Chapter 1 #2
Calvin kissed the top of her head then rolled out of bed. With one eye, she watched his toned body hurry across to his bathroom. He shook his bare butt at her before disappearing from sight.
You know you’re not going to be able to have a serious conversation with him, right? He’s not wired that way when it comes to love.
An idea sparked in Claire’s mind, sharp and sudden. She grabbed her phone and quickly typed out a text, keeping one eye fixed on the bathroom door.
Claire: Any chance you can help me pull a last-minute prank on Calvin?
Her pulse jumped when the reply appeared seconds later.
Liz: ARE YOU KIDDING? It’s what I live for! What do you need?
Claire: Call him in a few minutes. Tell him something has happened. Something industry related. Make him lose his shit for a minute.
Claire watched three little dots bounce on her screen as Liz typed a reply. Pulling one over on Calvin? Easier said than done. The women had joined forces before, retaliating against an endless array of pranks Calvin pulled on them. This time, however, Claire’s intentions weren’t to get a laugh.
Liz: I know just the thing. Two words: Annabelle Atkins.
A string of emojis followed: demon face, laughing/crying, clapping hands, and the like. Was it borderline cruel? Maybe. Would it prove a historically accurate point? Most likely.
Claire: Liz, you are a master *bows to your greatness*
Liz: If anyone can make him lose his shit, it’s Annabelle.
Claire responded with a winky-face emoji, placed her phone back on the nightstand, and turned off the lamp. The room fell dark but not silent, the melodic echo of Calvin whistling Greensleeves in the bathroom filtering through. Upon his return, Claire stayed quiet.
"Now, where were we?” he asked, snuggling up against her once more.
"We were about to discuss whether you've changed since this time last year. Spoiler alert: you haven’t.”
"Claire, if I were the same person as last year, I wouldn't be giving you this."
He stretched his body over hers, turned the light back on, and placed a tiny box on the bedside table. The faint sounds of Christmas music from downstairs faded away, replaced by her intense heartbeat.
Well, shit… this is it.
"Calvin…” she sat up, turning to him.
"A little trinket. Something I thought you might enjoy. Open it."
Claire studied his face. The lamplight softened the angular lines of his nose and jaw. His eyes sparkled with a sweet glint of anticipation. Maybe it’s just earrings or a bracelet, she considered. He wouldn’t propose like this, with me borderline tipsy in his bed, wearing a plain T-shirt… would he?
With reluctance, she feigned a mixture of excitement and curiosity. She removed the ribbon and wrapping, finding exactly what she expected and feared: a black velvet box.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…
"May I?" he asked, taking it from her now shaking hands. With a sly smile, he flipped open the box to reveal a monster diamond mounted on a diamond-encrusted platinum band. It bordered on vulgar. A stone so huge it looked fake. Her heart sank even more.
"That's…some trinket," she observed, her heart revving in turbo sport mode.
He reached for her hand. "Let's try it on."
“Calvin, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” she said.
“We’ve got the rest of our lives to talk, darling.” He laughed softly, holding the ring between his fingers. “I’m about to ask you to become the little woman. Now give me that beautiful hand.”
He reached again, but Claire pulled her hand back before he could take it.
"They made the offer," she blurted.
Calvin blinked. "They? Who? What offer?"
“The people at Avi."
"When was this?" he asked.
"Yesterday. Isaac—he currently runs in the New York office—said the job is mine if I want it,” she informed him.
"I see." He leaned back slightly. "I had no idea you were still batting that idea around. Is this the creative director gig you mentioned a couple of months ago? They sell handbags or something?”
"The athletic shoe company,” Claire said quietly. “Remember? I showed you their Instagram account…”
Her voice faded at the blankness of his expression. Calvin stared at her as if she were describing the career ambitions of someone he barely knew. A heavy feeling settled in her chest.
Claire drew in a slow breath. “They’re expanding into athleisure and moving into the UK market. I’d be based out of the new London office. Isaac’s heading operations there.”
“London?” Calvin repeated. “So, Molly’s going to win after all. She never wanted to share you with me anyway.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re not serious. This has absolutely nothing to do with Molly.”
“She’s been begging you to move to London for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Avi came after me, Calvin, not the other way around.” Claire folded her arms tightly across her chest. “And they need an answer ASAP.”
"Avi’s not the only one," he said quietly, lowering his gaze to the ring box.
