Deceived - Part 3 Chloe's Revenge

Table of Contents

• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Epilogue
  
• Acknowledgement
  

Deceived

Part 3 – Chloe’s Revenge

By Eve Carter

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Eve Carter.

Published By Carter Publishing House.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

*~*~*

They say the best laid plans always go awry, because every plan has a weak point and there will always be someone who is looking to exploit it.

*~*~*

Chapter 1

Golden rays of sunlight danced across the floor, as I darted around the hotel room of the Castille Paris, hastily packing my suitcase in the cramped quarters that I had come to know so well over the past month, a place I would fondly miss after returning to New York.
Not only would I miss my compact hotel room, but I was sure that the entire city of Paris would forever tug at my heartstrings, with its fabulous cafes, boutiques, art museums and rich history. I would even miss its flaws, like the crazy cigarette smoke everywhere, a tribute to the French people and their passion for life, sucking on their cigarettes as if that act alone could grab the very youth out of the morning air.

My originally anticipated six-week stay had been cut short, but I didn’t mind since Patrick Collins was the glorious reason for the interruption in my plans. He had come to rescue me, actually, to ask me, to give our relationship a second chance, after he heard from Ryan that I was mixing it up with the wrong crowd here in Paris. And rescue me he did, in more than one way.

My heartache was now healed thanks to Paris, the city of love, and although I had had a wonderful time working for Ryan and learning about the art gallery business, I was ready to get back to New York, back to my new life together with Patrick.

I sighed as I thought of his sweet smile and how he had carried me in his strong arms to safety from the dark alley that night. Turning back to the task at hand, I sighed again, but this time with a frown, because the clothes I had been shoving into my suitcase wouldn’t fit. I had always been notorious for over packing but now I also had to fit all the chic styles I had bought here in Paris, not to mention the souvenirs that I wanted to take back with me. Elyse had made me promise her to bring back a little something, so I purchased the oversized, sequined encrusted, tote bag I saw in the window at the Vanessa Bruno boutique. I also got her a coffee mug with a picture of the Eiffel tower, the typical cheesy tourist gift, a gag gift, but I couldn’t wait to see her jaw drop when I handed her the bag and said, “Here’s your souvenir coffee mug. It comes with a bag.”

 Gritting my teeth, I growled at my suitcase as I pushed a stiletto high heel into an already bulging outside zipper pouch of the suitcase. This wasn’t going to work. Hearing the frustration in my voice, Patrick stepped in from the balcony where he had been talking on his cell phone. “Baby, what’s wrong? Too many clothes again?” he snickered, as he saw the suitcase crammed to the brim and my flushed face.

“It’s not funny,” I snared back. “They make suitcases much too little. Seriously, a girl needs a lot of clothes. I never know what I might be in the mood to wear, or have to change from having something spilled on me.” I flung my hands up in exasperation.

Patrick strode over, narrowing his steel-blue eyes, a sneaky smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re beautiful when you are frustrated.” He brushed his lips to my forehead. “Wait here, sweetie. I may have something that can help. I’ll be back in a minute.” He smiled again and ducked out of the hotel room door.

Flopping on the bed, I fell back, shoving my hands through my hair, exhaling in exacerbation. In the blink of an eye, I heard the click of the door and he entered the room again. His room was just a couple of doors down the hall, so it didn’t take him long. I jumped up from the bed, with a high pitched squeal, when my eye caught the bright hue of a Porsche red Samsonite suitcase, clunking over the metal threshold of the door.

“Patrick, you didn’t. You are the greatest boyfriend a girl could have. You got me just the right thing.” I ran over to him, marveling at the large shiny suitcase and gave him a kiss. Once again he had read my mind. How
does
he do that?

“Boyfriend...eh? That word sounds good rolling off your tongue. I could get used to that.” He smiled one of his beautiful smiles and helped me hoist the monstrosity up onto the bed.

*~*~*

Life bubbled up around me these days, as refreshing as cherry cola on a hot summer day. I was radiant and beaming at Patrick’s side, when we headed out of the hotel to flag down a cab to the airport. It was time to fly back to New York and Patrick had thankfully called for a porter to haul all of our luggage, well, mostly my luggage, down to the curb. The porter’s trolley cart was piled high with a combination of bags and my shiny new red suitcase on top, screaming for attention.

We had plenty of time before our flight so we decided to take a little detour and stop by Ryan’s gallery on the way to the airport for a proper goodbye.

As I walked into the front lobby, a warm familiar feeling washed over my body. Looking around, I realized a little piece of me would be left within these walls, as I had gone through so many emotions here and also had put a lot of my own elbow grease into this place.

Sitting at the reception desk was his new assistant who had come to take my place, a tall, slender built, stunning blonde with long legs and a long neck, who looked like she just stepped off the pages of Vogue magazine.

“Good day. May I help you?” she asked pleasantly and struck a fashion model pose, or so it seemed.

“Hello, I am Patrick Collins and this is Chloe Swanson. We are friends of Ryan. We wanted to stop by and say goodbye before we go back to the states. You must be Shannon, from New York.” He extended a hand across the desk and she accepted giving a soft handshake.

“Yes, of course, Patrick and Chloe.” She acknowledged us with a warm smile and standing up, she came around from behind the desk to greet us. “I’ve heard so much about the two of you, especially you Chloe.” She beamed at me and gave Patrick a once over with her eyes, clearly liking what she saw.

