The Client: A Playing Dirty Novel

by Pamela DuMond

  She dropped to her knees in front of the couch, obscuring my view of the game, and planted a soft kiss on my lips. “This week sucked. I got a C on a test. An important test that I studied very hard for. Peter had a nuclear sized meltdown at school and my manager at the restaurant screamed at me for not pushing the spinach dip harder. I need to clear my head. I desire your tall, hot, manly company. Be my guy, Joe.”

  “Temptress.” I looked into her blue eyes, grabbed her hand, pulled her on top of me, and kissed her. She tasted like the crisp fall apple she’d eaten after we rolled out of bed a half hour earlier. Audience screams and shouts blasted from the TV, and I peered around her. Crap! Penn State just pulled off an interception. “Can’t. I’m stuck finishing this paper.”

  “You just want to watch the rest of the game.”

  “Give me a pass. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

  She squirmed off me and scrunched her nose. “You’re only stuck because you want to be stuck. You’re in charge of your actions, your decisions, your life. You make your own choices, Tall Guy. You can move mountains if you want to. Right now, you’re the mountain and you’re lying on my couch. Move it.”

  “I’ll move it when it matters.” I thought of the black jewelry box tucked in the back of my designated sock drawer. I took her thin, pale hand and kissed it. “I’ll move it soon. Promise.”

  She yanked her hand away and strode off. “This is what I don’t understand about you. What if it matters now?” She grabbed her phone from the side table. “What if the only thing that matters is what we’re doing right here, right now?”

  “That’s not true.” I pulled my laptop back onto my lap. “People make plans. We prepare. Put things in place for a day in the future. Besides, you’ll always matter to me, Zoey Clark.”

  “Whatever, Joe.” She left the apartment and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlotte

  Hailey and Ian converged on me as I entered White Glove Agency. They both had panicked looks on their faces. “Jesus, f’ing Christ, I was only gone a couple of hours,” I muttered under my breath.

  A silver-haired dapper man in his sixties rose from his chair in our shabby chic waiting room and extended his hand.

  He had to be Violet’s mobster uncle. The famous Vincent Accardi. “Hello, Mr. Accardi. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand. “I can’t wait to talk with you about your concerns regarding your niece, Violet. Walk with me to my office, yes?”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Lovely to make your acquaintance as well.”

  “Miss Bauer,” Hailey said. “We’re still re-modeling your office, remember?”

  Ah yes. My office. The cubicle.

  Hailey waggled her eyebrows and pointed in the opposite direction toward the chic conference room.

  A few moments later I sat across the distressed white stained, recycled barn wood table from Violet’s uncle. I tried to look sensible because I didn’t think I could pull off powerful, or ‘boss.’ “How can I help you today, Mr. Accardi?”

  “I hear you’re the matchmaker in charge of finding suitable men that might be an appropriate mate for my niece.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “I know my first three choices didn’t yield positive results for your lovely niece, whom I adore, by the way—”

  “She is adorable,” he said. “That’s a detriment.”

  “No. Adorable is good. I’ve got a few more choices for Violet that I’m lining up. Narrowing down more suitable matches for her.”

  “You can stop that as of right now.” He pulled a checkbook out of his suit coat, tossed it on the table, and ripped off a single check. “Who do I make this out to? You?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you want to not find the right man for my niece. Name your price.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Look. I’m a busy man. Your business is charming, really. Pretty. Sweet. Picture perfect. I get the whole lovey-dovey ‘matchmaking’ vibe. My sister-in-law wants to marry Violet off so she can have grandbabies. My brother, the dork, goes along with anything his wife says. But there’s a problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Violet Accardi is already promised in marriage to a man who will never be on your list.”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Ms. Bauer. I thought we might help each other out.” He scribbled out a check. “Do each other a professional kindness. Violet is off the market. She’s already taken. This will refund the deposit that has been made and give you and the agency a nice bonus.” He slid the paper across the table.

  I took it from his outstretched finger. Sixty thousand!

  “Thirty to refund Violet’s retainer and thirty to split as a commission between the agency and you.”

  My hand trembled as I slid the check back to him. “Unfortunately, I can’t accept this. Matchmakers are held to a professional standard, Mr. Accardi. If we can be bought off, what’s to stop all sorts of nefarious things from happening? That said, I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Violet told me you’d say that.” He tore up the check.

  I looked at him confused. “She did?”

  “I had to try.” He stood up. “I’m her favorite uncle.”

  “And try you did.”

  “There will be hell to pay if she doesn’t marry the man she is promised to.”

  “You’re not going to, you know, do anything rash if I continue to set her up with new men. Right?”

  “Violet said I wasn’t allowed to murder anyone. There’s a clause in her contract.”

  I coughed. “Yes.”

  “Joking! Do your job. I’ll handle everything on my end. Nice meeting you.” He shook my hand and glanced at his Rolex. “Places to go, people to see.” He turned and left the conference room.

  I walked into the hallway and stared at Ian, Hailey, and Mr. Black. “Violet Accardi is promised to another man.”

  “Interesting,” Mr. Black said. “Need help?”

