45. CHLOE
45
CHLOE
Did I just die, go to heaven, and be born again on this counter?
Cal’s mouth was already specially crafted for me. But his tongue? And how he used it?
I have no words. No notes. No complaints for the maker.
I’m catching my breath as he runs the pinched corner of the empanada around his mouth. Collecting my glistening mess and taking a bite.
I hate how hot it is—how hot he is.
Callum was right earlier. Once we start, I know we aren’t going to stop.
My phone lights up again. His eyes track it and shoulders tense. Cal’s next bite is aggressive, annoyed.
I pull the device to me, flipping it over.
“Might want to read those.” His voice is sour, a complete contrast to the past ten minutes. Cal finishes the empanada and eats another.
He watches from the opposite counter as I read the texts, eyes flying across the screen.
SETH: I’m coming to see you. We should talk.
SETH: Chloe. Hello? Answer your door.
SETH: This is real immature, Chloe.
SETH: Where are you?
SETH: Are you serious, Chloe?
Cal speaks first. “Are you talking to him again?”
Where his sudden anger is coming from, I have no clue.
“No.” I shake my head.
“You sure?” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Seth was coming to see you.”
He wets a rag from under the sink. When I try to take it from him he stops me. Stepping between my legs, he gently runs the rag across my inner thighs.
“He’s not here. Seth,”—Cal cringes at his name coming out of my mouth. Shoulders hike up and down—“doesn’t know I moved out. He doesn’t know I’m living with you. We. Haven’t. Spoken.” I enunciate each word.
“Are you going to text him back?”
Cal pushes off the counter, walking away, not even waiting for my response.
I hop off the counter, throwing my shirt back on, underwear still on the floor, and my breathing barely normal, to follow him.
“Callum, please stop.”
He spins to look at me. “You were biding your time with me till he wanted you back. That’s all this was—” His hand waves in the air toward the kitchen. “A quick fuck till someone better, someone like him wanted you back?”
I take a step backward.
My heart dropping to the floor.
“Cal. . .”
“Don’t, Chloe. It’s fine, I’m used to this. Always second place. ”
I’m frozen, my eyes and heart heavy from his words. Cal turns back to the stairs and walks away.
He’s wrong.
He’s not second place. I don’t know how he ever could be.
Chasing up the stairs after him, I try to open his door. It’s locked. Cal never locks his door.
I knock. “Callum.”
“Go away, Chloe.”
“Can we please talk?”
“I can’t right now.”
“I’m not talking to Seth. We haven’t spoken in over six months.”
“Tell me that again when you mean it.”
“I do mean it. . .” My voice breaks, a tear falling down my cheek. I wanted to feel everything with Cal, and here it is. Hurt. Confusion. Sadness.
I turn, back hitting the wall next to his door. My body slowly crawls down to the floor, slumping against it. Knees curled into me, a few more tears slip through.
Any guy before Cal, if they reacted this way, I’d call it off. Leave, ghost them, end it. He’s the first to ever have me chasing after them, desperate to fix whatever the hell just happened.
I’m not good at relationships, but this is me trying. I want a relationship with him. I want him.
The door opens. Cal sinks down next to me. His eyes rimmed red. The contrast of the colors is haunting.
“I’m not talking to him, Cal, I promise. Okay?” He nods. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not.”
We fell asleep there. Next to each other, my head falling to his shoulder, his hand in mine, empanadas discarded on the counter. Our exhaustion from our pasts catching up to us.
** *
Tamara walks into my office, a pep in her step that has me immediately on guard.
“Michael,”—our VP of Marketing and Events—“wants to see you in his office.”
“And he sent you to fetch me? Yeah, sure.”
“You’re always such a bitch, Chloe,” she snootily responds.
“Takes one to know one.”
Weirdly enough, the makeup company we work for is filled with men in leadership roles. Why they believe they have the authority to make decisions around women’s beauty is every reason they shouldn’t.
I’ve never thought that my beauty is defined by anyone but myself.
And maybe Cal. Whenever he compliments my outfit in the morning and tells me how beautiful I am, I can’t help but blush like a seven-year-old.
He hasn’t been home in the mornings in a week. Not since the texts from Seth—that I left unanswered.
Michael has been here for fifteen years and believes he’s untouchable.
My boss, Ryan—the only guy around here I liked, because he actually listened and let the woman speak—left at the beginning of December.
I knew this was coming. He was transparent with me during our one-on-ones about the interviews and his goals. Ryan believed in mine, and I believed in his. He also believed I should be the next step into his role as Director of Events. I’ve wanted the job since I started, knowing I’d put my head down and grind till the opportunity arose to throw my name in the ring. If I wasn’t going to do what I dreamed of doing, might as well set aspirations here.
Michael stepped in after Ryan left. Unlike Ryan, he prefers when you kiss his ass, and that’s where I draw my line. Utilize your authority and power like that, and I will be on the opposite team in a heartbeat .
“I’m serious. He wants to see you. I just left his office and he asked for me to fetch you.”
“I’m not a dog,” I bark out, hitting save on the project I'm deep into and closing my laptop.
“You sure have a bite like one. Too bad Ryan isn’t around anymore for you to aimlessly follow as his pathetic puppy.”
“You ac—” I snap my mouth shut, she isn’t worth my energy. “You know what, never mind. Do you mind? You are blocking the door.”
I smooth my left hand over my skirt, my right hand clutching my tablet and notebook. Tamara steps to the side but doesn’t leave my office. I stop outside the threshold. “There’s no reason for you to be in here.” She huffs and storms away, and I pull close my office door, fighting the urge to lock it.
