Beautiful Bitch Part 5

I glanced down at the clock on my dashboard and the date, backlit in red, hit me like a fist to the chest: May 5. Exactly one year ago, I'd watched Chloe walk off the plane from San Diego, her shoulders set in hurt and anger at how I'd essentially thrown her under the bus after she'd covered for me with a client. The next day she'd resigned; she'd left me. I blinked, trying to clear the memory from my mind. She came back, I reminded myself. We'd worked it out in the past eleven months, and despite all of my frustration with my work schedule, I'd never been happier. She was the only woman I'd ever want.

I thought back to my previous breakup, with Sylvie almost two years ago now. Our relationship started the way one climbs on an escalator: with a single step and then moving without effort along a single path. We started out friendly and easily slipped into physical intimacy. The situation worked perfectly for me because she provided companionship and s.e.x, and she'd never asked for more than I offered. When we broke up, she admitted she knew I wouldn't give her more, and for a while the s.e.x and quasi-intimacy had been enough. Until, for her, they weren't anymore.

After a long embrace and one final kiss, I'd let her go. I'd gone straight to my favorite restaurant for a quiet dinner alone, and then headed to bed early, where I slept the entire night without waking once. No drama. No heartbreak. It ended and I closed the door on that part of my life, completely ready to move on. Three months later, I was back in Chicago.

It was comical to compare that to the reaction I'd had to losing Chloe. I'd essentially turned into a filthy hobo, not eating, not showering, and surviving entirely on scotch and self-pity. I remembered clutching to the tiny details Sara would share with me about Chloe-how she was doing, how she looked-and trying to determine from these tidbits whether she missed me and could possibly be as miserable as I was.

The day Chloe returned to RMG was, coincidentally, Sara's last day at the firm. Although we had made up, Chloe had insisted that she sleep at her place and I sleep at mine so that we would actually get some rest. After a chaotic morning, I walked into the break room to find Chloe snacking on a small pack of almonds, reading some marketing reports. Sara was heating up leftovers in the tiny microwave, having refused our entreaties to give her a big sendoff lunch. I came in to pour myself a cup of coffee, and the three of us stood together in loaded silence for what felt like fifteen minutes.

I'd finally broken it.

"Sara," I said, and my voice felt too loud in the silent room. Her eyes turned to me, wide and clear. "Thank you for coming to me that first day Chloe was gone. Thank you for giving me whatever updates you could. For that, and other reasons, I'm sorry to see you go."

She shrugged, smoothing her bangs to the side and giving me a small smile. "I'm just glad to see you two together again. Things have been way too quiet around here. And by quiet I mean boring. And by boring I mean n.o.body screaming or calling each other a hateful shrew." She coughed and took an almost comically loud slurp from her drink.

Chloe groaned. "No chance of that anymore, I a.s.sure you." She popped an almond into her mouth. "He may not be my boss anymore, but he's still most definitely a screamer."

Laughing, I stole a peek at her a.s.s as she stood and bent down to pull a bottle of water out of the bottom shelf of the fridge.

"Still," I said, turning back to Sara. "I appreciate that you kept me up to date. I would have probably lost my mind otherwise."

Sara's eyes softened and, as she fidgeted, I could tell she was a little uncomfortable in the face of my rare display of emotion. "Like I said, I'm glad it worked out. These things are worth fighting for." She lifted her chin and gave Chloe one last smile before leaving the room.

That giddiness I'd felt after Chloe's return made it easy to ignore the whispers that followed us through the halls of Ryan Media Group. I had my office and she had hers now, and we were each determined to prove to ourselves as much as anyone else that we could do this.

We'd lasted almost an hour apart.

"I missed you," she said, slipping into my office and closing the door behind her. "Do you think they'll give me my old office back?"

"No. Much as I like the idea, at this point it would be blatantly inappropriate."

"I was only half serious." She rolled her eyes and then paused, looking around. I could almost see each memory coming back to her: when she'd spread her legs across the desk from me, when she'd let me make her come with my fingers to distract her from her worries, and, I imagine, each time we'd sat together in this office, not saying everything we could have said so much sooner.

"I love you," I said. "I've loved you for a long time."

She blinked up and then moved close, stretching to kiss me. And then she pulled me into the bathroom and begged me to make love to her against the wall, at noon on a Monday.

As I pulled into the parking deck at the offices and turned into my spot, I remembered Sara's words. Shutting off the car, I stared at the concrete wall in front of me. These things are worth fighting for. Sara had taken her own advice home to Chicago's most deplorable womanizer. She'd looked out for me when she knew I was broken and lost without Chloe. In contrast, I'd let Sara continue on with a man I knew was unfaithful, all because I felt it wasn't my place to interfere. Where would I be if Sara had done the same?

