Operation Heartbreaker (2 page)

While the website of the
Seattle Times
was slowly loading, Julie peered over Ally’s shoulder and read the headline:

Rumors Surrounding a Secret Research Project

By the CIA Are Intensifying

President Mitchel Calls It a New Way of Political Campaigning

and Renounces All Accusations

Julie made a noise that sounded like a grunt.

“Same ol’ Bullshit.” She shook her head. “This circus right before elections is so disgusting. Those jerks think of themselves as the hub of the universe, appear in talk shows every week looking like trained monkeys, hurling their campaign junk at us. And all just so we think of them as nice guys. Who in the world is supposed to fall for that crab?”

“My readers for sure not,” Ally clicked onto her column in the entertainment section.

She loved writing. She’d been writing short stories since she was twelve and published them on her blog. Thanks to a faked CV and Julie’s hacker abilities she was able to pose as an nineteen year old at the
Seattle Times
and had been able to get her blog linked to the newspaper four months ago. After her articles had caused a flood of letters to the editor, she’d received her own column:
All U Can Ask
, which was mainly aimed at young readers, the loss of whom the paper had been whining about in recent years. Thanks to Ally, the dusted entertainment section was becoming more and more popular. Ally used social networks like
Twitter
,
YouNow
and
Instagram
to advertise herself–and it worked.

When a few weeks ago she’d received the e-mail offer from her chief editor to interview the famous industrialist’s son, Viktor Iwanow, she couldn’t have been more surprised. After all, she only maintained the gossip column, a target audience which still went to high school–not to mention its writer. But that’s a different story.

It was fact though that she’d only been on the payroll of the
Seattle Times
for a few months. And now she was to fly to Europe in order to interview a media shy celebrity who’d played Monopoly with daddy’s money and multiplied his fortune at the stock market? She, a newbie with no experience whatsoever, who maintained a blog about triviality?

Maybe she should’ve been more wary from the beginning. At least that would have emphasized her journalistic qualifications. But the only thing she could think of was the once in a lifetime chance to proof the world what she was capable. And, well, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

Though in this case
horse
wasn’t the image that goes with Viktor Iwanow. The guy looked drop dead gorgeous. A mixture of Damon from
Vampire Diaries
and a younger version of Alcide Herveaux from
True Blood
. Sexy as hell and at the same time mysterious. And he wasn’t just nice to look at. He had a smart mind, good taste, success and the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Whenever she came across a photo of him she drowned in his stunning sapphire gaze.

So far she hadn’t been able to figure out how exactly he earned his money. Quite embarrassing considering the pending meeting. It was common knowledge that he was a gambler and a fan of the
Theory of Reflexivity
, which was described in a book called
The Alchemy of Finance
. Ally loved books, but this tome really takes the biscuit–she didn’t get a word. According to the blurb, the book was about the development of a discrepancy between perceived reality and actual reality. Just peachy. And what in God’s name did that have to do with the stock market? While doing her research she got headaches from all the weird banker terminology. To this day she didn’t get the difference between hedge funds and quantum funds.

Ally’s boss, Renée McKenzie, had agreed to this weird interview arrangement providing that she would get to accompany her young editor to Paris. Though she wouldn’t admit it to her friend, she was actually relieved about it. In spite of her pills, Ally wasn’t good in dealing with people, especially strangers. It was one thing to make up stories at her desk, to research projects or to ask Aunt Wiki or Uncle Google, but another thing to mix directly with folks. Especially, if one was walking around as damaged as her.

When the page containing her blog opened after what felt like an eternity, she let out a high-pitched scream. “Oh, my God!”

Julie leaned forward, threw a glance at the writing and grinned. Ally’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me I’m dreaming!”

The corners of Julie’s mouth quivered, but she was successfully fighting the smile.

“You can’t be serious! It doesn’t really say:
He is the hottest hunk at the New York Stock Exchange.
Does it?”

“Hey, I only wanted to help. The text was too serious, almost boring. I‘m a member of you readership, I should know.”

“Julie, the guy is reading my column! How am I supposed to explain it? How am I going explain this to my…” She swallowed. Great, now she knew what her chief editor wanted to talk to her about.

“How in the world did you get my password?” Before Julie could answer, she lifted her hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.”

Letting out a sigh, she started to go through the comments.

“What happened to the stalker who wrote to you like three times a day?” Julie inquired. “What’s his name again?
Catch me
?”

“It’s called a fan,” Ally grumbled and uploaded her original text to her blog. “And his name is
catch(h)er92
.”

“Lemme know if I’m mistaken, but as far as I remember he was ready to book you guys a room.”

She crinkled her nose at this memory, but remained silent. When she read the commentary of
catch(h)er92
she moaned. “Crap, he still wants to go on a date.”

“Cool! Tell him you want to meet him on Valentine’s Day in Paris,” Julie cheerfully suggested.

Ally grinned. Why not? “Will the
Ritz
do it?” She typed without waiting for an answer. “Probably,” she muttered. “12 o’clock should be perfect, what do you think?”

“Ally!”

She pushed
send
and immediately felt like an idiot. What in hell had gotten into her? It was bad enough that Julie contaminated her blog with her snotty language, now she was jumping right in. Mentally she shook her head. It must be the nerves. After all, she was flying to Paris tomorrow. Un-freaking-believable!

When she read the next comment by
Iwan94
, she smiled.