Yes, he’s mine,
I thought to myself.
Just keep your hands off lady, or I’ll have to break one of those fancy fingernails before your next fashion shoot.

Patrick didn’t seem to notice her eyes all over him, as he was looking past her, darting his eyes around the interior of the gallery, to see if he could spot Ryan. “Is Ryan here?”

“Yes, he’s in the back near the loading area. You may go on in, he will be pleased that you stopped by.” She waved us through and retreated to her work space, oblivious to the glare I was shooting at the back of her well-coiffed head.

As we paraded through the gallery, I noticed that all of Francisco’s paintings were gone. There, among several new paintings stacked against the wall, was the proverbial handyman, my old friend “Frenchie”, struggling to hang several new contemporary, abstract art pieces. I thought I heard him mutter a cuss word or two under his breath in French, as we gingerly stepped over his tool box and supplies in the narrow section of the hall.

“There are my two most favorite people in the whole world, looking handsome and beautiful as ever!” Ryan gushed at us. “I’m so happy you two are back together again,” he said as he came forward to encircle us both in a three-way hug.

“You sure are in a cheery mood,” I said with a smile. “These are amazing paintings you are putting up.” I gestured in a sweeping motion with my arm as I looked around at the not so blank walls, thanks to Frenchie’s quick work.

“Hey Ryan. Good to see you, man,” Patrick chimed in. “Yea, ditto that, these look great.”

“Yes, it’s a new artist I’ve discovered... Marco,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Aren’t they just wonderful?” Ryan turned and whispered to me, “Just wait until you see Marco. He is so hot and I’m pretty sure he is gay.” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a nod.

 “That’s amazing, Ryan. I’m so happy that you have already found a replacement for that creep, Francisco,” Patrick said.

“Thank you my friend, but listen, talking about Francisco, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Ryan said with a serious tone in his voice. “The police were here yesterday to get my statement and they questioned me extensively. Apparently he has gone underground. They have lost all track of him and have no idea where he is.” He frowned and looked intently back and forth from Patrick to me, knowing full well that I would not be happy to hear this information.

I turned to Patrick wide eyed and opened my mouth to talk, but he put a hand on my shoulder to intervene.

“Honey, don’t worry,” he patted my arm. “Believe me, if that dirtbag gets even within a hundred miles of you, I'll jack him up so bad...” He shook his head and bit his lip.

“Patrick, what does this mean? How could he have disappeared like this?” I squeaked, my voice filled with anxiety and rising in pitch.

Ryan shot Patrick a knowing glance and said, “Now Chloe, Patrick is right. Don’t worry, my dear. The police will find him sooner or later.”

I knew they were both attempting to quell my fears but a nasty feeling in my stomach rolled over like a dog. “But what if...”

“That’s right,” Patrick quickly chimed in. “They will catch him soon, sweetie. Seriously, don’t worry.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I didn’t have another minute to dwell on this foreboding thought, as a sudden crashing sound cracked out from the loading area and we all simultaneously snapped our heads to look in that direction, startled by the noise. Ryan rolled his eyes and scowled. Frenchie, the handyman, had just slipped into the back area seconds earlier to retrieve another painting and must have dropped it. I cringed for fear of the Frenchman destroying one of the artist’s exquisite paintings, and the last thing Ryan needed was damaged works of art.

“I hate to cut you two lovebirds short, but I’m extremely busy coordinating these new paintings and apparently, the help here is not the best,” he said, nodding his head towards the back area where Frenchie was working.

“We have a flight to catch anyway, but thank you so much for everything, Ryan. I really mean it. You’re the best friend any guy could ever have.” Patrick gave him a big slap on the back. I could see a tear forming in Ryan’s eye, as they hugged in a way that only old best friends would hug. It was touching to watch.

We all hugged one more time as Ryan walked us out to the curb, where our cab had been waiting for us. Finally, we sank down into the upholstered seat with a sigh, glad to be on our way back home.

Chapter 2

White beams of moonlight splayed themselves across the walls of Patrick’s opulent marshmallow bedroom in his high class contemporary New York penthouse apartment, shining in through the floor to ceiling windows. It was four o'clock in the morning and I was wide awake. Jetlag had gotten the best of me and my internal time clock was still running on Paris time. Rolling to my side, I propped myself up on one elbow to admire Patrick snoozing away comfortably next to me, all naked and handsome. The heat of the summer graciously allowed me an unshrouded view of his hunky body. No need for covers in this bedroom, thank you Mr. Summer Heat.

As I laid there feeling all warm and right, my eyes trailed around the room, which was quite visible in the spotlight of the moon. Pausing at one of the matted photographs on the wall, I curiously cocked my head to the side. A huge smile spread across my face as it dawned on me, that among the black and white artwork that peppered the wall, one was of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. What a coincidence. I had never noticed it before. I had once read that when a person experiences a coincidence in their life, it’s God winking at them. It’s like knowing that you are in the right place at the right time and that's exactly how I felt in this moment laying next to Patrick. Sometimes the universe whispers to us, and we need to remind ourselves, not to forget to click the shutter. I looked over at him again and wished I had a camera to freeze this moment for eternity, much like the photographs on the wall. I smiled and nestled into the sheets, hoping the movement might stir him to wakefulness.