The Playboy God (Gods of Olympus Book 7) Page 3
She slips out to her desk, leaving Elena and me alone.
“Where did you get your trashy assistant?” Elena sneers at the door before coming to my desk and sitting in the seat opposite me, like she owns the fucking place. It’s clients like her that I can’t stand. She has this sense of self-entitlement like we’re all indebted to her because she blessed us with her appearance.
I remember now that I didn’t like working with Elena.
“Trashy?” I frown. She may not have a lot of money, but she’s definitely not trashy. Not in this universe.
“Just like that hussy my husband must be leaving me for,” Elena sniffs, checking her nails.
“I’m going to let that insult about my personal assistant slide because you’re obviously going through a tough time.”
Elena’s lip curls. “What, are you fucking her, like you’re fucking over all your clients?”
I sit back in my office chair and clasp my hands. I tell myself not to take offense to her words, even though I’m fuming inside. “Tell me what happened with Wayne.”
I say it as gently as I can, but Elena still shoots daggers at me. “He’s having an affair. I’m sure of it. Everything was fine, but suddenly, he’s gotten distant with his work and—”
“Maybe it’s just that?”
“He asked me for a divorce this morning!”
I fight a wince at her scream. I’m a powerful god, and she’s just an upset mortal. I have to keep reminding myself that, although she’s making it really fucking difficult. “You mentioned that already.”
“He broke my heart. You guaranteed that he would be the one. You guaranteed a happily ever after.”
“People change.”
Her hands slam on the table, and some papers spill off the edge. “Guarantees don’t!” she thunders, getting to her feet. “Make this right or give me back my money.”
I meet her gaze. “It’s a year-long guarantee,” I tell her icily. “If I remember correctly, you were matched with Wayne in the spring of last year.”
I know that for a fact. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when love strikes, and it was love at first sight for both Elena and Wayne. And it would be, of course—I matched them up and I’m the god of love, I don’t get it wrong.
Yet, even though I’m safely outside the statute for my guarantee, I’ve never been wrong before. Not when it comes to true love. Elena and Wayne are supposed to be absolutely compatible through thick and thin.
But I keep that to myself.
At least my lawyer had the foresight to add that clause in my contracts.
Elena stares at me, aghast. “A quarter million dollars,” she says, shocked, “and your matches can’t follow through for more than a year on that?”
I shrug even though my mind is whirring. “You knew the terms of the contract when you signed up.”
I’m not so tight on cash that I couldn’t give her a refund. But I don’t like being wrong. Call it my ego, but something had to have happened for it not to work out for her.
“No.” She starts shaking her head. “No. This is bullshit.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Love is a fickle thing, unfortunately.” I know that better than anyone. I’ve even had my own heart broken by someone in my past.
Some relationships are only meant to be short affairs that lead people to true love later on in life. They are mistakes that teach people to appreciate the real thing. But for my matchmaking business, I always give things a push to make them work out.
Really, what the fuck happened with Elena?
“He’s going to want my money,” she says, breaking through my thoughts. “He’s going to take me for everything I’m worth.
“I did recommend a prenuptial agreement, if you recall.” It had only been a pragmatic thing, to show that I can live and function in this rich, elite world. But if Elena didn’t take me up on that…
And the fury in her face shows that she didn’t follow through with that advice.
“He was supposed to be the one!”
“Yes, he was,” I agree. “But I can’t help what he does. Or what you do.”
She stills for a heartbeat. “Are you saying it’s my fault?”
“I’m not casting blame, Mrs. Stamos.” I used her married name on purpose. To remind her what I did for her, even if it didn’t pan out the way I wanted. It has the desired effect because she shuts her mouth. “But I am saying that there is nothing more I can do. If Wayne does indeed want a divorce, I will give you a discount on my services for your next match.” Gods, I hope she doesn’t come back wanting that. “Otherwise, you’re taking up time into my next appointment, and you know how important they are.”
“This isn’t over,” she threatens.
“It is.” I buzz the intercom. “Max, can you escort Mrs. Stamos off the premises?”
I hide my smile as I hear her exclaim, “Fuck,” on the other end.
I turn back to Elena and smile. “Have a good day, Mrs. Stamos.”
The door opens again, revealing Max in the doorway, looking like she’s about ready to fight Elena if it comes to it. There are two security guards behind her—she must have called them in with her, even though she looks like she’ll be able to handle Elena by herself.
Elena looks at Max, then back at me. “I’m going to sue your ass,” she says under her breath.
“On what grounds? You know everything that Mr. Eros outlined for you in your contract,” Max counters. Ah, so she looked up the terms of Elena’s contract back at her desk. Good girl.
“On every grounds!” Elena explodes. “Being manhandled by Miss Manhands over here. Treated like shit by Cupid over here. You promised that this would be happily ever after for me.”
It will be one for me if I can get her out of here.
