Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHLOE
T wo days later, I find myself back in the office.
It’s strange how everything appears so normal and peaceful as I settle into my desk chair, morning light filtering in through the large windows.
I’ve felt like this before. When my mother died, the mundane seemed so out of place for a while. How can everything look so ordinary after something so terrible has happened?
I take a breath and allow myself to sink into the silence of the room.
Until my phone vibrates loudly on the desk. It startles me, even though I should have expected it. I keep getting texts from people in my life ever since I told my brother about the restraining order against Lucas. Michael even slept on the couch the night he visited, worried to leave me alone and I was too tired to object by then. He cried and I cried that night, and Lucas won’t be a wedge in our relationship anymore. There’s a silver lining , I think.
As I reach for my phone, I see that it’s a text from Liam.
How are you?
The question is another thing that seems so normal, it’s almost absurd. My asshole ex is still out there, and my confidential client information is still being held for a ransom of ten million dollars.
The 48-hour deadline has passed, but Liam assures me that the ransom is still in place. Maybe because Lucas can’t afford to expose all my information without getting paid first, especially now. Hopefully, Liam’s team can recover my files and trace them to Lucas.
I owe Liam for all he’s done for me, but I don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.
The last man who thought I owed him something turned monstrous.
My phone vibrates in my hand again.
I miss you, Chloe.
The message softens me. I know he means it.
I’m at the office, talk later.
The bubbles appear right away as he’s typing.
You’re working? You should take some time off.
I frown—he’s very opinionated. I decide on a playful text back that might also give him a hint.
You’re so bossy.
Well, I am your boss, technically.
My boss and my lover. I want him so much, but another part of me resists—neither a real nor a fake relationship feels right at the moment.
I slide my phone into my desk drawer without responding. It’s time to meet my client.
Right now, it’s Edward, an app developer in his mid-thirties who struck it rich by selling a gaming app. He still looks like the kind of guy you’d expect to see wearing a gaming headset in front of a massive TV screen with a bag of Cheetos beside him.
Wearing a gray sweatsuit, he drops onto my couch—the same one where Liam and I had been intimate—and I push away those memories.
“Well, she ghosted me,” he declares, his fingers running over the bald spot on his head.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I frown. He’s had terrible luck establishing any type of long-term dating relationship. “What happened when you asked her out?” I ask, remembering our entire last session spent strategizing his approach.
But I suspect that he didn’t ask her out. He presses his lips into a thin line and doesn’t respond. His lack of response tells me everything I need to know.
“It’s too much pressure,” he finally admits.
“It’s your old pattern,” I point out gently, nudging him toward self-awareness. He hesitates to take the initiative in relationships, then wonders why things don’t work out. We’ve been working on breaking this cycle.
He shakes his head, defeated. “I need something easier. I can’t start by asking a girl out,” he protests, as if I’d suggested something as painful as a root canal.
“Okay,” I reply, masking my frustration. “Where do you think is a good place to start?”
“Well,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “maybe with you.”
My heart stops. What?
He notices my confusion and pulls out his phone, rapidly tapping and swiping.
“You’re fake dating Liam Wright, aren’t you?” he asks, almost accusatorily.
He turns his phone toward me, displaying an article headline:
Leaked Texts Reveal Liam Wright’s Fake Relationship with His Life Coach
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I feel the urge to escape. “Um, uh—” I stammer, words failing me.
“I just don’t get it,” he continues, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to help me find something real, and here you are, getting paid to play pretend with some celebrity?” His eyes bore into me, filled with a mix of confusion and judgment.
I sink deeper in my seat, feeling small. “It’s complicated,” I manage to say, taking a deep breath in an attempt to salvage my composure. “And it’s my personal business,” I add firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away. “It doesn’t affect my ability to help you.”
He chuckles dryly. “It has everything to do with that. Would you trust a dentist with bad teeth?”
“Wow,” I exhale sharply. “I don’t think—” I start to defend myself.
“I wouldn’t, no offense,” he interrupts briskly. “I hope you figure things out.” He stands, giving me a look of pity that makes me shrink inside. I avert my eyes, feeling tears prick at the corners.
As I hear the door close behind him, my composure breaks. Sobs convulse through me.
This was my fear from the start, the very concern I voiced to Liam at the beginning. This is why the fake arrangement was a bad idea. He could have found any other woman.
I need air. I need to get out of this room.
I wipe my eyes and fling my office door back open. The small lobby area is empty because it’s only quarter after the hour. My colleagues’ clients are still in their appointments and the next round of clients won’t arrive for another forty-five minutes or so.
I quickly cross the hallway and push open the stairwell door, quickly ascending the flight of stairs.
I burst out onto the rooftop patio, the harsh sunlight making me squint. Normally a lunchtime retreat for some professionals, it’s thankfully deserted at this early hour.
I weave through potted plants and sink into a seat by the glass railing, the same kind of barrier I leaned on the last time I was on a rooftop with Liam, back when everything felt dreamy and exhilarating—before everything fell apart.
My stupid choices. My mind scolds me relentlessly. I knew better. I knew it wouldn't end well.
I sniffle as tears stream down my cheeks. After a moment, I pull out my phone.
Please answer , I silently hope as the line rings.
“Chloe?” His voice comes through after a few rings, and I can't hold back a choked sob.
“Hi, Dad.”