Cheater

10. Chloe

Thursday

I close my laptop down for the day with a big smile on my face. My boss just had me jump on a video call to tell me I’ve earned a ten-thousand-dollar bonus, that my recent contributions to a campaign made a client so happy after their profit quadrupled their ad spend this month that they not only renewed their contract but also boosted their budget, insisting I get a cash bonus. They want me to be their primary point of contact and the potential for this client is so huge, my boss wants me working only on them instead of continuing to handle the half a dozen clients I manage now.

And I’m tickled pink.

Considering that most of my savings got eaten up buying the townhome with Adam a whole year before we planned to buy a house, this is great news and I’ll be tucking it away to help me re-boot my nest egg.

I’ve been working hard, trying to show my appreciation for all the company has done for me throughout the ordeal that has been my life for the past seven months and it feels great to be rewarded. I’ve been worried I asked for too much flexibility. Worried I haven’t been present enough, so I doubled down and really threw myself into work as a distraction from my reality.

I’m ready to celebrate this little win and decide I’m treating myself, taking myself on a date.

A trip to the mall, to the bookstore, and then a dinner date with whichever book I buy myself at my favorite soup place. Alone. I used to try to do it once in a while. Shop for a book, go to a restaurant, and enjoy reading while eating. I always get dessert when I do this and I’m looking forward to one of my favorite treats.

In fact, I haven’t been to the gym in seven months, let my membership expire, and it’s part of the same mall I’m going to, so I think I’ll stop by tonight and renew it.

Adam wants me to take up new hobbies anyway. We’ve rarely even eaten dinner together lately and if I’m out of the house more, he can pretend I’m cheating on him which might boost his mood.

I roll my eyes at my inner sarcasm.

My home office is on one side of the master bedroom, Adam’s is on the other. I rap on his office door and open it. He immediately closes the laptop lid and looks over his shoulder with irritation, asking, “What’s up?”

I feel the smile die on my face.

His expression is one of impatience, so I answer, “I’m going out. I probably won’t be back until late. Gonna wander the mall. Renew my gym membership. Eat while I’m out at that coffee shop with the soup so… do you mind eating leftovers? There’s lasagna there. Or would you like me to get something delivered. I could bring back–”

“I’ll figure it out. Have fun.”

“Need anything before I go?” I ask.

“I’m good. Hit a rhythm here with my story, so wanna keep it up. Sorry.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Thanks. Have fun.” He turns his back to me and opens his laptop again.

I would’ve shared my good news, but his reaction completely halted me. Dismissed.

That bitterness that’s been creeping in lately is picking up steam. Now it’s seeping in through multiple foundation cracks. Of course I don’t want to mess up his writing rhythm, but he’s been like this non-stop. Irritated or at the very least terse with me.

He’s in his office from morning to night and lately we’re lucky if we have more than breakfast together.

Not tonight. Tonight, I’m celebrating alone. And I’m looking forward to it. I’m pushing away the urge to fully consider my future. To think about what I want for a change. To think about whether this is what I want for the rest of my days. Walking on eggshells. Being bullied into cheating. As much as he says it’s not cheating if he’s sanctioned it, it’s not how I’m built.

I pull my thoughts back, afraid to go further down that road. Because there might be no turning back. And to abandon Adam and our plans isn’t something I ever thought I was capable of.

I shake it off, deciding not to let him get me down today. I want to celebrate my work achievement and get out of this house, so I shove the negativity away and change out of my typical work-at-home comfy clothes into jeans and a cute top. I put on some makeup and jewelry, spritz some perfume, and take the ponytail down before I grab my phone and keys and head out.

Twenty minutes into my bookstore wander, I see none other than the hot nightclub owner from last Friday night. I feel my face flame with heat; I’m sure it’s bright red.

It’s weird, too, because I could’ve sworn I’d left his business card on the bar, yet found it in the pocket of my dress when I took my stuff to the drycleaners yesterday. I’m guessing that’s courtesy of Alannah who mentioned him and suggested I use him as my hall pass about half a dozen times over the weekend.

I tucked the matte charcoal card with raised glossy black letters into a pocket in my purse for no logical reason instead of tossing it into the trash.

I duck out, abandoning my planned purchase on a table. Derek Steele probably wouldn’t remember me, but for some reason, I don’t want to run into him.

