The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)
Morgan Elizabeth
Prologue
Sometimes you can look back and find the exact moment you made one impulsive decision that changed the entire scope of your life.
Today, I made two.
One was deciding not to get gas at the station near my apartment before work, meaning I had to drive through construction to get to my meeting later that day.
The second was RSVPing 'plus one’ to my father’s wedding.
One
-Cassie-
“Okay, I’m leaving Gabrielle!” I say over my shoulder as I walk towards the office door. It’s small, but I never imagined I’d be here when I started The Ex Files from the top bunk in my dorm room. Seven years later, I finally have a lease on a small office in town with an assistant and a roster of clients, all relying on me to change their lives.
“Cassie, wait!” said assistant calls at me. Turning towards her, I smile. My assistant, Gabrielle, is tiny and cute in a nerdy way with thick-rimmed glasses and blunt bangs á la Zooey Deschanel. Her long hair is usually pulled into a messy knot with a pen sticking out like it is now. She wears a mix of retro skirts and quirky tee shirts that would look tacky or forced on anyone else, but on her is adorable. When she reaches me, I’m pulling the strap of my bag over my shoulder and grabbing the keys to my new car. In her hands is a stack of paper she keeps on a clipboard for moments like these.
Our office is tiny, not even sectioning into different offices, just small work areas, but she follows me around like Andi in The Devil Wears Prada.
“What’s up? I have a date at five.” I glance and see I have about an hour to get to the Italian restaurant he booked across the city. Thankfully, I have a collection of dresses, outfits, and makeup here, so there’s no need to go to my apartment before heading out. Still, I’ll be cutting it close enough. I’ll need to avoid rush hour traffic and take back roads to get there.
“At Teresa’s, right? On Westport?” She glances down at her notes, and I nod. “With Jason Falcone? The marketing exec?” I nod once more. “Okay, perfect. This is date two?”
It is, and the first went wonderfully, meaning I’m actually looking forward to this one. Mr. Falcone was a true gentleman, pulling out chairs and holding doors and answering all of my questions with an ease I rarely see. He should be easy to pair with someone, and I already have a few clients in mind. It’s rare I don’t get at least a glimmer of something on the first date, the tiniest sliver of the ‘real’ man all men hide behind the facade they think women want to see. They all love to play the nice guy, the gentleman. But each one has some other version hiding. Deciding whether that actual version is a walking red flag or a good guy with some flaws is why women trust me with their potential soulmates.
“Yes, it should go well, and then we can get him on the schedule. I’m hopeful I can get some notes for you before the morning.” She nods before continuing to look at her clipboard, this time gnawing her lip. Gabrielle has worked for me for about ten months, two months longer than I’ve held this lease. She’s attentive and always on top of things, but she hates drama and conflict. This means one of two things. An unhappy client or…
“One more thing—your father called.” My gut sinks. I’m not surprised; I’ve been avoiding him for weeks now, and he probably needs my answer. “He asked me to confirm you’re not bringing a guest.” She cringes at the words, hating to put them out there, but it’s not her fault. Dear Old Dad is getting married for the third time to some beautiful young thing I’m pretty sure is either my age or younger than me. Every time I talk with him, which isn’t often, to be fair, I get the question I’m dreading: are you bringing someone to the wedding?
It’s valid. With wedding planning, you need to know who’s coming and who isn’t. But in this case? It’s not what he’s asking but what he means. The question is common and mundane from anyone else, but not with my father. Not with his side of the family looking down on me for years, seeing me as lesser. Too thick, too loud, low class. Always single because I can’t find a man. The daughter of the woman who was too stupid to see the truth. If I show up alone, I just know I’ll get the questions, the judgment, the snide remarks, the quiet whispers.
The thought of showing up alone and facing the firing squad judging me makes me queasy.
But I don’t date.
Ever.
Why bother when every man is the same, hiding the shit parts and fluffing up the appealing ones to capture your heart. They all work to pull you in deep, so when their true colors come out, you can just brush it under the rug and coast on the sweet memories.
I’ve seen it time and time again. It might be a surprise, my being so cynical about love and relationships and men while being a matchmaker, but it’s what makes me the best at what I do. The men I meet, the men I vet? I know them. Dig deep to find their weaknesses, the ugly spots. Then, I shine a spotlight on them and reveal the hidden truths so that each woman I pair is fully equipped to handle them, pairing up the right bright spots with the right shadows in each personality to make a beautiful masterpiece that can coexist perfectly. It’s why I’m the only person who goes on the dates, asks the questions, takes the notes. It’s why The Ex Files is literally my file of exes I’ve dated.