Seated in the chair across Michael’s large maple desk, I fidget to get comfortable.
Even his chairs are miserable.
Crossing and uncrossing my ankles, I settle with both feet planted on the ground and a forced ‘I’m happy to work for you’ smile on my face. He isn’t a fan of resting bitch faces.
“Henry,” he addresses me after I’ve been sitting here for five minutes. I hate that he calls me by my last name, partly because I doubt he knows my first name. I hate anyone calling me by my last name; it feels too bro-y, except for Callum. He says it as if it's the honey he pours in his tea to sweeten it up. “Thank you for coming to my office. It’s been brought to my attention that a relationship of yours has ended.”
I know he’s talking about Seth before he even finishes the sentence.
Why is my personal relationship a work matter?
Seth and I weren’t coworkers. He’s not even in influencer marketing. He’s the Associate Director of Brand Partnerships. Also, how does he even know that we broke up?
Tamara. My blood seethes .
“The end of last summer,” I confirm and correct.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes.” I say, confused.
“Live Outdoors has decided to not renew our partnership at the end of this contract. Apparently, your behavior with Mr. Donaldson was highly inappropriate and they do not find our team professional or valuable to work with.”
Reading between the lines is easy. The underlying meaning is screaming louder than his words.
Seth could have just said I’m un-valuable to work with—or care for, as you should in a relationship.
That asshole.
Why did I ever waste my time on him?
Because you were lonely.
You only know how to use your body to feel something.
My grief and anxiety always know the perfect time to pull out their knives and make small jabs. Poking holes into me until I fizzle out.
“That information is incorrect. Seth and I’s relationship had zero to do with work. Yes, I broke up with him, but it was because. . .” Am I really about to admit to my boss that I was cheated on? That I truly am not valuable. Screw Seth. This is his mistake, not mine. If anything, this is a representation of his character, not mine. “Seth cheated on me. Any inappropriate behavior was his. I still don’t understand what my relationship has to do with work.”
“You met at a work event?” I nod. “You two have attended several events throughout your relationship?” Another nod. “Then it is a matter of work.” I open my mouth to speak, to defend myself, before he raises a hand to stop me. “You are lucky I am not suspending or firing you, Henry.”
I nod, pressing my mouth into a straight line. Taking deep breaths, I remain as collected as I can be .
“You will be written up. I know Ryan had a three strike policy; however, I do not. One more incident, Henry, and your employment will be terminated.”
My brain scrambles for a solution. I can’t get fired. I’d love to quit but not get fired.
“What if I can save the partnership?” I blurt.
“I think you’ve done plenty. I’ve spoken with Tamara, and she will work on all Live Outdoors matters. Additionally, you will no longer be up for the promotion.”
My jaw quivers.
I should just quit. Here. Right now. On the spot without a two-week notice.
I should, but I won’t.
I’m too determined to not let Michael, Tamara, or Seth get the best of me.
Second Chance Beauty should be a dream job, I’ve enjoyed—maybe loved—working here . . .but lately, I don’t know. Leaving my job and having to restart is daunting.
Is my life meant to be a revolving door of goodbyes and starting over?
I’m constantly restarting when it comes to my love life. Sleeping around or dating red flags like you throw spaghetti at the wall and hope it sticks.
And with no apartment. . .
Welcome to adulthood, Chloe; it sure is fun.
I tighten my jaw, maintaining eye contact with my boss. “Okay, I understand.” I don’t, but there’s gotta be another way around this.
“You can go now.” I’m easily dismissed.
Blazing back to my office, I unlock the door, grab my phone, and leave.
I say to the receptionist by the elevators, “I’m heading out for a late lunch. If anyone needs me, can you take a message?”
“Bring me back a coffee? ”
“Usual order?”
“No oat milk, I’m trying to watch my sugar. Skim.”
“You’ve got it.” I warmly smile at the single mom of three before getting into the elevator.
Outside, I walk to a coffee shop and then pass it, needing to work out my pent-up energy. I can’t go home and shower because I have an in-person meeting in forty-five minutes.
I pull my phone out of my purse and press call on his contact.
“Well, well, well.”
“Are you serious?” I yell at Seth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe.”
“Do not babe me, and yes, you do. The partnership? Is this some ploy to get my attention?”
He laughs. I pull the phone away from my ear because it’s heinous. “I’d never do anything like that.”
“Then why is it ending? I was almost fired because of you.”
“It’s been two years. The partnership was fun while it lasted, but the company found new, better products to use.”
“Don’t try to talk in code to me. Everything you just said was about me.”
“Everything isn’t about you, Chloe. You’re so conceited, believing the world needs to revolve around you. It was miserable dating you, having to put up with your schedule, friends, and hobbies.”
“Are you hearing yourself right now? Seth, that was you.”
“There you are again, making this about you.”
I blow out fiery air.
“What will it take to keep the brand partnership?”
“A date. Another chance.”
After what he just said? Is this man—scratch that, he is not a man, but a boy—delusional? He cannot be serious right now.
“No,” I deadpan. “Anything else?”
“I’ll think and get back to you.” There’s a pause, and I’m about to hang up before he speaks again, “You know you never called me back last week. I was in town for the weekend and came to see you. Where were you?”
“I don’t live there anymore,” is all I say. “And you don’t get to know any more details about my life.”
I end the call frustrated.
Grabbing a coffee for Sue and myself, I return.
After spending the rest of the day in meetings, I ended up staying late before going to a hot yoga class.
When I open the door at 9:30, the place is quiet, and the lights are off except for a single light in the kitchen. I find a plate of dinner with heating instructions on a note next to it.
Added to tonight’s note was:
I’m sorry xx - C