3. Chloe
Chapter three
Chloe
“ D avis! Where’s my coffee?” the sharp voice cuts through the office noise like a whip.
I release a long breath and barely keep myself from rolling my eyes, my fingers instinctively reaching up to twirl the end of my hair.
“Coming right away, Mr. Holt,” I call back before hurrying to the coffee maker. It’s not how I imagined my first week as a realtor going. The coffee machine gurgles and spits, mirroring my frustration. I have yet to do any actual work with properties or clients. I’m really just a glorified secretary for Mr. Holt, and he’s one of the grumpiest and short-tempered men I’ve ever met.
I fill the heavy, ceramic mug with black liquid and swirl in a dollop of cream, just how he likes it. The rich aroma of coffee does little to soothe my nerves. Juggling multiple folders in one hand, I take one last glance at my reflection on the coffee maker’s silver surface—my hair tied back in a neat ponytail, check. Minimal makeup, check. Professional but chic outfit, check. I let out a small sigh, straightening my blazer. “You’ve got this, Chloe,” I whisper to myself, even if my confidence wavers slightly.
As I make my way to his office, balancing the steaming cup carefully to avoid spilling it, the copier jams, emitting a loud, grinding noise. I pause, biting my lip. The day just keeps getting better.
When I push the door open, the smell of antique paper and mahogany hits me. Mr. Holt is seated behind his broad desk, engrossed in some sort of paperwork.
“Here you are, sir,” I say, placing the mug onto a leather coaster next to him. His only acknowledgement of my presence is an absent-minded grunt as he reaches for his coffee without looking up from his documents.
Feeling dismissed, I spin around on my heel to head back to the reception area. It’s half-filled with people viewing property brochures and whispering quietly amongst themselves. My desk is nestled by the entrance, cluttered with papers and property listings that I need to organize.
What a drag. I thought this job would be a little more glamorous. Lauren made the connection for me because her family’s company always does business with Mr. Holt, but so far, he hasn’t given me a chance to prove myself at all.
I run a hand through my hair, taking a quick glance at the clock. It’s almost five o’clock. Thank God. If only the clock would move faster. A sigh slips past my lips as I stare at the pile of paperwork still waiting for my attention.
I start sorting through it again, and suddenly, a familiar name catches my eye from one of the property listings. Parker Thompson.
Pausing, I stare at the name for a long moment.
The intercom buzzes, snapping me out of my reverie and making me jump slightly in surprise.
“Chloe,” Mr. Holt's gruff voice echoes from the speaker, “I need the Henderson file on my desk before you leave for the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Henderson file is buried deep within a stack of folders across the room. As I slide it out carefully so as not to upset the precarious balance of paperwork, my eyes linger again on Parker’s name on that property listing.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I know he’s still in Newport. No way was he ever going to leave. I’ve thought about him throughout the years and was always curious about how he was doing, but I never had the courage to ask Lauren about him. I didn’t want her to know that I always had a crush on her brother. It was embarrassing because there was never any way that I’d stand a chance of dating him, and Lauren would probably be weirded out by it.
Once I’ve gotten the Henderson file free, I quickly make my way back to Mr. Holt’s office.
“The Henderson file, sir,” I announce briskly as I enter his office again. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing as I drop it on his desk. This time, instead of leaving immediately after being dismissed by Mr. Holt’s grunt, however, I hesitate as curiosity gets the better of me.
“Sir,” I start, swallowing hard to dispel any trace of nervousness in my voice. “May I ask about a client?”
Mr. Holt looks up at last. His eyebrows furrow together, and his eyes flash with annoyance.
“I suppose.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans back in the chair. “Who?”
Working up my courage to actually get the name out, I take a long, deep breath. “Parker Thompson.”
Mr. Holt’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh,” he says after a moment of awkward silence. “Parker, huh? What about him?”
“I noticed his name on a property listing,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “One of his family’s renovations?”
Leaning back in his chair, he studies me with an arch look, and I have to struggle against the urge to squirm. "Indeed, it is. We do a lot of business with the Thompsons. They renovate, we sell. Why do you ask? I thought you were already familiar with our working relationship since Lauren got you the job here.”
I feel my cheeks heat up, and I’m suddenly grateful for the dim lighting in the room.
