Heartbreak for Hire

by Sonia Hartl

  “I know Finnigan’s.” It was my favorite place in the city outside my apartment. “I’ll just do the meet-cute early.”

  “Are you sure about that?” So much haughtiness in her tone.

  To say I didn’t like my newest client would be an understatement. She’d talked down to me during the interview, then proceeded to call me every other hour with questions and suggestions as if she didn’t fully trust me to pull this off. Even though I felt bad for her—Markus had dismissed her research in front of their colleagues and made her work look like a joke, all because he couldn’t stand being bested—dealing with her had been difficult and exhausting. I was so ready for this assignment to be over.

  “It’ll be okay.” I aimed for reassuring, though I feared my voice came out more biting. “He’ll be a ruined man when he walks into work tomorrow.”

  “Maybe I should call Margo and tell her this was a mistake.”

  Closing my eyes, I rubbed the lids and took a deep breath so I wouldn’t scream. “If that’s what you want, but I’m already on my way out.”

  “Fine, just know if you mess up, I expect a full refund.”

  I clenched my jaw and hung up before I said something I’d regret.

  I needed to get going anyway if I was going to catch Markus at Finnigan’s. In our initial interview, Selena had said he had a thing for smart women, so I wore a cherry-print cardigan, cat’s-eye glasses, a knee-length skirt, and three-inch heels with a rounded toe. My outfits were always carefully crafted to snag the target’s attention as quickly as possible. I only had one night to make an impression. I had to make it count.

  “Be good, Winnie.” I gave my cat, wearing her pink angora sweater, a pat on the head. She hissed and swiped at me. “I’ll miss you too.”

  I grabbed my purse, locked the door behind me, and took the elevator down from my eighteenth-floor apartment. As I stepped onto Michigan Avenue, a strong wind swept down the street, threatening to undo the tight bun I’d spent an hour trying to contain. Wisps of curly blond hair escaped and blew around my face. The scent of exhaust and woodsmoke with the first hints of fall lingered in the crisp air.

  Finnigan’s Hobby Shop was only a block from my apartment, with the Reading Lounge another two blocks over from there, so I opted to walk. My smart heels clicked along the concrete as I breathed in the pulse of Chicago. The city came alive at night as young professionals shed their suit jackets in favor of slinky camis and rolled-up sleeves. A woman rushed past me, changing her boring gold posts for dangling silver earrings. No doubt on her way to a real date.

  I hadn’t had one of those in over two years.

  By choice. An important distinction I had to make whenever those wistful feelings threatened to make me sentimental. I had my career, my cat, control. The Three C’s of avoiding that hopeless cycle of loving someone who didn’t love me back.

  The warm glow of Finnigan’s greeted me as I pulled open the heavy oak door, and a charming bell chimed above my head. I loved it here. I’d spent more Friday nights than I could count loading their adorable wicker baskets with fresh art supplies.

  Markus had been impossible to find on social media—he probably had a self-inflated username, like TheProfessorCavanaugh or something—so I had no pictures to reference, only Selena’s description. I was supposed to be on the lookout for a guy with dark-brown hair, wearing a blue checkered button-down and a navy sweater-vest.

  I allowed myself one longing look at a new set of oil paints before I found my target in the last aisle on the left, by the metal detectors. He had his back to me, giving me a chance to evaluate him before I made my move. Dark hair that curled slightly on the ends brushed his collar. He had broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist and a tight butt that just begged to be squeezed. Good grief. No wonder this guy had an ego.

  Nothing prepared me for when he turned around though. My breath caught as I took in his strong jaw, pouty bottom lip, and dark eyes the color of gathering storm clouds. Eyes that currently assessed me as my heart raced and I stood frozen like a posable doll.

  Library Barbie, meet Hot Professor Ken.

  I gathered my wits and remembered the role I was supposed to play. This wasn’t a real meet-cute. This guy was a serial bragger, an entitled prick, and a narcissist unfairly blessed with a pretty face. His dark eyes took me in from head to toe, and I willed myself not to flush under his unhurried gaze.

