t seem to get you out of my mind. I can’t take it.”
“I’ll tell you your trouble, Chloe—you have to be the one calling all the shots. You’ve always had those Italian puppies of yours whining at your heels until you kick them a good one. But I won’t be kicked around. Or brought to heel so you can wipe your tiny British feet all over my backside.”
“I never—”
“You’re spoiled. You’ve got so used to having your own way you cut and run the second a real man comes along.”
“That’s not true, I—”
“I told you I love you. That’s what this is about.”
“It’s not, I—”
“I don’t know why I’m crazy enough to love you, but God help me, I do. So you’re scared. I get that. I’m scared, too.”
“You are?”
“Damn right I am. You think I want to be stuck with a high-maintenance shrew for the rest of my life?”
“The rest of your life—” That made her crazier than the fact he’d just called her a shrew. “I can’t plan that far ahead. I can barely schedule a pedicure for next week.”
There was a silence, heavy with confusion and heat and close to twenty-eight years of getting her way whether she wanted it or not.
“You’re fetching to break up with me.”
“I am not.”
He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Peeled off a couple of fifties. “I’ve got no idea what your going rate is, but here. I’m hiring you.” He slapped the money on the top of her car. “Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Break up with me.”
She threw the bills back at him. Nobody ever broke up with her! Never.
She hadn’t even planned to break up with him. Had she? All she wanted was for it to be easy and fun, with lots of sex and laughs. No talk of love or the future and now he’d gone and spoiled everything.
“I won’t take your money,” she snapped, shoving the bills back toward him. “This match I’ll break up for free.”
Chapter 27
Chloe walked into the restaurant and scanned the tables. It was ridiculously easy to work out which one was Alice. She could have spotted the about-to-be-dumped woman without a phy
sical description at all. The woman’s body language told her everything. She was tense, too eager, too hopeful. On some level she already knew it was over. Poor dear.
Chloe walked over to the table for two with only the one person sitting there and said, “Alice?”
A puzzled glance met hers. “Yes?”
“I’m Chloe. John sent me.”
Puzzle turned to quick alarm. “John? Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s fine.” Apart from being a rat bastard who would pay someone else rather than do his own dirty work. She slipped into the opposite seat without asking permission and said, “John asked me to come today on his behalf.”
The woman looked at her wristwatch. Funny how people nearly always did, as though the time mattered. “Why didn’t he call and cancel lunch?”
“It’s complicated, and I think he thought this might be easier coming from another woman. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Usually I don’t drink at lunch, but something tells me I’m going to need this.”
Chloe beamed at her. Women were so smart and intuitive. “And let’s order an extremely expensive lunch, on John.”
“That bad?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Alice took a quick breath. In and out. “Tell me one thing. Are you sleeping with him?”
Chloe blinked. What was there about her that suggested she’d have such appalling taste? “Heavens, no,” she said.
“Then why are you here? Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me like it is.”
“John wants to break up with you and he’s too much of a chicken to do it himself. So he hired me.”
“He hired you to break up with me?”
“Yes.”
The woman stared at her. She was in her early forties, stylish and obviously successful. She wore a smart suit and a silk Givenchy blouse. “John paid out money so he wouldn’t have to break up with me himself?” The woman didn’t seem particularly hysterical, more that she wanted to be absolutely certain she understood.
“That’s right.”
“How much did he pay you?”
She thought about hedging, but really, in the other woman’s shoes she’d have wanted to know too. “I’m very expensive,” she replied, and then stated the fee.
The woman across the table started to laugh. “Order the most expensive bottle of wine on that menu. I’ll call the office and tell my secretary I won’t be in this afternoon.”
When they were enjoying a nice bottle of wine and munching on salads, Alice said, “You know what really burns me? I’m smart, I’m successful, I’m together, I’m great at what I do. And with men?” She shook her head violently. “I’m pathetic. Why is that?”
Chloe felt like saying, Look, they pay me to break up, not to give therapy, but the truth was she didn’t know. She thought about Matthew and wanted to weep. “I’m a mess too, in my personal life.”
The woman snorted, well into her second glass of wine. “You? You’re the nightmare women like me fear all our lives. You’re gorgeous and sexy and you wear the right clothes. I bet no one’s ever broken up with you in your entire life.”
Obviously not. However, she was beginning to realize that that wasn’t necessarily because she was universally adorable. She rather thought it was because she was the bail-out queen. She always dumped men long before they had a chance to tire of her. “I’m as much a mess as the next woman,” she admitted. “I have a bit of a commitment problem.”
“You and John.”
Over lunch they had a surprisingly good time. Alice loved art and was well traveled, so they had quite a bit in common. It was an odd way to meet someone, but she thought by the end of lunch she’d like to include Alice in her growing circle of friends. Besides, she was a successful stockbroker and Chloe was beginning to realize she had to begin taking control of her life and not letting everyone else take care of her.
“May I come and see you? Professionally?” she asked when they were winding down the lunch.