“Oh, we-we grew up together,” I say with a shrug. “Went to the same school. I’m just curious about what he’s been up to, that’s all. He hasn’t come around Lauren’s, so I haven’t seen him yet.”
“I see,” is all Mr. Holt says for a while. He swivels his chair slowly to face the window before turning back to me again. His gaze is penetrating, as if he is trying to read something from my face.
“It’s a Victorian,” he finally says, breaking the awkward silence. “A good neighborhood. Completely updated from the foundation to the chimney. It should do well once it’s on the market.”
It sounds lovely. I’m sure it’s gorgeous inside and out, especially if Lauren has had anything to do with its design.
“Thank you, sir,” I say. “I appreciate you answering my questions.”
When he doesn’t say another word, I awkwardly turn and hurry out of his office, my cheeks burning. Why did I have to be so nosy? I can only imagine what Mr. Holt is thinking of me now.
Reaching my desk, I sink back into my chair with a low groan. I shouldn’t have asked about Parker. I should have just squashed my curiosity and kept my mouth shut. The last thing I need is to give Mr. Holt any excuse to consider me unprofessional. I glance at the clock again and release a sigh of relief. Five o’clock. Time to head home.
The rest of the pile of paperwork can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I need a stiff drink.
***
Striding into Carl’s Pub, I head straight for the bar, my heels clicking on the smooth, wooden floor. Plopping down onto a stool, I release a long sigh and wave the bartender over.
“Chardonnay, please.” Rubbing my temples, I replay the events of the day in my head.
The bartender nods and reaches for a bottle from behind the counter, expertly pouring the liquid into a glass. He slides it towards me, flashing a sympathetic smile. I thank him and take a long sip, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool wine refreshes my dry throat.
As I sit there, nursing my drink, I can’t help but wonder what life would have been like if I hadn’t left Newport. If I’d never gone to the city to begin with. Had I been too ambitious back then? Would I have a better career now? My own home? A family, even?
I don’t know. I don’t usually like to think in what ifs, but it’s hard when I feel like I’m struggling to climb up from rock bottom.
My thoughts are interrupted by a commotion at the pub entrance. A group of people enters, their laughter echoing around the room. Among them is one face which stands out from the rest.
“Parker,” I whisper to myself, nearly choking on my wine.
He hasn’t changed much from how I remember him. He still wears his hair slicked back and a little choppy, and his hazel eyes still hold that mischievous gleam. He’s wearing a blue suit that looks tailored, and he walks with such confidence, it’s like he owns the place.
I watch as he mingles with his friends, his laughter resonating above the other voices around him. His eyes eventually land on me across the room and widen in clear surprise.
Before I can even ponder on whether to wave or pretend to be engrossed in my drink, he detaches himself from his group and strides towards me with purpose.
“Chloe?” His voice holds a note of uncertainty as he approaches the bar stool next to mine.
“Well, if it isn’t Parker Thomspon,” I say, flashing a grin as I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. “What brings you to this side of town? Looking for trouble?”
His surprised expression gives way to a grin as he slips onto the seat next to mine. “Chloe Davis in the flesh. Lauren told me you were back, though I didn’t expect to run into you here. It’s been a while. You look…wow.”
I arch a brow at him. “And why would you not expect to find me here? Do I not look like the bar-going type?”
He blinks and then gives me a bashful chuckle. “Oh, well…you know…I don’t think of you as the type to be hitting up the bar by yourself. I pictured you with an entourage at some swanky cocktail party. Or maybe on a date with some Wall Street type who thinks a Rolex is a personality trait. Couldn’t hack it in the city, huh? Had to come back to Newport to find a real man?”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.
“Right, because everything in my life revolves around my dating status,” I reply sarcastically. “What about you? Trying to make someone jealous tonight, or are you just here to keep the bartenders company?” Parker has always had this uncanny ability to make me feel comfortable, even with the most awkward of conversations.
He laughs softly, then orders a whiskey for himself and turns fully towards me, leaning against the bar. “I just mean that it doesn’t add up. A woman as smart and beautiful as you, you should have the world at your feet right now.” His eyes twinkle mischievously as he adds, “Or, at least, a few admirers buying you drinks.”
His words catch me off guard, and I tilt my head curiously.
“What makes you think I don’t? Maybe I’m here just incognito, escaping all my admirers,” I retort, though my tone is more curious than defensive.