  I gave him a nod, then squeezed past him in the tight aisle, as if I’d come here for a reason other than getting his attention before our chance run-in at the bar later. He cleared his throat and continued to peruse the books on dig sites around Chicago. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I pretended to do the same, and when he moved to grab what he’d been seeking, I shot my hand out. My skin prickled with awareness from the brush against his as we reached for the same book.

  “I’m so sorry.” I ducked my head and blushed. Not entirely the act I’d intended it to be.

  “Don’t be.” His storm-cloud eyes lit up with interest. “It’s nice to have some company. I’m usually the only person in this part of the store.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the shelf, as if it would reveal some secret language of the metal detecting world. “I’ve been looking for a new dig site for ages, but you were here first.” I shoved the book into his hands. “You should take this one.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” He moved to hand the book back to me. “I only came in here on a whim, this isn’t even my regular store.”

  “So did I.” I pushed the book back at him with enough force to have him raising his eyebrows. So help me if I got stuck buying the world’s most useless paperweight.

  I let my hand fall to my side and casually tapped the upper left corner of my phone. The nifty little app had gotten me out of more than one tight spot. A second later, it buzzed.

  “I have to take this.” I let regret flood my eyes as I glanced at the book. “But it was nice to meet you…?”

  “Mark.” His lips pressed together when he said his name, making the pouty-shape more prominent. A little shiver went down my spine.

  “Mark,” I repeated before I answered my phone and rushed out of the store.

  “Everything okay?” Margo asked.

  “Close call with my lack of metal detecting knowledge.” I looked through the windows, watching Mark pay for the book I’d narrowly avoided buying, and groaned. “I need to do some quick reading before I go to the bar.”

  “It’s not like you to be unprepared. Are you sure you don’t want me to—?”

  “I don’t. I’m fine.” It had taken me a year and a half of heartbreaking for Margo to loosen the reins and let me have solo control over my assignments. I didn’t like anyone meddling in my work, and Margo was a classic type A. We’d finally come to terms, though we both agreed the tracking app was a necessity. “I’ll handle it before I get to the bar.”

  “Don’t screw this up.” The line went dead.

  As far as pep talks went, I’d had worse.

  I ducked into the corner CVS and hid in the tampon aisle while I googled “metal detecting near Chicago.” Once I’d read enough to comfortably fake my way through a conversation, I headed to the Reading Lounge.

  The brisk Chicago wind once again played hell with my no-nonsense bun. I took the cement stairs leading down to the entrance of the bar. While the leather chairs by the fireplace and the cozy private cubbies certainly looked inviting, I pulled up a stool at the bar where I’d be most visible. The place had a ton of nooks for small gatherings or reading while having a drink. Low voices hummed in the air, giving the place an intimate feeling, different from the other loud and crowded bars in the city. The rich mahogany bar and dark wood walls with low-light sconces added a touch of class. My earlier assessment of this place had been way off, and I had to admit I’d only avoided it because I avoided all places where academics like my mom gathered. But the Hot Professor had great taste.

  I ordered a Maui Wowie, complete with a ridi
culous umbrella, and waited. As soon as the waitress appeared and asked the bartender for a whiskey sour, I made my move.

  “Is that by chance going to a good-looking guy in a navy sweater-vest?” I asked.

  The corner of the waitress’s mouth lifted. “A friend of yours?”

  Definitely not. “Can I make you an offer?”

  Five minutes later, the waitress had an extra twenty in her apron and my Maui Wowie on the way to Mark. His whiskey sour sat in front of me as I pretended to be too engaged in my phone to notice his drink. I had dig sites around Chicago pulled up on the off chance he’d look at my screen. He leaned against the bar next to me, radiating the kind of warmth that made him feel like part of the atmosphere.

