Fourteen
Chloe stepped into the atrium of the New York Metro’s downtown headquarters. She was clad in a power suit and three-inch heels from her consulting days. Reputedly, Vikki Hot Lips was a force to be reckoned with, and Chloe wanted to make sure Vikki knew she was no shrinking violet herself.
She checked in at the security desk, where a name badge was waiting for her thanks to a former client who sat on the Metro’s board of directors; then she rode an elevator to the twenty-second floor. When the doors glided open, she was greeted by the sights and sounds of a big city newsroom. The building itself had served as the Metro’s headquarters for seventy-plus years and she swore she could smell typewriter ink lingering from a bygone era.
The newsroom was abuzz with energy and urgency as reporters, editors and photographers typed, talked, run-walked, edited, laughed, argued and downed copious amounts of coffee.
The man at the security desk had told her Vikki’s office would be at the rear of the building.
“Just look out for a big ole pair of red lips,” he had said with a glint in his eye.
Chloe was not entirely sure if he was referring to Vikki’s actual lips or something else entirely. Yet, as she made her way down a corridor to the other side of the building, in the distance, she spied an oversized decal of ruby red lips hanging on a wall.
Bingo!
Chloe followed the yellow brick road to Vikki’s office, where Vikki sat behind a glass desk, typing up her next exposé.
Hopefully one that isn’t about me, Chloe thought.
She squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.
Vikki finished typing her train of thought then glanced up. Upon seeing Chloe, her irises contracted in surprise, but the rest of her body kept its cool.
“Hello. I believe we had the pleasure of meeting last night,” Chloe said stepping into the room. Her voice and demeanor, all business.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“There’s no use lying Ms. … Hot Lips. I followed you home last night.”
Vikki lifted a brow, visibly impressed that she had been bested at her own game.
“I see.”
“I’m here for two reasons,” Chloe continued, taking a seat in front of Vikki’s desk. “First, I’d like to know why you felt the need to talk to me in disguise last night.”
Vikki stared at her for a moment, her elbows on the arms of her chair, her hands clasped in such a way that all ten of her ruby red, perfectly-manicured fingernails were visible.
“Straight to the point,” Vikki replied with a measured grin. “I like that. And I’ll do you the courtesy of not beating around the bush either.”
Vikki rolled her chair to the side and extracted a manila folder from a top desk drawer.
“Last night, when you let me think Ian was your beau, I wasn’t sure if it was because he’s actually a client of yours and you wanted to protect his privacy; or because the two of you really were on a first date.”
Vikki pulled out a printout and handed it to Chloe. “Either way… I hate to be the bearer of shitty news, but Ian isn’t who you think he is.”
Chloe frowned. What on Earth was she talking about?
She took the printout in hand and was stunned to see a photo of Ian next to the headline: Ian King, Senior Investigative Reporter.
Chloe quickly discerned she was looking at a photocopy of a biography page on Veritas Magazine’s website. According to his bio, Ian was a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist with a degree in political science… not architecture.
Chloe cleared her throat. “So you’re doing a story on how I’m being hoodwinked by an undercover reporter?”
Vikki shook her head. “Well, that wouldn’t be much of a story, actually. Truth is, Ian rarely goes undercover, so I was curious as to why he felt the need to do so with you. Plus, I wanted to speak with you myself, face-to-face, so I could form my own opinion.”
Why were journalists so interested in her all of a sudden? Was it all because of Brad Maylis? If so, she never imagined taking him on as a client would cause her this much grief and unwanted publicity.
“So you know Ian?” Chloe asked.
Vikki nodded. “We used to work together a few years back.”
Of course you did, Chloe thought as the melody to It’s a Small World began to play in her head.
“Well, thank you for telling me the truth,” she said softly, handing the printout back to Vikki.
“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about this. Ian’s very charming, very ambitious and he’s very good at what he does…”
Chloe closed her eyes as a wave of anger suddenly washed over her, deafening her to the rest of Vikki’s words.
She could not believe she had been so naive and so trusting as to let a wolf into her inner circle. A wolf who likely meant her harm and global embarrassment, for he had been covertly investigating her for weeks… as though she was in the same league as the human traffickers and corrupt politicians he usually exposed.
According to his bio, Ian was a modern-day crusader against the evils of mankind. Armed with a pen mightier than 10,000 men, he was expert at bringing that which was in the dark – corruption, fraud and other nefarious acts and shadowy enterprises – into the bright lights of the court of public opinion.