Parker shrugs carelessly, looking back into his newly arrived drink. “Because you’re here, drinking alone. And if I recall correctly, you were always the life of the party, not the introspective type. Definitely not some old lady sitting at the bar sipping chardonnay by herself.”
For some reason, his words strike a chord in me. I’m left speechless, staring into my glass as his casual observation sinks in. I hadn’t realized until now how obvious my disappointment with my current life is. It’s like he sees right through me, even after all these years of not seeing each other.
Parker seems to sense that he’s struck a nerve; he watches me quietly from the corner of his eye before reaching out to gently squeeze my hand on the bar top. “Hey, I didn’t mean to pry. Just curious about an old friend.”
His touch snaps me out of my thoughts, and I meet his eyes, which are full of understanding, not judgment.
“We all hit rocky roads sometimes, but they always lead somewhere better.” He smiles warmly, adding, “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
His optimism is contagious; it has been ever since we were kids running around in the sand dunes behind our houses. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I clink my wine glass against his whiskey.
“To better roads, then,” I propose, and he grins back at me, nodding his head in agreement.
“To better roads,” he echoes.
We each take a long drink, and then, he shoots me a grin as he swivels on his stool to face me fully.
“So, Lauren tells me you got a job working for Holt,” he says, glancing down at my wine. “Having a tough time with the old man, or just using it as an excuse to come here and see me?”
I grimace. “You could say that. Holt is as charming as a porcupine and twice as prickly.” I smirk before continuing, “But then again, so are you sometimes.”
Parker chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. “Ah, he’s not so bad once you get past his bark. You need to stand your ground with him.” He leans closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Just like you always did with me.”
“I’ll remember that,” I tell him as I swirl the remnants of my wine in the glass. “If I keep the job, that is.” I raise an eyebrow playfully. “Maybe you can give me some tips on handling difficult men.”
Parker gives me a hard look, concern creasing his forehead. “You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?” He adds with a teasing smile, “Or maybe you just need an excuse to hang out with me more?”
I shrug, keeping it casual. “I don’t know yet.” I meet his gaze, a hint of challenge in my eyes. “Why, would you miss me if I did?”
He shakes his head vehemently.
“No, you can’t quit.” His tone is adamant, his gaze earnest.
“And why’s that?” I ask, surprised by his reaction. It’s not like him to lose his cool and seem almost panicked. Maybe he’s changed, though, and Lauren’s rubbed off on him, made him more in tune with his emotions.
“Because...” He hesitates and then leans in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Because I know what you’re capable of, Chloe. You're amazing.” His eyes lock onto mine, full of sincerity. “And I’ve always believed in you.”
His words stir something inside me. I find his belief in me both exhilarating and terrifying because part of me wants to believe him while another part fears the disappointment that may ensue if he’s wrong. But right now, his confidence feels like a lifeline.
He releases a sigh and leans back on his stool but doesn’t break eye contact with me.
“Parker…” I start but find myself at loss for words. “You always know what to say.”
He only grins at my hesitation before turning back to his whiskey glass.
“I’m serious, Chloe,” he asserts quietly while staring into the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “You’ve got so much potential. Don’t let Holt’s prickly attitude hold you back.”
I gaze at him for several moments before asking, “How are you so confident in me? It’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other. I could be a total mooch for all you know.” I smirk. “Or maybe I’ve turned into a rebel.”
He lets out a deep laugh that makes my heart beat a little harder. “There’s not a chance in hell that you’re a mooch, Chloe.”
I grin at him. “I don’t know. I could dine and dash on the regular, or maybe I’ve started stealing Amazon packages off porches. I could be a real degenerate.” I lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “But I think I’d make a pretty stylish criminal, don’t you think?”
He grins, and I feel my cheeks flush. His jaw is so chiseled, and he’s so charming. He turned me into mush when we were in high school, and it doesn’t seem as though he’s lost that ability.
He’s absolutely obliterating me now with just a smile and a look.
Needing a distraction, I get the bartender’s attention again and order another chardonnay. Parker orders another whiskey. “You know,” he says, “I might just stick around if you promise to keep the drinks coming.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your friends?” I ask. “Your girlfriend isn’t going to be thrilled that you’re spending so much time with me.” I give him a playful nudge. “Unless you’re here to escape her?”