“Then have your lawyer talk to mine,” I say in a tired voice. I nod to Max, who takes Elena by the elbow. To both of our reliefs, the woman stands without making too much of a fuss. But she looks back at me, a dangerous promise in her eyes.
“I’m going to ruin you,” she says before Max ushers her out the door. “I’m going to ruin your business and everything you ever cared about!”
Her words cut me to my core. This is my time in the mortal realm. I’m using my powers to help people. To reacquaint myself with that good ol’ feeling. If she really destroys me, that could ruin things.
“Are you talking about blackmail?” Max asks coldly, oblivious to my inner turmoil. She thinks it’s just idle threats. Only I know the implications of how bad this could be.
Elena only gives her a smirk. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” she warns me, glancing back at me before the door closes behind her and Max, and I’m left alone.
I finally let out the breath that I’d been holding. I rub my hands over my face, trying to piece together everything that had happened.
“How could I have been wrong?” I mutter out loud. “They were perfect for each other. How…?”
Am I losing my touch? Has my lack of faith in love caused me to miscalculate and mess up? Or maybe something is wrong with me. And if that’s true, then things are about to get bad…
I don’t have an answer. Not one that I can easily find. I’m sure that Elena is making a huge scene out there in front of my clients and prospectives.
Fuck.
I’ve worked with a 100% success rate for three years. It’s how I can charge an exorbitant amount for my services. I’ve been invited to more weddings than a pastor. I can command client lists of all the eligible single people in the world because I deliver.
And now? Elena Stamos, or Sanders, can ruin it.
I curse under my breath and rub at my eyes.
I can’t fucking believe it.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and I look up just as Max slips in.
“Is she gone?” I ask.
She nods. “That’s two women I’ve had to deal with today who were pissed off at you.”
“I know. You don’t ge
t paid enough for this shit.”
Her lips curve up at the corners, and I think she’s actually smiling. “You’re finally learning.”
I want to tell her about the raise, but I don’t. Better to have her discover it on her own. Better for her to see that she is worth it without bragging or telling her about it.
“Where did you learn a move like that?” I ask. At Max’s raised eyebrow, I explain, “When Elena was reaching for me. You twisted her arm and disarmed her like you see in cop movies.”
She really smiles now and leans against the door. “I’ve taken a few jiu jitsu classes. I had to learn how to protect myself.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
We are both silent for a long moment, and I watch her as her eyes crinkle at the corners, conflict warring inside her before she says, “Elena is bad news.”
“I know.”
“She was telling everyone out in the waiting room that you were a hack. That you played her for a fool. Your one o’clock left as a result.”
I curse under my breath. My one o’clock was with the son of a very prominent politician. I already had plans to set him up with a socialite who lives in the Hamptons. Very JFK and Jackie O. I groan and muss my hair.
“I think a lot of them believed her, to be honest,” Max adds quietly.
I meet her gaze. “And you? Do you think I’m a hack?”
I see her hesitation, which tells me everything I need to know about what she truly thinks of me. “Well,” she says carefully, “to be honest, even if I had the money, I wouldn’t want to use your services. But not because I think you’re a hack.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why then?”
She shrugs. “Because—and this isn’t to diminish anything you’ve done for your clients—but I want love to strike unexpectedly. Like lightning. And I feel like if I use you, it’s all…arranged, and I’d lose that spark.”
“That’s not how it works, Max.”
She raises a hand. “I know. But you asked, and I gave you my honest answer.”
That’s one thing about Max—honesty. And I’m shocked because I don’t often get that from mortals. Not on her level. Sometimes, with my clients, getting the truth out of them is like pulling teeth. Most aren’t even honest with themselves, so for her to be open like this is refreshing.
“Thank you,” I say.
She blinks. “What for?”
“For being…you…”
And as we look at each other, something stirs deep inside my chest again.
4
“With everything considered,” Steven Liu, my publicist, says at length, “you’re fucked.”
I swirl my scotch in my glass, watching him quietly. He sits opposite me in my office, rifling through some papers and news articles that have been released in the two weeks since Elena Stamos visited my office.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d ruin me. Social media sites and even the New York Times did a piece outlining how I’ve lost my touch and have been living like a hypocrite.
The thing is, my clients come to me looking for the One. I’ve never been under the misconception that I’d find the One, so it’s comparing apples to oranges.
But the media doesn’t care. They only wish to paint me as a scoundrel who is scamming everyone.
All because I refused to refund a woman whose marriage ended outside of the guarantee.
It’s bullshit. And it’s everything.
I take a sip of my drink, mulling over Steven’s words. I like the man. Hell, I even set him up with his wife eighteen months ago as thanks for helping establish me in the international circuits. He’s a product of my matchmaking skills. He knows as well as anyone that what I do works. I eye his wedding ring as it catches the light.
“Fucked, huh?” I echo.
These mortals don’t know how fucked everything is if my business doesn’t work. If I don’t get access to certain people. I’m supposed to match lovers up. And with this in the way… Things can get a lot worse.