  “I’ve got this.”

  “Thank God someone does,” Mr. Black said. He turned and walked away.

  “That’s a lot of drama, mama,” Ian said, and followed on his heels.

  “Does this mean you can’t set her up with Joe?” Hailey asked.

  “It means I’ll find out.”

  I texted Violet. She responded that she was out of town on business and wouldn’t be available to talk until Thursday.

  I had a few phone conversations with Tyler, finally meeting up with him at a microbrewery. We downed some beers, ate some skins, and I talked him off the dangerous cliff of pursuing the eighteen-year-old girl from the fame-addicted family that had three television shows.

  I spent hours paging through information, magazine articles, and recommendations. I made phone calls, talked to people, and set Tyler up with an assortment of available, appropriate matches: a super cute singer who would soon be crushing it as a pop star, a fashion photographer who was hitting the big leagues, and a well-respected sommelier.

  It had only been a few days, but I missed Joe Delacroix. Yes, I knew he wasn’t mine to have, but every time I mentioned this to my heart it told me to shut the fuck up. One night, in a desperate moment, I went jogging, strangely running the same route I’d taken with Violet, ending within a few blocks of the hotel. I removed my orange beanie and stared up at the gorgeous building. I wondered if he was inside or in his apartment only a few blocks away.

  I called Marte to check up on her. She invited me to a last-minute holiday get-together Friday night at her place. Her sprained ankle was still healing and it was too soon for her to go back to anyplace slick, like the spa, where her footing felt unsteady.

  “What should I bring?” I asked.

  “Your fabulous attitude. And some cheese. I have plenty of crackers.”

  “Will Joe be there?”

  “This is a girlie party,” she said. “Think of it as the holiday spa experience that’s not at the s
pa.”

  I Facetimed with mom. She’d had a Lyme disease flare-up and asked if I’d changed my mind and would come home for Christmas. Or course I wanted to be there for her, but I still felt apprehensive about going back to Oconomowoc. It had been a year since that messed up night. The memories might have faded but they hadn’t disappeared.

  I filled in more details on Joe’s intake form, and Googled around, searching for ex-girlfriends, but none showed. His Instagram page was pathetic. I didn’t want to set him up with Violet or anyone else for that matter. Not until I’d cleared it with her first.

  I day dreamed about him. Maybe he’d gone back to Whole Foods and pursued the long-haired redhead with the perfect ass. I hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble if Bruno came home and caught them together. And then I realized that I was being a total moron, projecting my own insecurities.

  As promised, Violet got back to me on Thursday at 8 p.m.

  Violet: I hear you met Uncle Vincent.

  Charlotte: You’re taken? What gives?

  Violet: Blood $ mumbo jumbo contract from the old country.

  Charlotte: Per our contract – no murdering. That’s still good – right?

  Violet: No murdering. No Catholic boys. I have ethics.

  I smiled.

  Charlotte: You still want to be matched?

  Violet: Yes. I REALLY don’t want to marry some random guy from Sicily.

  Charlotte: ’K. I’ve got someone for you. He’s great.

  Violet: Perfect. Set it up. Xo

  Charlotte: He’s super great.

  Violet: Yes. What’s the problem? Is he a serial killer or something?

  Charlotte: I don’t think so.

  Violet: Check on that, ’K?

  Charlotte: ’K. No worries whatsoever if you change your mind.

  Violet: No mind changing. Back in town middle of next week. Let’s get this show on the road.

  I clicked the ‘End’ button, stared at my phone morosely, put it on the desk and sighed.

  “What’s the problem, kiddo?”

  I glanced back up. Mr. Black was standing next to me.

  “I feel like I’m taking two steps forward and three back. I don’t know if I’m any good at this line of work. My feelings are all over the map. Sometimes I think I should just move back home. Or maybe I should just get a job as a barista and call this matchmaking thing a day.”

  “Aha,” he said. “Do you think you’d be happier if you went back to prepping coffee for the masses?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It might be simpler.”

  “Not really. Someone always complains that their mochaccino was supposed to be peppermint, not pumpkin.”

  I smiled. “And then some other asshole says that they wanted a Venti not a Grande.”

  “Ask me your real question, Charlotte.”

  I sighed. “I think I should set up Joe Delacroix with Violet Accardi.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  I shrugged. “Other than her uncle killing him?”

  “I see,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

  “It is.” I bit my lip. If only he knew…

  “You’ll figure it out. That’s what real matchmakers do. It’s like a mystery, a grand puzzle. You’re just putting the pieces together. Soon you’ll see the bigger picture.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Don’t forget White Glove’s Christmas party next week. You weren’t around for last year’s. It’s not just employees but also clients, friends, biz associates, and general ne'er do wells. We write the whole thing off because we are desperately hoping a few of our regulars might spark to each other. Perhaps we’ll luck out, and true love will blossom on this blessed night and bring us a much needed commission check.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “And Charlotte?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve been looking a little glum lately. It’s almost Christmas. Go forth and find your holiday cheer. I have a feeling it – as well as your answers – are out there, quite possibly wearing a big bow and looking for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joe

  I stood next to Marte’s Christmas tree in the corner of her penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. The sky was cloudy blue and gray. The city lights never really let the downtown night sky get too black. There was always a little light happening even in the darkest of hours.

