Deceived - Part 3 Chloe's Revenge (5 page)

“Which one?”

“Roman Holiday, with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.”

“Oh my God. That’s one of my favorite movies too. In reality, I guess if I had to pick one favorite actress, then it would be Audrey Hepburn and there’s no denying that Gregory Peck was the quintessential leading man. Are we going to the movies?”

“As a matter of fact, we are, but not your typical movie theater. We are going to the park, but it’s a surprise, so you will just have to wait and see.”

He had my curiosity piqued and we decided to skip dessert so we could get on with the surprise. After paying the bill, he stopped at the coat room and retrieved a large tote bag.

“What’s that for? Don’t tell me you are into large tote bags now.” I laughed at the thought of Patrick taking on my tote bag addiction.

“Just wait and see, it’s all part of the surprise,” he said, and we headed out to catch a cab that whisked us off to another part of the city. Since I hadn’t lived in New York for long, I had no clue as to where we were going, when the cab driver waved around the city streets. Finally, he slowed the cab in front of Bryant Park, where I could see couples, carrying blankets and tote bags walking into the entrance. I had quickly figured it out, and said, “Ah, a movie in the park, that’s the surprise. I love it.”

Patrick paid the cab fare and slung the bag over his shoulder. “I saw the announcement for this and had a feeling you would like it. I packed some cheese and ...” He lowered his voice to a whisper and patted the side of the bag. “Some wine. But we have to sneak it in.”

“Got it.” I nodded, as I took his arm and we walk to the entrance of the park, filtering in with the crowd. We trailed our way through the unfurled blankets, where people had already staked their claim to a plot of grass, until Patrick spotted an available open space.

“How about this? Does this look good?” he asked, dropping the bag to mark out territory.

“Sure, this looks fine,” I said, tugging on the corner of the blanket to pull it out of the bag. Patrick helped me open the blanket and spread it on the ground. I kicked off my white sandals and sat down cross legged, while Patrick stretched out full-length, propping his head up on one elbow.

“Can you see? Is this a good view?”

I craned my neck a little, checking my line of vision to the screen, and said, “Sure. This looks great. What’s the movie tonight?”

“Roman Holiday of course, mom’s favorite.” He sat up, and digging in the bag, pulled out his little makeshift picnic of wine, crackers and cheese. Popping a cube of swiss into his mouth, he said, “How about your mom? What’s she like? You know, you’ve never really told me much about your childhood and what it was like.” He leaned back on his hand, his head cocked to one side, eager to listen.

I paused, my hand halfway to my open mouth for a bite of cheese, and lowered it back down to my lap. I shrugged. “My childhood? It was pretty average. I grew up in the Midwest, in Iowa, in the city. I know a lot of people think Iowa is all farmland, but I’ve never lived on a farm, just the city life for me, but it was nothing like New York City, I mean… nothing, the two don’t even compare. My mom was a stay at home mom, she’s into quilting, and my dad works for John Deere tractors, in a factory that makes farm equipment, like combines and stuff. Hmm...I guess I do kind of sound like a farmer now, talking about tractors. They still live there in the same house, doing the same things they always did, the very average, boring things people do in the Midwest. Anyway, it was me, my mom and dad living in a tiny Cape Cod style house, on Park Avenue, that was the name of my street. Oh, and we had cats, three cats. Their names were, Snowball, Putt, and Pittypat.”

“No, wait. Let me guess.” He held his hand up. “Snowball was a white cat.” We both laughed.

“I know, what an original name,” I said sarcastically. “Hey, I named him when I was a kid, give me a break. I bet you can’t guess the color of Pittypat.”

“Black.”

“Damn you.” I gave him a swat on the arm and he pulled back, feigning a wince.

“Hey now, you don’t have to get violent about it. It’s just that you are so predictable.” I frowned at him. “Okay, okay, adorable...but predictable.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

“So, does this mean if you move in with me, that we will have cats? Because I didn’t have pets growing up and I’m kind of not used to the whole, animals living in my apartment, thing, especially the litter box. I don’t do litter boxes.” He groaned and made a sour face.

I could see that the idea of owning cats went against his grain, so I teased him even harder. “Awe, come on, Patrick. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a cute little furry ball of a kitten?” I pantomimed that I was snuggling a small kitten to my face. “You could hug him, and pet him...” I broke out in a laugh, as I saw the deadpan look on his face. “I’m kidding. I don’t want to own any pets here in the city. But the look on your face...”