I pull in a big breath when I get outside and let it out slowly as I make my way across the parking lot. In broad daylight he looked just as sinfully attractive as he did under the lights of his dim nightclub. Tall, built, with that sexy dark and disheveled hair. Those dark eyes.

He’s got a five o’clock shadow today and he’s in jeans and a black shirt under a leather jacket instead of an expensive suit, but he looks just as much like sex, money, and power today as he did the other night.

In the coffee shop down the street from the mall, I’m kicking myself for not buying that book. I’m scrolling my phone while I eat and while the soup is as good as always, the experience feels a little underwhelming without a fresh new paperback.

I often read e-books, but this dinner and a paperback date for one has a different feel to it for me. Cracking the spine. Smelling the paper. Drooling over a sexy cover.

I decide to read the e-book sample of the paperback I’d almost bought. Maybe I’ll go back to the bookstore and get it after I eat and read it in my office at home tonight.

I’m deep into reading reviews of the book when I hear something being set on my table, so I look up, expecting a refill for my green tea. But it’s the book I had planned to buy. And resting on top of it is a masculine, attractive hand with an expensive-looking watch on his wrist.

My eyes take a slow journey up to the perfectly sinful face of Derek Steele.

“Worried I’d bite?” he quips, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

My mouth drops open.

“Good call,” he adds, then sits at my table.

“Excuse me?” I rasp.

“You saw me and took off like your sweet little ass was on fire. Like a terrified little bunny rabbit. Thought I’d buy this for you and see if I could find you.”

I tilt my head to the side. “How did you find me?”

He shrugs. “Luck, I guess.”

My expression drops. “No way.”

“Followed the trail of your alluring perfume?” he tries.

I give him a bitchy look.

“Okay, I stepped out after you rushed out, then watched you bunny-hop across the parking lot and down the street.”

He gestures to the elderly owner. “Hot and Sour soup for me, please, Mr. Nguyen. And maybe some more tea for this little bunny.”

The owner waves. “Sure, Mr. Derek. Where you been?”

“Out of town. But I’m here a while.”

“Good, good,” Mr. Nguyen says.

His wife pokes her head out from the swinging door into the kitchen.

“Mr. Derek! Hello! We didn’t see you for a long time!”

He waves. “How’s the most beautiful lady and best cook in the world?”

She smiles wide and waves at him like he’s a naughty boy before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Derek turns his gaze back to me.

“You’re a regular here?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” Derek says, leaning back in his chair. “First sign of a tickle in the throat in my family, someone’s comin’ over here to pick up soup.”

I’m surprised.

It’s a little independent donut shop. The décor is still circa 1980-something, but it’s famous among the locals. You get house-made-from-scratch soups for cheap from the sweet, elderly Asian couple who get wounded if you go too long between visits. When me and Alannah moved to Columbus for college we practically lived on this soup. It suited our broke college girl budget quite well. And I could swear the Nguyens put extra wontons in it for us.

When I came in a while back (after not coming for three or four months) they laid grandparent-like guilt on me. When I told them why I hadn’t been by, they reacted as if they knew Adam themselves even though they’ve never met him. They sent me home with two family-sized containers of won ton soup.

Adam wasn’t in the headspace to find the gesture as sweet as he normally would. Since he isn’t much of an Asian soup person, I froze the soups in individual serving sizes and had them twice a week for several weeks.

“You grow up on this stuff, too?” Derek asks.

I shake my head. “Moved here for college from Dayton with my best friend Alannah, who works upstairs from your club in the offices. We decided to stay. Got hooked on this place back then and still come as often as we can.”

“What’s your favorite?” Derek asks. “That one?”

“Definitely.”

His mouth splits into a wide smile.

“What about your favorite donut?” he asks.

“Hm?” I ask, eyes on his smiling mouth.

“You save room for dessert?” His head tips toward the counter. “You should. If you get too full on that soup, get something for later.”

This is technically a coffee shop and is known for not just the soup, but also for their donuts and pastries which are still made from scratch.

“I always take a chocolate éclair to go. When I’m lucky enough to get here before they run out, of course,” I tell him. “They’re out today so I’m trying to decide between a powdered jelly donut and a sour cream dipped.”

Still smiling, his eyes move over my face in a way that has me feeling like I’m under a microscope.

