2. CHLOE
2
CHLOE
I've always thought an iced coffee was the modern-day version of a genie lamp. Instead of rubbing it once and being granted three wishes, you swirl the coffee and your life problems are figured out.
My hand is curled around the plastic cup, condensation forming on the outside from the blistering summer heat, and how long this meeting is going.
Swirling the iced oat milk latte with honey—my go-to order—on the board room table in front of me, I don’t know what I’m searching for in the beige liquid.
A reason to quit my job? The words to dump my shitty boyfriend?
My gaze is pulled back to the checkin turned three hour team meeting happening around me.
“That’s a terrible idea,” I mumble the words I was thinking aloud, my filter turned off.
“How is it terrible?” Tamara, my counterpart and the top of my you-annoy-me list, replies snarkily. “We work with influencers.”
“I know what my job is.” I pull my hands to my lap, needing to stop fidgeting with the cup. “People are over these big time influencers receiving PR packages and free trips, but don’t use the product or give it away to their friends.”
Our boss, Ryan, nods his head with a smile. The silent praise and agreement encourage me to keep speaking. I’m cut off before I can .
“That’s a bad take, Chloe. You want nobodies to be sent free products and to attend our trips? We can’t guarantee they’d even be attractive.”
Tamara’s remark has my head jolting back.
I hope I didn’t hear that correctly.
Jaw dropped, I scan the room. All men. Tamara and I are the only woman on the team, and almost the entire company. I’ll have to count the directory of employees, but I swear there are less than fifteen.
It’s a skincare company, Second Chance Beauty. You’d expect there to be more. Or run by a female, but we aren’t and I think that tells you everything about beauty standards. Concocted by males.
I took this job a little over a year ago, eager for the vertical move, but unfortunately—like my boyfriend—it was too good to be true at first. Sparkly and new, but once that faded, their true colors showed.
“ Seriously? ”
“Yes. How are we supposed to sell the product if—”
“Your definition of beauty is warped.”
“I’m doing my job. You should too.”
Finally, Ryan says something, “I think we should table this for now.”
“Fine,” I huff, gathering my things and head back to my office.
Tamara’s words echo in my ears the entire elevator ride and walk back. I swear she is a kissass. She wouldn’t have said that—at least I hope for the sake of every female out there—if it wasn’t an entire marketing department meeting, including the VP, Michael. We both know our boss, Ryan, is leaving soon. He gave us the heads up that he was offered a job in NYC where his partner lives. Surprisingly, one of us is up for the promotion.
Ryan hired Tamara and me at the same time, wanting to bring more females into the company and thought we’d be this elite dynamic duo. At first, we were, but slowly event planning became less of a team sport kind of job .
There is no I in team, but there is in I want to do it my way .
Hence the check in on an upcoming back-to-school event turning into a three hour debacle—that still could have been an email.
My phone vibrates when I enter my office.
SETH: Flights are expensive, not sure if I’m coming this weekend
He can’t be serious. Seth, my on-again, off-again long distance boyfriend, was supposed to be visiting me in Chicago this weekend.
Flights weren’t expensive last month, when we confirmed the trip.
Or in May when I asked you to visit.
SETH: Then you pay for the flight.
I wish this was surprising, but it’s not.
Checking the clock, I don’t bother to set down my things. I pick up my shoulder bag, dumping the contents of my hands into it.
Popping my head into Ryan’s office, I tell him, “I’m going to work from home for the rest of the day. Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” His door is halfway closed when he continues, “Chloe, wait. Your idea was valid. I liked it.” I had suggested doing pop-ups at colleges around the country. “I’m going to sleep on it tonight and think through a solution. We can’t jump ship completely, but we can take steps toward more representation.” I always admired Ryan’s leadership style. I’m going to miss him when he leaves .
Gifting him a soft smile, I close the door and leave.
I grab another latte, hoping this time it’ll work. Picked up a black coffee for my best friend and caught the next train to her place.
“Emme, I’m here. Sorry to crash,” I shout in the doorway, my voice echoing in her shoebox apartment. “I know you are working from home today. If I stayed in the office a moment longer, I might have pulled Tamara’s hair out strand by strand.”
Nudging the door with my butt, it accidentally slams behind me.
It takes two steps, and I’m in her kitchen, setting the molded pulp carrier on the linoleum counter and pulling out the consolation hot black coffee I bought her.
“Coffee for you on the counter,” I end up saying to no one, quickly tracking her location only to realize she’s not home.