Alice laughed again. It was a rich, horsey laugh, and it reminded her a bit of Nicky’s. “I have to say this is the most bizarre way I’ve ever met a client.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a business card. “Sure. Give my office a call. Once I get through the crying jag I’m working up to, I’d be happy to help you.”
“Come on. Let’s get you home. I’ve got a bag of treats and lots of tissues.”
Alice rose and straightened her skirt. “You’re going to see me home?”
“Of course—it’s part of the service.”
“You’ll come to my house and hand me tissues?”
“Tissues, brandy, lashings of tea, herbal or proper English tea, and four kinds of ice cream.”
Alice started to shake her head, then paused. “What flavors of ice cream? Ah, what the hell. I’ll eat ’em all.”
Since Alice had walked to the restaurant from her office and Chloe had come by cab, they took a taxi to Alice’s apartment. A modern high-rise with high ceilings, and white walls covered in art. Chloe got out bowls and spoons and unpacked the ice cream while Alice changed into jeans and a ratty old blue sweater that was obviously as comforting as a security blanket.
“What am I doing with someone so pathetic he can’t even break up with a woman? He hires someone to do it for him?”
“I was wondering that myself.”
“Low self-esteem issues.”
“But why? You’re a wonderful person. John is a fool.”
“Of course he is. I’m hardly ever attracted to the good men in the world. It’s a sickness. I go out with men who will treat me like crap. It’s like somewhere inside me I don’t think I deserve any better.”
“But surely you can change.”
Alice shrugged, then put a hand to her forehead. “Ow, I’m getting brain freeze from the Pecan Fudge Ripple. Ow, ow, ow.” But she was laughing as she said it. “You know, there should be a club or a school or something for women like me where they can figure out how not to be treated this way.”
“My dear,” Chloe said, “you’re brilliant.” She took a tiny spoonful of her own bowl of ice cream. “I think I know just the person to run it. Her name is Deborah Beaumont. She’s a therapist, and a good one. You might want to pop along and see her.”
Maybe she needed to see Deborah herself. Since her new friend Alice seemed to be almost relieved to finally have getting dumped by John out of the way, she left soon afterward.
Something about her day with Alice, though, made her face a very unpleasant fact.
She’d messed up.
The old Chloe would have chucked a lovely, noisy, spectacular wobbly and run home to Mummy and Daddy after she and Matthew had had their row. The new version, what she liked to think of as the American Chloe, had no such desire. Oh, she’d chucked a pretty decent wobbly, and sabotaged her relationship the way she always did, but this time, she wasn’t running away.
Going home hadn’t even occurred to her. It was time to face up to who she was and what she wanted.
Perhaps Alice’s words had hit a nerve. All her life she’d been drawn to men she ended up despising. Men who let her control them, who spoiled and petted her but didn’t take her seriously or see that there was a good brain lodged beneath the first-class cosmetics and trendy hairstyles. Of course, she’d taken great pains to hide her intelligence until she’d come to America and started a new life. Now she had to rely on her skills, her intelligence, and herself.
She didn’t even make it home.
Her cell phone rang and she answered it in the cab. “Hello?”
“Is this The Breakup Artist?” It was Matthew. The sound of his voice was so very dear and so unexpected that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Silence hung between them.
“Ma’am? Have I got the breakup agency?”
For some reason Matthew was pretending to be a stranger. Well, she’d played plenty of bizarre games in her time, like acting as though she didn’t recognize a voice she knew intimately. “Yes,” she
managed. “Yes, it is.”
“May I speak to your customer service division?”
Chloe put a hand to her chest and felt the urgent thud of her heart. “Customer service?” she echoed stupidly. What on earth was he going on about? One of them was clearly barking mad.
“I’m not happy with the service I received from your agency. I want to complain.”
She sank back against the upholstery of the cab, her legs feeling wobbly as she began to guess, and wildly hope, that she knew where he was going with his odd question.
“I am the president of The Breakup Artist. What seems to be the problem, sir?” She liked the way she’d added sir onto the end of her question. It made them sound so formal.
“One of your, ah, operatives got a little carried away and broke up my relationship by mistake. I want it put back.”
Chloe felt a lump form in her throat. “You do?”
“Damn right I do. I love that woman.”
“You do?” she asked again, her voice wobbling at the end.
“Yes, ma’am. She’s crazy, spoiled, a little high-maintenance for my taste, but I’m nuts about her. I want you to put that match back together.”
“Put a match together?” She let some of the annoyance she was feeling from the spoiled and high-maintenance nonsense leak into her tone. “But, my dear sir, this is not a matchmaking agency, it’s a matchbreaking agency.”
“Then I suggest you branch out, or you are going to have one very unhappy customer. I want a match put back together. Oh, and I want something creative.”
“Creative?”
“Yeah. Surprise the hell out of me.”
“I suppose you’re going to order a timeline as well for your surprise,” she snapped, glad he couldn’t see her, since the snippy tone in her voice couldn’t possibly reveal the smile beginning to bloom on her face.
“By the end of next week.” And he hung up on her.
Chloe sat there so stunned she forgot to push the Off button on her phone, holding it against her ear until an annoying buzz disturbed her.