“Alright, back to your life story. What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“I don’t know, what else did you do? Did you play an instrument in the school band? Were you a cheerleader in high school? You know, average stuff...” It was his turn now to tease me about being average.

“Oh, yea, that stuff. I wasn’t a cheerleader, but I did take dance lesson, but I think I told you that in Paris....”

“What do you mean? Like Pole Dance lessons? Woo hoo. I’m down for that.” I slapped him on the arm again, this time harder.

“Argh. Nooo. Ballet, tap and jazz dance, you horny dog. Get your mind out of the gutter. But I will tell you this, if I ever get married and have a little girl, she’s going to take dance lessons, just like me, whether she like it or not. And we will paint our nails together, and go shopping for large tote bags together, and do all kinds of girl stuff together, with dozens of little kittens chasing around our feet as we do.” I laughed again, as I painted an over exaggerated picture of what a future with me would look like. I was just teasing and he had that deer caught in the headlights, look. Underneath all the teasing, I was feeling him out to see how he would react to the talk about us together as a big family.

“Wait a minute, what if you have a boy? Then what? How’s a boy going to fit into this all pink and girlie future of yours? Where’s the man cave going to be with the eighty inch flat screen TV for watching football?” He raised his eyebrows, like he really made a good point with that one.

“He would take dance class too.” I said, flatly.

“Wha-a-a?”

“Girls love a guy who can dance. Think about it, it would be an advantage when he grows up.” The wine was making me feel relaxed and giggly. Patrick reached over and ran his hand down my hair, gazing into my eyes, leaned in and whispered, “I bet any little girl of yours, will look just as beautiful as you.”

The sun had set completely and it was dark enough in the park, for the movie to start. Patrick moved behind me, so I was sitting between his legs and he had both arms wrapped around me. We positioned ourselves on the blanket with a good view of the movie screen, and were absorbed into the romantic movie for the next couple of hours.

Chapter 5

I jiggled the key into a metallic silver slot on the door handle that was attached to a tall, sleek, contemporary style door. I felt like I was about to enter a hotel room, but this was no hotel, it was Patrick’s apartment and the key I had been handed was a card. Yep, it was a fancy place alright. No real key, but a fancy shmancy key card.

The door clicked open on my second try and I entered his domain. Inside, the snow white room bloomed with light, and I stood for a few moments, clutching the strap of my laptop case over my right shoulder, listening to the silence, adoring his white on white, modern, contemporary decor, with expansive steel framed windows, and yes, his imported Italian leather marshmallow white couch.

I walked over to run my hand along its surface, lightly stroking the supple covering, the click of my shoes on the wood floor, echoing around the white walls, bouncing up to the vaulted ceiling and back. It felt strange to be here alone, and yet the moment was sublimely comforting in nature. His entire apartment felt like a well-crafted work of art, and I anticipated blending in nicely, as I could sense Patrick’s essence radiating from the inner chambers. It was a force field that surrounded me like a waterfall.

I strolled over near the window and slowly, turned back to view the room from a new vantage point, my eyes falling on the chaise lounge section of the couch that jutted out over the crimson rug, in the direction of the fireplace.

I shifted my weight to one foot and snorted, smiling to myself. I had imagined Patrick laying in a reclined position, stretched out on the chaise lounge, his magnificent physique, butt naked, his steel-blue eyes burning holes in me. One hand tangled in his curly dark brown hair, arm flexed up, with his thick pack of bicep muscles bulging, and the other hand seductively motioning to me with a “come hither” wave. Oh my. Maybe this place would be a bigger distraction to getting my work done than I had anticipated.

I blew out a breath, shook my head and giggled my way to his home office down the hall that, believe it or not, wasn’t decorated in all white. It was warm and cozy with cherry oak wainscoting, a wine colored rug, covering the majority of the floor, bookshelves lining the walls, and a large desk to match. A small decorative lamp burned a warm yellow glow, as I retrieved my laptop from the carrying case I had been toting, stuffed full of the files Patrick had dropped by my apartment when he gave me the key card.