For the life of her, Chloe could not fathom why Ian had felt the need to go undercover with her in the first place. What on Earth did he think she was guilty of? And what, pray tell, was his end game?
For his ruse had been elaborate, well-researched and well-planned. Knowing that she worked by referral only, he had feigned a relationship with F. Scott Harrington, a former client of hers.
Knowing that she liked to shadow her clients at work, he had commandeered an all-access pass to an actual construction site; and had roped in friends – or actors, perhaps – like Fitz and Yuri to add an air of authenticity.
And for some inexplicable reason, he had feigned a romantic interest in her, with a script so heartfelt, so eloquent, she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.
“But, like I said, I’ve been doing my homework on you,” came the sound of Vikki’s voice as the deafening wave began to subside, “and you seem to be on the up-and-up. Plus, I’ve been doing this long enough, I can smell a fraud a mile away. Which is why I wanted to talk to you one-on-one last night. To put a voice to the name; to form my own impression of you.”
Vikki slid the printout into the manila folder and returned the folder to its dark abode.
“So, to answer your question, no, I’m not working on another story about you… unless and until I find out you’ve landed another celebrity client, then all bets are off,” Vikki said with a grin that was playful and sincere.
Chloe breathed a quiet sigh. She supposed she should be grateful for small miracles.
“So what’s the second thing you wanted to ask me?” Vikki asked.
“Oh, I um… I don’t remember,” Chloe replied, instinctually.
She always, always, always felt duty bound to bring wandering soulmates together… until now.
All of her matches had been good, thoughtful, upstanding people at heart, which was a prerequisite for a loving and long-lasting relationship.
Knowing what she now knew about Ian, that he had been lying to her for weeks, she had no idea who she would be saddling Vikki with if she brought the pair together.
Would it be the charming, witty and thoughtful Ian she thought she had come to know?
Or the wolf in architect’s clothing who had no qualms about lying and deceiving his way into getting what he wanted, no matter the personal cost to others?
Until she had a definitive answer to that question, she was at an impasse as to how she wanted to proceed.
So with a handshake and a smile, she departed from Vikki’s office, leaving the gossip columnist none the wiser that true love was close – so very, very, very close – within her grasp.
Ian sat at his desk, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut as he resisted the urge to rip his eardrums out. He was being held hostage by the torturous sound of Muzak, waiting with waning patience for the deputy secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services to jump on the line.
As the music switched to another god-awful melody, Ian opened his eyes and was surprised to see Pete high-tailing it towards him. For a brief moment, Ian feared a deadly disaster had just befallen the City, for all color had drained from Pete’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.
“Um… so…” Pete stuttered, his voice low. “Chloe‘s here.”
Ian furrowed his brow as he jogged through his mental rolodex of past informants and whistleblowers, for one who may have gone by the code name, Chloe.
“Chloe Daniels,” Pete said, filling the void. “The matchmaker. Your matchmaker.”
Ian’s heart froze. Oh shit.
“She’s here? At Veritas?”
Pete nodded.
“You sure it’s her?”
“I’m the one who snagged photos of her, remember,” Pete replied.
Shi-iiiiit.
Ian shot out of his chair, his mind racing. Chloe was here, which meant she knew he worked here. Which meant that some how, some way, she had found out about him before he had gotten a chance to tell her the truth. Which was precisely what he had planned to do at the close of their date, if she had not bolted out, in chase of someone’s soulmate the night before.
“Where is she?” he asked, glancing over Pete’s shoulder.
“Well, she was at the front door. I happened to be walking by when she rang the buzzer. But she said she’d be outside waiting for you, in the park across the street.”
Ian blanched. Yesterday had been one of the best days he had had in a good long while. Now today was shaping up to be The Worst.
He raced out of the office and down the staircase to the first floor, his mind in overdrive.
How had she found out about him and Veritas? And how pissed was she? Irreparably so? Or could he, with enough begging and groveling and mea culpas, convince her to forgive him and give him another chance… and a thousand lifetimes to make it up to her.
He stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. Then he walked to the end of the block and crossed the street to a dog park that was fairly empty at the moment. He spotted Chloe in the distance and was surprised to see her wearing a monochromatic pants suit and heels, her hair pulled back into a wispy bun.
The expression on her face was one he had never seen before: she was livid.
“Hey,” he said upon approach.