"Don't do this," she said.
He looked back up at her. “Do you want it, Claire? Is this job really what you want?”
She dragged both hands through her hair and scratched lightly at her scalp, as though she could loosen the pressure building there.
"I don't know what I want."
Calvin leaned in, his tone low and soft. "I know what I want."
His fingertips brushed her cheek. There'd been a time when he could silence her doubts with the smallest touch. A time when his tenderness could make her ignore the disappointment. The feelings were still there somewhere, buried beneath months of distance, frustration, and things left unsaid.
"You know you don't have to work,” he added.
"I want to work," she said firmly.
"Claire, I make more money than we could ever spend in this or any other lifetime. And if you—"
"You think this is about money?” She stared at him. “This has nothing to do with money. I work because I need to work. It's who I am and what I’m most proud of. You, of all people, should understand."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his entire demeanor changed, as though he’d decided the problem was simply one of logistics.
"Okay, then let's check the flight schedules between here and Heathrow,” he leaned forward with renewed confidence. “I’ll have Liz get you a set of keys to my place in London.”
He reached for her closed laptop. Claire caught his hand before he could touch it.
“Calvin,” She squeezed his hand tightly. “I don't want a relationship that exists between airports."
His expressions softened. "We can make it work, Claire. I know we can."
She shook her head, an unmistakable sadness in her eyes. "I don't want something I have to make work."
He lived on coffee and takeout, his days spent on sets and in closed-door meetings with Hollywood’s monied elite.
Claire spent her hours behind the lens or in front of a screen, her keen artistic eye shaping images to evoke emotion and connection.
His loud world moved fast, while hers demanded patience and stillness.
Claire knew Calvin had love in his heart, but sadly, very few hours to give it.
"You are one amazing woman, Claire Jordan,” he said. “You give the answer before I’ve had a chance to ask the question. Of course, it's not the right answer…”
"Please don't make this any harder," she begged.
"Would you at least do me the honor of trying it on? I want to see how it looks on that scrumptious finger of yours."
"Cally…” She shook her head.
"Please? For me?" He batted his eyelashes in theatrical fashion.
"You don't give up, do you?"
"Can I let you in on a little secret?” He lowered his voice. “The reason platinum is so valuable is because it has magical powers."
"Magical powers?" she repeated, one eyebrow cocked.
"I guarantee, if you put this ring on that finger, you’ll change your mind. It's happened before. No woman can resist," he said with a smile.
"Is it possible for you to be serious with me? Ever?"
"I've never been more serious. I’m the bubbly in your life, darling. The fizz that makes it so refreshing.” His mouth turned up into a sincere smile.
Yet sincerity alone wasn’t enough. Of course she cared about him.
That part was never in question. But to call what they had deep, all-encompassing love would be a stretch.
She needed more than long weekends carved out of packed calendars and phone calls squeezed between meetings.
Claire wanted someone who would choose the relationship without it feeling like a negotiation.
As much as she had once believed Calvin Butterworth to be her person, deep down she knew he wasn’t.
"You’re so beautiful, Claire. And you have no idea which makes you even more so. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known." His finger traced the line of her jaw.
"Don't…” She reached and pulled his hand down.
Claire fired a warning shot with her eyes. Calvin sighed and looked away. After a minute, he brought his face back to hers. This time, his eyes were understanding. Wounded, but understanding.
"You know,” he said after a beat. “I've always wondered what it would be like."
"What?" Claire asked warily.
"This." He gestured between them. "I must say, it's not at all what I expected."
"What are you talking about?”
"The break-up scene. I thought there'd be quite a bit more drama about the whole thing. Crying. Hysteria."
Claire let out an exasperated breath and looked away.
"So, this is it,” he went on. “This is what it’s like when the All-American girl breaks up with the dreamy English bloke? Ending some decades-old schoolgirl Jane Austen fantasy or something?”
Calvin's light tone didn’t fool Claire. Humor was his weapon of choice when feelings and emotions got too close. Her eyes flicked back to his.
“I get it. You were only in it for my accent,” he added.
The joke fell flat. Claire's frustration grew.
"I'm taking the job,” she stated.
Calvin let out a soft whistle. "Wow. That was fast. Two minutes ago, you didn't know what you wanted."
"Is it possible for you to stop behaving like some character out of a Noel Coward play for two seconds and listen to me?"
His eyes softened. "I’m sorry, love."