  Grandma sat on a cushy chair behind me, her leg elevated and resting on an ottoman. She wore a dark green velour tracksuit with a red velvet throw draped across her lap. Daniel rattled around in the kitchen, rustling up something he could reheat or microwave. I’d just spent a half hour stringing Italian lights on the tree. Now I was hanging ornaments. Grandma was running a bit behind schedule after her accident and was anxious to get this done. Holiday traditions were important to her. “Grandma, where do you want the Star of David to go?”

  She squinted and pointed with one knobby finger. “A little to the right. I don’t want it overwhelmed by the baby Jesus manager or the Kwanzaa tiger ornaments. You know I’m pantheistic now, right?”

  “Yes.” I tucked the Star of David ornament a little to the right of the manger. “How about the crocheted Santa?”

  “Bottom of the tree on the larger branches. He’s a bit on the heavy side. Whoever knitted him made his pants awfully wide.”

  Daniel came into the room holding one of Marte’s silver platters. “Goat cheese pizza and drinks,” he said and walked to her first. “This one has pepperoni and sausage,” he pointed. “And this one is meatless.”

  “Thank you, Daniel,” Marte said. “Could you put one of each on a little plate for me? Put the rest on ‘Warm’ in the oven? Pull out a bottle of chilled bubbly and some glasses. Oh, and place the nice crackers on a tray. Not the stale ones.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He prepared a plate for her then went back to the kitchen.

  “Do you have friends coming over?” I asked.

  “Just the girls.”

  Be still my heart.

  “Which girls? Your bridge club group?”

  “No, silly, my Friday night girls.”

  “Aha.” I’d deliberately stayed away from Charlotte this week. I didn’t want her taking up permanent residence in my heart the way she’d taken up real estate in my dreams and my wank bank.

  Charlotte had transformed me from your average, twenty-something guy who beat off on occasion when the mood hit, into an enthusiastic Matt Baiter. I got off in the shower, imagined Charlotte squeezing her beautiful tits together as I fucked them, coming hard in my hand under the water’s insistent beat.

  I beat off to day dreams of her kneeling on my bed, her gorgeous ass high in the air, swaying side to side. She’d glance at me over her shoulder, bite her pouty lower lip and say, “I know you want to tap this.” I’d slip my dick into her pussy, hold onto her hips, and ride her hard from behind.

  “Last chance to spend holidays in beautiful Aspen.” Daniel popped his head out of the kitchen. “We’re leaving Sunday. Biltenhouse swapped with me. He’s honeymooning with his new bride in the Caymans at my townhouse.”

  “Tell him he’s an asshole for never getting back to me.”

  “Will do,” Daniel said.

  “What are you boys doing tonight?” Grandma asked.

  Daniel looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. “Something decadent, Grandma. You?”

  “Me too.” The intercom buzzed. “Can you get that for me?”

  A chill zipped down my spine as I walked to the front door. I was going to see Charlotte in the flesh. I hit the call button and said in my best sexy voice, “Happy Holidays. How can I help you?”

  “We’re here for Mrs. Delacroix’s Spa party,” a man said.

  “Terrific. And you are?”

  “James. From Rent-A-Boyfriend.”

  I stared daggers at Marte. “Rent a Boyfriend?”

  “Ooh, it’s James,” she said. “He has magic hands. I didn’t know if he’d be av
ailable tonight. Buzz him up!”

  “Come on up, James. Penthouse.”

  “Yeah. Got it. Been here before.”

  I glared at my grandmother. “James from Rent-A Boyfriend has been here before?”

  “We go way back,” she said. “He’s my favorite. It’s a holiday party, Joseph. I needed a little help. You already decorated the tree. I can’t ask you to do everything. Lighten up for God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, Joseph,” Daniel said. “Lighten up for God’s sake. Let’s go. Merry Christmas, Grandma. If you change your mind, come visit us in Aspen.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Kiss goes right here.” She pointed to her cheek, which he dutifully bussed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Charlotte

  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a holiday party with ‘the ladies’ would be this much fun. We had fresh pizza, cheese and crackers, and Champagne. Marte gave us presents. Everyone got Delacroix cushy spa robes and slippers, and a gift certificate to a consortium of trendy restaurants.

  “How goes it with your new client?” Beverly asked. “We all heard you’re Joseph’s new matchmaker.”

  “Oh, you know?” I downed my glass of Champagne. “Wheels of justice move slow and all.”

  “I thought you were setting him up,” Luisa said. “Not investigating him for money laundering.”

  “Well, sometimes matchmaking can be a little of both. It’s not an easy job you know. Brings out the best and the worst in people.”

  “Speaking of the best,” Marte said, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve got a little surprise for you. Hit it boys!” The music started playing, “Everybody Have Fun, Tonight” rang through invisible speakers.

  “What have you done, Marte?” Beverly asked.