Slipping off my black heels haphazardly—they are out of place against her pristine apartment—I take my coffee and head for the bathroom.
I know it’s weird, but when I’m overwhelmed, I need a shower.
Not one of those showers to help me work out the tension between my legs—I wish it were that. It’s my mind. It won’t stop. Won’t shut up. I swear it runs laps like a dog catching the zoomies.
I need a scalding hot shower. One so hot that my skin feels like it will burn off.
Unfortunately for me, my shower is broken again . I swear the pipes in my ancient West Loop apartment are more moody than me.
Fortunately for me, my best friend, Emerson Clarke—Emme, as I call her—doesn’t mind when I come to use hers. After the last time they broke, she gave me a key to her apartment.
Her bathroom is a mirror for the rest of her apartment. Meticulous. Everything has a place, which makes it easy to find everything, not that I don’t already know. We’ve been friends for over five years, ex-colleagues, and she’s lived here for three of those years .
Tossing my hair into a bun, I step into the falling water.
Letting the droplets sting my skin. Everything begins to quiet, a numbness to my nerves. As the water washes over me, I’m lighter; everything running through my head is slowly being cleaned.
I wrap a terry cloth towel around my body, drying off my skin and then apply a layer of body oil. I reach for the door handle when I hear the sound of her front door opening and closing.
Steam rolls out as the door gets caught on the towel, and it slips from my grasp.
Roaming over my body are a pair of eyes that don’t belong to Emerson.
We stand off for a few beats before he goes into the bathroom. When he comes back out, butting in on my conversation with Emerson, I trade places, needing to get dressed.
***
Fully clothed, I pull my hair back and walk two steps into the living room.
Why is he still here? And what is he doing at Emerson’s apartment?
“Couldn’t get enough?” I lean over the back of the couch. My head is parallel to his. Callum pulls the tablet in his hand to his chest. “Ooo, secretive.”
“Nosy.”
“I call that curiosity.”
“I think I’m going to take off.” He stands, picking up a book from the counter. “Thanks for this, States.”
“You sure? Chloe doesn’t bite, I prom—”
“Wouldn’t promise.” I follow him into the kitchen, perching myself on the counter, swirling an iced coffee. We make eye contact, and for a split second, I’m hypnotized. Studying his eyes, the deep ocean blue, I wonder if Cal can see right through me. Through the bullshit, through the storm that caused mine to cloud over. Raw. Vulnerable. Bare.
That’s how he’s looking at me, and I can’t have it.
I wink, snapping myself back to reality, trying to level the playing field.
“See you this weekend?” he confirms with Emerson. She nods, walking him out.
“Bye, Calvin.” My fingers wiggle, waving at him.
“It’s Cal,” he groans.
Emme closes the door, heels spinning.
***
“Was I seeing double, or do you have two British boys wrapped around your finger?”
Emerson chokes on her water. “I do not have Cal wrapped around my finger. We are practically siblings. Always have been.”
I hip bump her, walking back to her apartment after a yoga class. “What’s his deal?”
After the pretty blond boy from London left—I hate how much he reminds me of young Heath Ledger, my kryptonite—Emerson and I finished our work day from her couch. The luxuries of hybrid, flexible jobs. I traded my jeans for a pair of leggings, stretching out and trying to forget about today's series of unfortunate events.
“You want his dating profile summary?”
I roll my eyes at her, stepping into the elevator. “Does he have one?”
“I don’t know. I’m fresh out of an engagement and learned the ex-love of my life has been living in the same city as me for a year. I haven’t had the mind capacity to keep tabs on Cal’s dating life.”
“So?”
“No, he doesn’t have one.” Emerson opens the door to her place. I eye her, silently saying I knew it . Her quick smile, a silent shut up . She’s observant and mindful of everyone in her life to a fault. Sometimes caring too much about the emotions and opinions of others. “Cal doesn’t date. In the six years I’ve known him, he’s never had a girlfriend. Flings? Sure. A steady girlfriend? No. He’s always been work first, work second, pleasure third.”
She pulls a meal kit from the fridge.
“You staying?” I nod. Emerson swiftly changes the subject, dicing a red pepper, “Have you heard more from Seth?”
I shake my head no, woefully.
“What aren’t you telling me, Chlo?”
That my relationship is that of a flaming garbage can.
That Seth and I have been on and off again enough times we’d need both our hands to keep count.
That the whole reason I’m even in this relationship is because I hate being alone.
That I’m terrified of someone telling me goodbye, so I pick boys I know that I can kick to the curb.
“Nothing.”