Dating Games(16)

She sighs, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t know much more than what you’ll find online, which is next to nothing.”

“But you know everything about everyone! And didn’t you say Holly Turner hired him when she went through her divorce?”

“She never came right out and said she did, but she insinuated she spent a month in Fiji with him to escape reporters when news of her separation hit the papers.”

“That’s all? Nothing else? She must have said more than that. Anything to help me track down this guy.”

“She was pretty tight-lipped about the entire thing.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it.

“What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Nothing. It’s probably nothing.”

“Or it could be something.”

Turmoil covers her expression.

“Come on, Chloe. You’re the gossip queen! You must know something!”

She sighs in resignation. “Fine, but there’s no guarantee there’s truth to any of this. All I get are bits and pieces from people.”

“Yes, but you get lots of bits and pieces, all of which could eventually fit into one puzzle.”

Rolling her chair closer to mine, her voice becomes practically inaudible. “He’s careful not to give out too much personal information to any of his clients. He makes it all about them, which I suppose is what they’re paying him for. The guy’s interested me for a few years, but with my column the way it is, I can’t stop to hunt down a ghost. Still, you hear rumors.”

“And did you hear a rumor about this mystery man sharing a piece of personal information with one of his clients that could potentially help me?” I grin wide, to which she nods.

“When Holly was here for a shoot a few months ago, we got to talking. Of course, she never mentioned who helped her through her divorce, but I read between the lines. It had to be August Laurent. She said he told her the importance of establishing a routine, some sort of normalcy in her life when it feels like it’ll never be normal again.”

I pinch my lips together, his advice resonating with me. I like having a routine when my life hasn’t been uprooted. Now, after Trevor, I crave it even more. In fact, the thought of spending a few hours updating my planner has me more excited than I’ve been in a while.

“I’d mentioned how I prefer to be spontaneous, that I doubt I could ever do the same thing every single day. She said he claimed you could find normalcy in something small. Then she shared the example he gave her.”

“And what was that?” I scribble down a few notes on my pad before looking back up at her.

“He apparently lost someone very close to him and had trouble coping with the loss. What helped was starting his day by going to the same coffee shop and ordering the same pastry. It gave him something to look forward to. To this very day, when he’s in town, he still goes to the same coffee shop and orders the same chocolate hazelnut pastry.”

She shifts her attention to her laptop, scrolling through a folder that must contain thousands upon thousands of images. Finding one, she turns the screen toward me. It’s a blurry photo of a woman in a sleek pink dress, dark sunglasses covering her eyes, her face downturned.

“Who’s that?”

“Carly Jensen. She’s rumored to have hired August Laurent.” She points to a man walking a few feet behind her, his eyes also obscured by dark sunglasses. “That man.”

I squint, trying to make out his features, but it’s impossible. Nothing about him stands out, not to mention he’s walking several feet behind Carly.

“Chloe, I—”

“Wait. There’s more.” Keeping the photo on the screen, she searches for another one. When she finds it, she clicks on it, the image similar to the previous one. Another celebrity walking on the street wearing sunglasses. Another man in a dark suit trailing behind.

“This proves nothing.”

“It may not, but it’s a start.”

I shake my head. “I don’t see how. “There’s nothing—”

“Because you aren’t looking close enough,” she interrupts. “Part of getting the scoop before anyone is being attuned to the details everyone else overlooks. Like this.”

She zooms in on the man’s hand. I squint again, faintly able to make out the familiar logo of Manhattan’s famous Steam Room etched on the coffee cup. Then she does the same to the other photo.

“Isn’t the Steam Room famous for their chocolate hazelnut pastries?” she asks, a smirk on her face.

“They are.”

“Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” She sits back and folds her arms in front of her chest.

I stare at the two photos. It could be nothing, but it could be everything.

“I guess I know where I’ll be spending my time now.”





Chapter Seven





Over the next few weeks, I make myself a cozy little home at a corner table in the Steam Room on Fifth Avenue. Based on the sheer number of people who frequent this place, it seems to be a popular spot among locals and tourists. I’m not surprised, considering it’s located across from Central Park.

When I first concocted this plan, I didn’t think it would be too difficult to figure out who August Laurent was — note whoever ordered a chocolate hazelnut pastry every morning, then see who was a repeat offender. I underestimated how popular that particular danish is. August Laurent probably knows this, too, which was why he didn’t mind sharing this piece of personal information with his client. The entire population of Manhattan orders these damn pastries, which has made my job even more difficult. I’ve resorted to focusing on men without wedding bands whom I consider attractive enough to be a male escort. Shallow? Perhaps. But I have to narrow down the pool somehow.