  I allowed myself two steady heartbeats before I met those intense eyes. Two heartbeats to remind myself of who I was and what I was doing here. I was a spider. A devourer of egomaniacs. Karma personified. And I would not be deterred by a strong jaw, pouty lips, and whatever he was packing beneath his academic attire.

  “The metal detector.” His low voice held the tremor of a growl, like he was giving me a preview of exactly what he’d sound like when he came.

  “The other metal detector.” I averted my gaze before he could see every dirty thought written there and tilted my chin toward the drink in his hand. “I didn’t take you for a Maui Wowie guy.”

  “It seems the waitress mixed up my order with someone else’s.”

  I allowed myself a glance at the whiskey sour before me and willed my expression into one of surprise. “Did you order this?” I scooted the glass toward him. “Because I think you got mine.”

  A seductive smile curved his lips. “What are the odds?”

  I shrugged and took my drink from him. “Since fate seems determined to throw us together twice in one night, we might as well make the most of it.” I patted the stool next to me.

  “No, thank you.”

  Okay, then. We were off to an excellent start.

  “Suit yourself.” I turned my nose up and faced the front of the bar. Years of doing this had taught me that I couldn’t show interest. Guys like Mark wanted the chase.

  “It’ll get really crowded up here in about an hour. I have a more private seating area in the back, if you’d like to join me.” He offered me his hand.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  My palm tingled as I slid it against his solid grip. The scent of light rain and moonlit nights enveloped me. It had been too long since I’d touched a guy I found attractive, and it took everything in me not to melt into the ground. I really needed to figure out the art of one-night stands. Clearly, I had a lot of built-up tension.

  “I told you my name,” he said. “But I didn’t get yours before you ran out of the store.”

  We walked past the fireplace and around the corner. This bar was way bigger than it looked from the outside. Near the back, in one of the little sectioned-off cubbies, were two leather chairs. Facedown on the low table was the metal detecting book.

  “I’m Anna.” I picked that one often, for simplicity’s sake.

  He pursed his lips as he took a sip and set his glass down next to the book. “That’s funny, because the clerk at Finnigan’s seems to think your name is Brinkley. She wanted me to let you know they got a new set of oil paints in yesterday.”

  Well, shit.

  CHAPTER 3

  Breathe. Breathe. Don’t panic. The game wasn’t up yet. I plastered a coy smile on my face and crossed my legs. I didn’t miss the way his gaze fell to the hem of my skirt as it inched higher up my thigh. “Okay, fine. My name isn’t Anna, but a girl can’t be too careful in the city. Too many creeps have access to Google.”

  “Fair enough.” He tapped his lips. “Though I do wonder why the fake name when you’re the one who’s been tailing me all evening.”

  I waved him off. “Coincidence. But if you still want to discuss metal detecting, I did some quick studying on the off chance I’d run into you at Finnigan’s again.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, deep and throaty in a way that made my toes curl. “I appreciate the honesty.”

  “I’ve never actually gone metal detecting before, but it seems like an interesting hobby. How long have you been doing it?”

  He relaxed, leaning back into his chair. “I started when I was a teenager. My grandfather got me into it, thought it would keep me out of trouble.”

  “So you’ve been at it for a while.” I rested my hand on his arm. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his collared shirt and he had incredible forearms, so it wasn’t a hardship to move into the casual touches phase. “Is it something you do for work or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure.” The word rolled off his tongue like warm honey, and the way he looked at me when he said it had me squeezing my thighs together. Good Lord. I needed to get my shit together. “I’m an adjunct in the anthropology department at UoC, but part of me still wants to be Indiana Jones when I grow up.”

  He definitely had the sexy professor look going on, and though he had more smolder than Indy, he also would’ve looked excellent with a wide-brim hat and a whip. But those types of fantasies didn’t belong in my head. Librarian Brinkley wouldn’t approve.

  “Relatable. I still want to be Georgia O’Keeffe when I grow up.”

  “You want to paint giant vaginas and call them flowers?” He put a hand on his chest. “Because same.”

  I burst out laughing. “They are not giant vaginas.”