I can’t handle this bad publicity.
Steven snorts through his nose as he tosses a newspaper clipping onto my desk. There’s a picture of Nadya giving an exclusive interview about how I slept with her and kicked her out in the morning. The article rakes me across the coals, and, to my horror, it brings Max along with me, calling her a hussy who sleeps with her boss.
Max, who was just doing her job that morning.
“In a manner of speaking,” Steven says to punctuate his point.
“And there’s no way to do any more damage control?” I quirk an eyebrow as I take another sip.
“I got you that interview with The Times…”
I snicker.
He responds with a mirthless smile. “Well, you saw what good that did.”
That “interview” was more of an interrogation, with the reporter asking me prying, leading questions that only served to make me look more like an ass. Steven had prepared me with a load of answers to possible questions that would paint me in a better light.
Too bad the reporter was just trying to make me look like an asshole.
“So, interviews aside,” I say, “what else can I do?”
He leans forward and tugs at his collar. “In all honesty, Damien, I’d say just lay low for a while.”
I recoil. “What?”
“Don’t go out on the town for a month or so. Don’t go on any dates. Don’t do anything that makes you look like you don’t take love seriously. And,” he adds, “don’t take on any more clients.”
I narrow my eyes. A mortal asking the god of love not to enjoy life is ballsy, even if he doesn’t know that I am Eros.
“Why not take on any more clients?” I finally ask.
He watches me warily. “Because of this.” And he slides the top article aside to reveal another underneath, this one printed out from the internet. I recognize the man in the photo, a movie star who only saw me eight months ago.
DAMIEN EROS IS A FAKE. The headline is loud and clear, and I nearly wince at the harshness of it. A quick scan shows that the movie star’s relationship dissolved last week.
“Fuck,” I mutter. The ice cubes in my scotch clink against the glass as I sit back. That’s a refund I’ll have to honor.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
“Fuck, indeed,” Steven agrees, although he thinks it’s because of the bad press. And it is partly because of that, but also because, well, I did set this movie star up with his true love. They always say that Hollywood loves never last, but his was supposed to be one of those everlasting romances that inspires others.
It wasn’t supposed to end. Not until death do they part.
What the hell is happening to me?
I run my fingers through my hair. “I have to keep taking on clients, Steven,” I say. “I have to.”
A god is nothing if he doesn’t do what he was created to do. And while I do my work throughout the rest of the world, my business here in New York City makes me happy on some level. At least I thought it did. It was supposed to be my shining beacon, to help me through the rough spots in life.
It was supposed to make me believe in love again, because the risk is too great if I don’t.
“Just for a bit,” Steven says gently.
“And you think I can’t have fun? What I do in my spare time shouldn’t have any effect on my business,” I say with a sigh. I remember the part of the article where Nadya erroneously said that I have a small cock. Vile lies. “When that has nothing to do with me taking care of my clients?”
“It has everything to do with your business,” Steven says. “Everything. You are your business, Damien. It is your name that’s attached to everything you do. How are people supposed to believe that you can help them find true love when you go around sleeping with anyone that says yes?”
I grit my teeth. “Because that’s how I choose to live my life.”
“And are you happy?” Steven asks, leaning forward.
But there’s never been anything for me.
Except for my business. And even though I grow weary of it sometimes, it’s mine. And I’m proud of the work I’ve done. Proud that I’ve helped so many couples find happiness of their own. Some could say that my work is only for the elite—okay, everyone says that and knows it. But I believe that if someone is willing to pay a quarter million dollars, they’re willing to find true love.
I stop, thinking about what Max told me. “I want love to strike unexpectedly. Like lightning. And I feel like if I use you, it’s all…arranged, and I’d lose that spark.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. One doesn’t need to specifically be waiting and given their true love on a silver platter. That’s not how all those famous love stories have ever worked.
And maybe that’s what’s wrong with me.
But what can I do in the meantime to help that?
“All right,” I say slowly. “I see what you mean.”
Steven’s face relaxes, and he smiles at me. I didn’t realize he was so nervous about approaching that subject with me. “It’s just for a little while, Damien. Just until this blows over.”
“Will it?” I ask in a faraway voice. “Will it ever blow over?”
He regards me for a long moment as the door opens, revealing Max. Ever since Elena came to my office, our working relationship has been a little…tense. Like Max is worried about me retaliating after she told me that she wouldn’t want my services.
I just appreciate her honesty. And I want the old Max back.
“Mr. Eros, your three o’clock canceled,” she says softly. I look at the clock. It’s 2:55, meaning that a linebacker for the New York Giants decided to skip out on true love at the last minute. I had the perfect partner lined up for him.
Now they were going to have to meet on their own. Maybe. If Fate worked out for them.
Then again, with my track record these days, I may have fucked up their relationship before it even started. Everything I touch could be going up in flames. Their stories may never come together, may never inspire others, may never introduce their friends to potential lovers.