The cheeky little half-grin he gives me has my breath catching in my throat.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says with a shrug. “They’re all from work. We were just going out to let off some steam. And there’s no girlfriend to speak of.”
“Oh,” I murmur with a soft smile. “Is that so? And why is that? Too picky?”
“That’s right,” he confirms, nodding slowly as if emphasizing each word. His eyes stray from mine for an instant, and he tips back his drink, draining it in a single gulp. He sets the glass down with a near-silent clink against the glossy wood of the bar top. “Just haven’t met the right girl yet.”
On impulse, I reach over and nudge his hand playfully.
“No girlfriend because you’re secretly married?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can catch them, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks at my own audaciousness. “Or maybe you’re just hiding a secret crush?”
He laughs at that—a hearty laugh that vibrates through the room and makes me shiver.
“No secret wife, either,” he assures me. “And as for secret crushes, well…maybe I do have one.”
Another round of drinks arrives: one more glass of chardonnay for me, another whiskey for him.
“You know, you do look really good, by the way,” he declares with a twinkle in his eye. “Better than I remembered, actually.”
“You look pretty good, too,” I echo, lifting my glass to tap against his gently. “I like the suit. Very professional.”
“Part of the job,” he says. “Got to be all professional and grown-up, you know.” He leans closer, narrowing his eyes in a playful squint while looking me over. “But I can still have a little fun.”
We’re both on our third drink now—the bartender keeps them coming—and I can hear my words start to slightly slur. The more I drink, the more I want to lean over and press my lips to his. What would his kiss taste like? Whiskey and what else? Would he be gentle, or would he be rough?
I think rough. I think he’s the kind of guy who likes to take control when he’s with a woman.
Now, I can’t stop thinking about kissing him. Kissing him and…more. My mind races with images of us together, tangled together in his sheets.
Sex. Sexy sex, sex. I want to have hot, naughty sex with Parker Thompson. My inebriated brain thinks this idea is an excellent one. I can almost feel his hands on me, exploring every inch.
I feel my cheeks heat up at the intensity of my thoughts, and I abruptly pull back, breaking the charged connection between us. My gaze flickers back to my chardonnay as I try to calm the storm inside me. I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, but I refuse to meet his gaze, my thoughts racing.
“Chloe,” he says in a voice so low that it makes my stomach flutter. It’s all I can do not to let myself crumble under the weight of desire. “Relax. You’re thinking too much.” He leans closer, and his breath feels warm on my ear. “Just go with it.”
“How do you know that?” I say when I finally have the courage to look at him again. His eyes are dark and filled with something unreadable. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out,” I whisper in a small, trembling voice.
“You always scrunch up your face when you’re overthinking.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder, chuckling softly as he does so.
“I do not!”
“You do,” he insists cheerfully. “You always have.”
This playful banter is familiar and comfortable, but it does little to cool the heat building inside me. If anything, it fans the flames higher.
Before I can quip back, though, he leans in closer—close enough that our faces are just inches apart. His scent fills my senses: whiskey, a hint of cologne, and something uniquely Parker. My heart beats wildly against my chest as he moves a strand of hair from my face.
“I’ve also noticed that you get quiet when you’re nervous,” he states as if revealing another secret about me.
“And what makes you think I’m nervous and don’t just have a lot on my mind?” I challenge him, even though he’s totally right.
His grin widens as he sits back again, never breaking eye contact with me while doing so.
“Just a guess,” he responds nonchalantly before sipping his whiskey.
I want to argue, but I can’t find the words. He’s right, of course. I am nervous. I’m nervous about the swirling feelings inside me, the desires that threaten to consume me.
I take another long drink as my mind swirls. An idea starts to bubble up in my head. It’s crazy, but it sounds less crazy the more I drink my chardonnay. I need an outlet. A little bit of fun in my life. I’m in no state to be looking for an actual relationship, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get laid.
Parker is single, gorgeous, and has been slowly getting my panties wet since he sat down next to me. Hell, since high school, if we’re being technical. I wouldn’t mind seeing him more regularly…
“Parker,” I start in a nonchalant tone, “I have a question for you.”
He arches a brow at me, clearly curious. “Go ahead.”
Licking my lips, I tilt my head and hold his gaze.
As much as I want to be smooth and cool, the words just sort of tumble out.
“What do you think about being friends with benefits?”