  “They absolutely are.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it before turning it toward me. He scrolled through tons of O’Keeffe’s paintings. “I mean, come on.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one. This is my favorite.” I touched the iris painting on his screen, running my finger down the opening of the bud and back up again in slow motion. Crude, but effective. “The up-close details are lovely.”

  “Yes. Lovely.” His voice had a strained edge to it as his darkening gaze met mine.

  Holy hell. I was so turned on right now. What was wrong with me? This was a target. An Ego who put down a female colleague’s work so he could step over her to get more classes. Not a prospective hookup. The quicker I finished this, the quicker I could get out of here and take a painfully cold shower.

  “Good to know where I can find inspiration if I ever need it.” I swallowed half my drink in one gulp. Where was that waitress when I needed her?

  “I…” He cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his face. The poor guy was very cute when flustered. “I can’t believe how interesting my Tuesday night just got.”

  “Are you saying you don’t discuss vaginas with strangers on a weekly basis?” I lowered my lashes. “Because I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s one of my best icebreakers. I’m a blast at parties.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He needed to stop being so charming.

  “Enough about vaginas. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.” He gave me a playful grin. “What about you? You said you wanted to be Georgia O’Keeffe when you grew up. Is that something you ended up pursuing?”

  I rarely had a target who asked me anything about myself, and it threw me for a loop. Usually it was a chore to get them to look at my face rather than my chest. If he’d just show a hint of that ego, it would make my job much easier. I could deal with Egos. They practically drew a map directing me to their buttons and invited me to press them.

  “I’m an aspiring artist, so I guess you could say I’m pursuing it.” I had no idea why I told him that. I never shared anything about myself with targets. Librarian Brinkley wasn’t an artist, aspiring or otherwise. She liked knowledge and writing essays and five-page outlines, all the boring things that made her a perfect match for Mark.

  “I think that’s really cool.”

  “You do?” I didn’t talk about my painting with anyone other than my best friend, Emma, who also worked at H4H. I’d been burned by too many people before. “A studious career ma
n such as yourself, you don’t think it’s a silly pipe dream?”

  “I think passions are always worth pursuing.” He paused, studying my face in the way that only academics who studied people for a living could. “I don’t think it’s silly at all. More important, I don’t think you think it’s silly.”

  How long had it been since I’d talked to someone outside my immediate circle about my art? And how much longer than that had it been since my aspirations were taken seriously? I’d have to noodle what all that meant at a later time. But for now, I needed to stop enjoying myself with the man I was supposed to be sabotaging and get to work. Though if I was being honest, I’d have to admit that the more of myself I let filter in, the less this felt like a setup.

  I always played a part on assignment, always kept a healthy distance between myself and my character. After my breakup with Aiden, and the careless indifference of my former friends, I didn’t care to open myself up. Maybe this evening with Mark was my subconscious’s way of telling me to let the past go and move on. Or maybe I just really needed to get laid.

  “Not everyone feels the same way.” My mom’s cold and dismissive voice crept into my mind, and I shoved it out again. “And how do you pursue your archaeological passions while climbing the academic ladder?”

  “I have my hobbies.” He nudged my foot with his own. “I’m glad I ran into you again. What were you doing in the metal detecting aisle anyway?”

  “I was checking out the new oil paints.” Not technically a lie. I had looked them over for a second. “Then I saw you.”

  “And?”

  “You looked like someone I wanted to meet.” I glanced away, as I’d done hundreds of times in hundreds of bars before. The setups changed, but the push and pull remained the same. Get his interest, make him chase, leave him wanting more.

  “I noticed you right away too. I’m glad you made the first move, because I’m not sure if I would’ve had the guts to approach you.” His genuine tone, the earnestness on his face had me reconsidering how I wanted to end this evening. If we’d run into each other by chance one day at Finnigan’s, maybe I could’ve tried this for real. Regret stabbed through me as I once again reminded myself that I didn’t do casual dating and I’d been hired for a different sort of game.