Thank you for the
hot hunk
! It wasn’t Lindsay Lohan though, but Kristen Stewart. Looking forward to our meeting, V.

Her throat became dry like sand paper, when Julie spoke.

“Holy shit, do you think that’s the real Viktor?”

“No idea.” That was the second lie today. The energetic signature told her that Iwan94 was in fact Viktor. She was so screwed! Why had Julie done this to her and changed the text?

“Theoretically, it could be anybody, unless your editing room checks the IP-address,” her friend replied and went on to the next comment by
Massimo89
.

“Ewww, him again.” She stopped short and read:

You are even more beautiful than I imagined.
Surprised, she looked up. “Don’t tell me you sent him your picture!”

“I didn’t.”

“Thank God!”

“I mailed him one of you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Remember the party at Marc’s? When you puked on his shoes after drinking too much punch?”

Punch was a polite interpretation of the crap it had been. After almost every guest had put a few extras into the bowl over the course of the evening, the brew had become something more similar to battery acid.

“As if it was yesterday. Why?”

“Well, back then Marc took a photo of you, and that’s what I  now…well…” Instead of finishing the sentence she shrugged.

“You haven’t!” Julie screamed.

For a moment Ally managed to keep a straight face, then she broke into laughter, which Julie joined in after brief hesitation.

“You bitch! You scared the hell out of me!”

“Hey, I’m your friend. And, well, after what you did to Miranda I’d be insane to send photos of you vomiting all over the place.” She undid the knot in her belt and threw it onto the bench. “I took the one of you in the year book.”

“You minx!” Julie lashed her belt out at Ally.

Ally laughed and skillfully evaded her. No way she would have sent a photo of herself. Compared to Julie she looked frighteningly unimpressive. No curves, no butt, no nothing. Her mouth seemed too big for her slim face and her black hair was straight and boring with bangs that constantly fell into her eyes. Added to that she had eyes the color of which couldn’t be determined. Who in the world looked like that?

Julie on the other hand was a stunner. Blonde mane, expressive blue eyes and pink puckered lips. A total bombshell. Under normal circumstances, she should have had a ton of admirers in her wake, but she didn’t. That’s probably because of Julie’s direct ways and her dirty humor. The fact that she was a math genius who could make others look like complete idiots probably didn’t help either. On top, she was witty with a sassy touch. What kind of guy would willingly let a girl knock the stuffing out of him just because his pants were hanging down his ass.
Nice butt, Josh, but why in the world do you’ve to show it around?,
Julie brought it to a point.

Ally wasn’t shy, but she would’ve never been able to pull that number. The two of them barely had anything in common, but complemented each other in a lot of ways. Julie was a nerd and member of the computer science club at the Redmond High. Ally was better with words and a part of the editing team of the school newspaper,
Mustangs
. Julie was extroverted, Ally could listen. Julie had a big mouth, Ally could hit–hard. She didn’t do it, but after entering martial arts, everybody knew she was up for it. And there were no secrets at her high school. At least not for long.

“Why don’t you put me in your suitcase and check me in as luggage?” Julie suggested after their shower.

Ally, towel-drying her hair, paused for a moment. “I really wish you could be there. Just imagine: you and me in Paris, what a blast!”

“I know!” Julie whined “I can’t even start to think about the fact that my parents are spending the entire weekend in California. I so would have time.” She shook her head in disbelief, as if being unable to grasp her misery.

Ally knew that her friend would do anything to come along, but it was impossible. “It’s kind of sad that I can only leave cause Uncle David is staying in Washington until Monday. If he knew where I’m really going to be, they’d have to put him under an oxygen tent.” She let out a frustrated noise and threw her shower gel into her beauty case. “He’d never let me go anywhere,” she muttered and leaned her back against the locker.

“He`s really strange,” Julie remarked while looking for her second shoe.

“Tell me about it.” Ally motioned towards the row of lockers on the opposite side. “You kicked it underneath those.”

Julie got on her knees and welcomed her slipper like a lost son. “And then this whole martial arts crap,” she continued after having slipped her shoe on. “I mean, you’re a girl. I understand that he’s worried, but one can also exaggerate things…”

“Well, after the attack…”

“I know. I’m not saying I don’t get it. I mean, look at me: I’m stuck in karate lessons with Rambo-chick here, letting her beat the living daylight out of me.”

“What did you just call me?”

Julie screamed when Ally threw herself at her and started to tickle her.

“Okay, you win!” she called out, wiping some tears from her eyes. “I’ll even drive you to your stupid editorial office.”

“Really?”

Julie sighed. “Well now, who has a driver’s license?”

“That would be you.”

“Right. And a half-hour cab-drive costs a fortune.”

True. Ally packed her stuff into her backpack before her friend could change her mind.

“Though in my opinion,” Julie added, “she could send you her corrections to the interview questions via mail.”

“You think it’s something like that?” That would be too good to be true. More likely, she had been irked by the
hottest hunk
and was going to give her a lecture on it. Serious journalism and all–yadda yadda. It would be interesting to explain that the text had been changed after approval, namely by a certain friend whose name shall not be spoken.

After all Julie owed her the drive to the editorial office. Because of her actions Ally had to show up, at least. Whatever the reason for Renée’s mail, Ally knew that she was fuming.

Julie shrugged. “What else? Unless the questions are so abysmally poor that she has to tell you in person.” She closed the zipper of her gym bag. “Maybe she just wants to give you your ticket. But come to think, that’s bullshit, since the two of you are meeting at the airport.”