“Pro tip?” he offers.

I jerk my chin up.

“Their éclairs come out at one o’clock every day. Or they did. Been a few years since I had one.”

“Thanks for that tip. Explains why I almost never get one when I come for dinner but why I sometimes score at lunchtime. I take it you grew up here?”

“Technically, yes,” he says. “When I wasn’t away at school. Nowadays I split my time between here and Cleveland mostly.”

He’s leaning forward, hand still on the book, and he’s looking at me as if I’m the most fascinating creature he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s a strange sensation.

“You don’t mind if I eat here with you, do you?” he asks.

“Oh. It’s… um… fine,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears.

He moves the book a few inches toward me. “Here.”

“You didn’t have to buy that for me. I wasn’t sure I wanted it anyway. I didn’t leave because I saw you.”

He leans forward even more. “We both know you did, Chloe.”

Heat floods my face, and my mouth drops open at the bluntness of his statement.

“Is it because you feel guilty for being attracted to me?” he asks.

The nerve!

“Who says I’m attracted to you?” I scoff. “Maybe I just really wanted soup. And we had a five-minute interaction. Yes, I recognized you, but didn’t think much of it.”

My face is blazing hot.

He smiles wider again. And it’s almost condescending the way he’s doing it. He’s convinced I’m lying through my teeth. Not that he’s wrong.

“Cocky, much?” I ask.

He leans even closer, so close his face is hovering over my soup. “Much,” he confirms.

Mr. Nguyen delivers Derek’s soup, so he straightens up in his chair and thanks him.

As Mr. Nguyen shuffles away, I take the opportunity to reach for my bag and pull out my wallet with one hand, flipping the book over to see the price with the other.

“Here,” I pull out some money. “For the book.”

He shakes his head. “The book is on me. A caveat though.”

Mr. Nguyen is back, refilling my tea and bringing Derek a cup too so I’m left in suspense until he walks away.

My eyes roll. “A caveat. Of course,” I say.

“I expect a report afterwards.”

He puts his teacup to his mouth, eyes on me while I gawk at him.

“Very funny,” I finally break the awkward silence.

He takes a slow sip and then sets his cup down thoughtfully. “I’m absolutely serious. Book report. Due as soon as possible.”

My eyes roll.

He continues the ridiculousness. “I’m intrigued to learn about a wolf shifter who’s… what did it say?” He flips it over and reads the back. “even wilder as a man than he is as a wolf.” His gaze bounces back to me with his eyebrows up. “Let me ask you a question. Does the knotting reference mean what I think it means?”

My face burns scarlet. “Oh my God. Yes. Yes, it does.” I bury my face behind my hands in absolute mortification.

Derek laughs. And even his laugh is sexy. “I begrudge everybody their literary choices.”

When I peek between my fingers, I see his expression has changed. The laughter is gone. Not even a smile remains. I think he’s looking at my engagement ring.

I’m sure he’s about to make an excuse to leave at the visual reminder of what I’ve already proclaimed, that I’m engaged, but instead, he lifts his spoon and dips it into his soup bowl. “So, tell me about you and what you do for a living, Chloe.” He spoons some into his mouth and his face mirrors what everyone’s does when they get their first mouthful of soup here.

“I’m an account manager for a marketing company.”

“You don’t work in one of my family’s office buildings, right?”

“Pardon?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I know your friend works in the building my nightclub Downtown is in.”

“She works for a law firm on the eighth floor. How’d you know?”

“She’s a regular. Slipped me her number once.”

I blink in surprise.

“Never considered using it,” he adds.

I stare at him and say nothing.

“Your marketing company is where?” he prompts.

“I telecommute. They don’t have a bricks and mortar location. The team is sprinkled throughout North America, the UK, Australia.”

“Ah. My father isn’t too happy the work-from-home trend is picking up steam. He has a number of commercial real estate holdings.”

“Is the current trend making him evaluate what he uses his buildings for?”

“Yes, in fact. He’s selling his largest one in Cleveland to be repurposed for low-income housing. He’s having one of the buildings here converted to condominiums as leases run out. Something I’m not thrilled with.”

“Why is that?”

“My siblings and I have suites on the top floor. Means we’ll have neighbors.”

I laugh. “Not a fan of neighbors that aren’t your family members?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Not a fan of neighbors, period, particularly my family.”