“Hello,” she replied with nary a trace of her usual good cheer.
“Before you say anything…” he said, taking an apprehensive step forward.
She stared at him, saying nothing, and the pain and hurt he saw in her eyes damn near broke him in two.
“I had every intention of telling you the truth last night, at the end of our date,” he said. “I just… I wanted you to see how things could be between us before I did.”
The corner of her lips tightened.
“I take it you’re working on a story about me…” she said, her voice monotone.
“I was. It was my editor’s idea. He wanted me to do a story on the matchmaking business. He thought it would help me get over the breakup with Meaghan,” he said. “When I signed on as your client, I did so with a lot of skeptical assumptions about you; about matchmakers in general. But the more time we spent together and the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to know you. And for you to know me, the real me.”
“And your story?” she asked.
“Dead. DOA. Last week, I told my editor I didn’t have anything to go on and I was able to sell him on a different story instead.”
“I see,” she said, her face pensive.
Ian had expected Gunderson to be furious that he wanted to kill the matchmaker story weeks after the magazine had spent a pretty penny on Chloe’s retainer fee. But surprisingly, Gunderson had taken the news in stride:
“I’ve got the old Ian back,” he had said, referring to the string of fiery pieces – with plenty of sparkle – Ian had been writing of late. “As far as I’m concerned, it was money well spent.”
Ian noticed that Chloe’s shoulders had relaxed a bit upon learning he had not, and would not, be publishing a story on her or her business.
“When I asked you out,” he said, taking another step forward, “it was on impulse. A pure and honest impulse. Everything I said to you the other night, about how I feel and what I believe, I meant every word. The only thing I’ve lied to you about was my last name and my occupation. Oh, and I’ve never been to a WNBA game in my life. But everything else has been the truth.”
“What about Fitz?” she asked.
“He really is an architect and my best friend since pre-school.”
“Meagan and the breakup email?”
He nodded.
“And Celeste? Did you really buy VIP tickets a year ago?”
“I did.”
“I see,” she said, staring off into the distance, her face solemn.
Ian took another step forward. “I really believe the universe or destiny or whatever, brought us together for a reason and I feel…”
“Fate did bring us together,” she interjected. “But not for the reason you think.”
She shifted her gaze and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not your soulmate, Ian,” she said softly, steadily.
“Don’t say that,” he said, reaching for her hands, as if the act of intertwining his fingers with hers would keep him from losing her. “Be angry with me. Slap me, yell at me, but please don’t say that.”
He gazed into her eyes and was surprised to find that now, instead of pain, they were filled with angelic calm.
“It’s the truth. I know I’m not your soulmate, because I know the woman who is.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I saw her last night, in the restaurant. That’s why I left so abruptly.”
He stared at her, slack-jawed.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“You’re not saying this because you’re angry with me? For lying to you? Deceiving you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not angry with you anymore, Ian.”
“Just like that?”
She nodded. “I believe you.”
He blinked with disbelief, amazed by the lightning speed with which she had let go of her anger and disdain. This definitely gave new meaning to the dictum: The truth will set you free.
“You know, sometimes you’re too incredible to be true,” he whispered.
“Like you said, Fate brought us together for a reason. If we had not gone to Pampas last night, and if you had not been doing an undercover story on me, then I would not have seen your soulmate. I only hope that, based on the time we’ve spent together, you trust me enough to agree to meet her in person.”
Ian groaned and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. This was not at all how he had expected this day or this conversation to go.
He moved to a nearby bench and sat, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He stared blankly at the ground.
“I don’t understand how this…” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “These feelings I have for you, they are very real.”
“I know,” she said, sitting next to him. “But feelings, they can come and they can go.”
She placed a comforting hand on his knee.
“True love, however, lasts forever. And right now, at this very moment, true love is within your grasp. All you have to do is say yes.”
His gaze remained frozen on the ground for a long moment. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, wanting, not wanting to ask…
“Who is she?”
“I can’t tell you, but I can show you,” Chloe replied. “I’ll arrange a time and a place for you to meet each other in person. All I’ll say in the meantime is, she’s sugar and spice. Beautiful, astute, kind-hearted and… perfect for you.”
She stood up and gazed down at him with a sparkle in her eye and a smile on her lips.
“Think about it and let me know. You know how to reach me.”
He watched her walk away, his head spinning, his heart a jumble of emotions, as four simple words echoed in his ears.
True love lasts forever.