The files I had brought were those of a major client called, Urban Revolution, a large clothing brand specializing in young street couture, which Patrick felt would be a great first client. If Patrick and Ryan could land this company for their new ad agency, that would create enough exposure to get it well off the ground. Needless to say, there would be some obstacles to face, as there are in any business plan, however, I felt confident we could hit a homerun with this one.

First of all, the ad proposals would need to be good, like out of this world, rocking, fantastic, in order to convince the client to go with a fledgling company and leave the security of one they already trusted. The pressure was on me to create these superior proposals and that had my stomach tied in knots, knots of anxiety, but also knots of excitement. This was the stage in my career I had been diligently working towards. I opened up my laptop and eagerly dove into creating the first proposal, excitement fluttering in the pit of my stomach, like windblown ruffles on a summer dress. I was driven and my fingers clattered succinctly across the keyboard, like Mexican jumping beans.

*~*~*

As the day went on, rays of the sun cast upon the white walls, crept insidiously, across the expanse of the apartment. After a short coffee break, which was really an ice tea break, I returned to the home office room to work on the next proposal. Deep into my work, I was interrupted by the tritone trill from my iPhone, indicating that I had received a message. It was Patrick:

Hey baby.Ryan is back in town. He wants to join us for dinner. Meet us at Sparks Steak House on 46th St. at 7:30
:)

Patrick and I had been texting off and on all day. I had snuck in a few texts to Elyse too, ranting about how great it was to be working here in this luxurious apartment, and not at Meyer and... well, now Lamberg Corporation. I hated the thought of Patrick being there in the same building as the Baroness. Even though Patrick told me she didn’t come in the office much, I had my doubts. Maybe he just told me that to keep my jealousy at bay. Knowing Anna and her manipulative ways, she would make it a point to go into the office in order to get close to Patrick; after all, she bought the company just to get control over him again. That psycho-bitch would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, and she still wanted my Patrick.

As I shuffled the files around on his desk, I accidentally bumped the computer mouse attached to Patrick’s full size computer, sitting on the desk, next to where I had my laptop. The jiggle of the mouse had brought it out of sleep mode and it opened up to his calendar. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, the calendar on his phone was synced to his home computer. I wasn’t really spying on him, I told myself, but I couldn’t resist looking, when it automatically opened to the calendar from his last use of the computer. As my eyes scanned the dates, one word in particular jumped out at me from the screen and slapped me in the face.

What the fuck! Miami? There on the screen, was the name of the client, and the word “Miami”, scheduled for a business trip over a weekend. Another business trip to Florida? Really? My heart sank like a lead balloon. The Baroness already had him out of town for a couple days last week, and now, I could see her plan was to keep Patrick and me apart, even during his time off.

Part of me wanted to scream, “Don't go. Don’t give in to her manipulation,” but I knew that wouldn’t be wise. The frustration of her having this much control over Patrick, ground in my stomach like someone grinding out a cigarette butt on the cement. The next thought that popped in my head, soured me even more. The Baroness would be there with him. Bitch! I clenched my fist tightly around the mouse and slammed it on the desk. It’s not that I didn’t trust Patrick. I trusted him, it’s just that I trusted her to screw things up between us even more.

I texted back to Patrick that I would love to have dinner with Ryan, pounding out the letters on the screen harder than usual, a low growl rumbling in my throat. I sat back in the chair exasperated and flung my hands over the arms of the rolling chair. Why was Ryan back from Paris so soon? I pushed my hands through my hair, pulling it up off my face and blew out a breath. I let my hair go and it fell down around my shoulders. I presumed that Ryan had at least another two weeks before he was scheduled to return and my curiosity was piqued, something must have happened.

Looking at the time, I realized it was nearly six p.m...
Shit!
I needed to get ready if I was going to meet them for dinner. Annoyed that I hardly had any makeup or hair supplies at Patrick’s place, I made a mental note to bring an emergency stash tomorrow, along with extra clothes. Luckily, I had a light summer dress here at the apartment, just back with a batch of clothes he had sent to the cleaners. I certainly couldn’t go to dinner in these shorts I was wearing. Thank God I had my MAC lipstick and mascara with me in my purse, along with a compact of Bare Minerals powder. I had gotten in the habit of carrying powder when I worked at the office and wanted to impress Patrick, and since I had been blessed with nice skin, that was the extent of the makeup I wore on a daily basis.