I nod. “Small family so I can’t relate. Big family?”

“Too big,” he says, spooning up more soup.

“I always imagined living in a place where you could see but not hear your next-door neighbors. Like my parents. All the homes on their street have one acre lots, they’re old homes with character, from back before developers put people on postage-stamp sized lots with all the houses exactly the same. Still close enough to say hello to people, though. To look out for one another. For kids to grow up playing together on a street. For neighbors to look in on one another if someone’s alone or elderly, you know?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, “Tell me about your digs here in Columbus. Not like your folks’ place, I take it.”

“Oh, uh, my fiancé and I just bought a townhome together. Not really my style. Kind of too modern and small, only a little patio for a yard. Front porch not big enough to put a nice swing on. No room for all the fruit trees out back like I’d wanted, but it was for practical reasons.” I shrug.

“I see,” he says, and takes another spoonful of his soup.

He doesn’t ask questions and I’m relieved. He probably thinks we just bought an entry-level home we could afford. I don’t typically blurt my business and I’m surprised I’ve said as much as I’ve already said. I’m stopping myself from explaining that my fiancé lost the use of his legs recently and that’s why we bought a one level rowhouse when I’ve always dreamed of living in a big home with all sorts of character including a wraparound porch, grand staircase, and a yard big enough to have a football game in. Like that house I’ve been watching that we can’t afford and that’s come off the market. Just as well, I guess. I’ve stopped dreaming about raising a family there.

I eat more of my soup, but I’m feeling self-conscious. He’s eating his soup, too, but he’s also studying me.

I feel a little stumped. Because if I encourage conversation, will he think the wrong thing? I can’t just sit here and say nothing.

My phone buzzes and I quickly reach for it, relieved that I’ve now got an excuse to make a quick exit.

“Excuse me a second,” I say to Derek as I read it.

Dad: What’s my Wi-Fi password, kiddo? Got a new phone.

I reply.

I taped it to the upper inside of the drawer in the table where you keep the remote controls.

I stare at my screen a moment, waiting to see if he replies. He does.

Dad: Thanks. All good with you?

I reply with a smiley face and another line saying,

We should catch up soon.

He replies with a thumbs up.

I tuck my phone away and loop my bag over my shoulder.

“I’m gonna have to go. Something’s come up.” I wave to Mr. Nguyen and move in that direction with my wallet. “Could I have a take-out container and a raised chocolate donut to go, please?”

“Of course,” he calls out and rings me up.

After I pay for my food, three people come in, so he tells me he’ll bring me the container and my donut in a moment.

I move back to a watching and waiting Derek Steele, who has his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting on his palm.

“Don’t forget your book,” he says.

“I’d like to give you the money for it,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “Book report.”

I roll my eyes. “How am I supposed to deliver a book report to you?”

“It won’t be difficult,” he states with a salacious look in his eyes.

I laugh it off, feeling uncomfortable. I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t ask. Instead, I put the book into my bag and sop up stray soup drips from the table with a napkin, studiously avoiding Derek’s eyes, even though I know he’s still watching me.

More people have come in, so it takes a minute, but Mrs. Nguyen stops by with a container, lid, and a paper bag. I thank her as she lifts my soup and pours it into the container while Derek gets up and holds my jacket out for me.

He helps me into it and the proximity means the heat is again rising, not just up my face and up my neck, but also in other places too.

He steps around to face me and begins to button up my coat for me.

I stand still, sort of statue-like, sort of deer-in-the-headlights like, eyes on his face while his fingers work their way up my coat.

Why is he buttoning my coat? Why am I not backing up and taking over?

He’s got fascinating bone structure. Cut jaw. Really great skin. Grooves in his bottom lip that have me licking my lips for some reason. After doing up my top button, he straightens my collar for me and looks straight into my eyes while still holding it. “Get home safely, Chloe Turner.”

He remembered my last name.

“Thank you for the book,” I say, awkwardly. Because this whole situation is beyond awkward.

“You’re welcome.”

“Gonna let me go?” I ask.

He smiles so wide and so attractively with something sparking in his eyes that manages to set my panties on fire. He doesn’t answer.

I back away and he releases me.

Blushing, I grab my takeout bag, wave at the Nguyens, and move out, hearing him say, “Book report,” before I’m outside.