Contemplating what that said about me, I climbed from the car and into the main lobby. The night security guard waved, then went back to his newspaper as I headed to the elevators. The building was so empty I could hear every creak and click of the machine around me. Wheels whirred along cables and the car gave a quiet thud as it settled on the eighteenth floor.

I knew no one else was here. The team was scrambling to find the newest version of the file, and in their panic were probably scouring their local doc.u.ment files on their laptops. I doubted anyone had thought to come in and check the work server.

In the end I'd had to leave Chloe for what amounted to twenty-three minutes of work, which effectively guaranteed my mood tomorrow would be thunderous. I hated having to do someone else's job. The contract had been mislabeled and-exactly as I had suspected-put into the wrong folder on the server. In fact, a hard copy was sitting faceup on my desk, where someone actually competent might have noticed it and spared me this trip to the office. I forwarded the file to one of my executives in Marketing and made several copies of the doc.u.ment itself, highlighting the parties on the first page and pointedly placing one on the desk of every person involved in the account, before finally leaving the office. It was, in a way, kind of d.i.c.kish of me to be so precise. But then, this was what they earned when they pulled me away from Chloe.

I knew these small inconveniences got me too worked up, but it was this type of detail that defined a team. Which was exactly why I needed someone on top of their game for New York. I groaned as I dropped back into my car and started the engine, knowing this was just one more thing I needed to accomplish in the next month.

In my current mood, I was in no state to return to Chloe. I'd only be surly and irritable . . . and not really in the fun way.

G.o.d, I just wanted to be with her. Why did it have to be so f.u.c.king difficult? I had so few hours with Chloe as it was, and I didn't want to waste them because I was stressed about work and apartment hunting and finding someone who could just do their f.u.c.king job without being babysat. We'd complained about not seeing enough of each other, of working too hard, why didn't we just . . . fix it? Go away? I knew Chloe thought the timing was all wrong, but when would it ever be right? n.o.body was going to just hand it to us and since when had I ever been the type of person who waited for something to come along anyway?

f.u.c.k that. Fix it.

"Get your s.h.i.t together, Ben." My voice rang out in the quiet interior of my car, and after a brief glace to the clock to make sure I wasn't calling too late, I reached for my phone, scrolling to the correct number before hitting dial. I pulled out of the parking spot and turned onto Michigan Avenue.

After about six rings, Max's voice boomed from the car speakers. "Oi, Ben!"

I smiled, accelerating away from work and headed toward one of the most familiar places on earth to me. "Max, how are you?"

"Good, mate. Very b.l.o.o.d.y good. What's this rumor I hear of you lot moving out to the big city?"

I nodded, answering, "We'll be there in a little over a month. Getting set up at Fifth and Fiftieth."

"Close by. Perfect. We'll have to get together when you get to town . . ." He trailed off.

"Definitely, definitely." I hesitated, knowing Max was probably wondering why I was calling him at eleven thirty at night on a Tuesday. "Look, Max, I have a bit of a favor to ask."

"Let's have it."

"I'd like to take my girlfriend away for a bit, and-"

"Girlfriend?" His laughter filled my car.

I laughed, too. I was fairly certain I'd never introduced anyone to Max that way. "Chloe, yes. We both work for RMG and have been slammed lately with the Papadakis campaign. It's rolling quite nicely now, and we maybe have some wiggle room before we move . . ." I hesitated, feeling the words bubble up inside me. "Would I be insane to hire someone to pack up our life here, find us a place in New York, and just . . . leave for a few weeks? Just get the h.e.l.l out of town?"

"That doesn't sound mental, Ben. It sounds like the best way to keep yourself sorted."

"I think so, too. And I know it's impulsive, but I was thinking of taking Chloe to France. I was wondering if you still had the house in Ma.r.s.eille, and if so, whether we could rent it for a few weeks."

Max was laughing quietly. "f.u.c.k yeah, it's still mine. But forget renting it-just have at it. I'll send you the directions straightaway. I'll have Ines go by and clean up for you. The place has been empty since I was there over the winter holidays." He paused. "When were you thinking of heading out?"

The vise that seemed to grip my chest loosened immeasurably as the plan began to solidify in my head. "This weekend?"

"s.h.i.t yeah, I'll get on it. Send me your flight details when you have them. I'll call her in the morning and make sure she's there to give you the keys."

"This is fantastic. Thank you, Max. I owe you."

I could practically hear his sly grin when he said, "I'll remember that."

Feeling relaxed for the first time in ages, I turned up the music and let myself imagine getting on a plane with Chloe, nothing ahead of us but sunshine, long mornings spent naked in bed, and some of the best food and wine the world had ever conjured up.

But I had one more stop to make. I knew it was late to go to my parents', but I had no choice. My mind was spinning with plans, and I couldn't head to bed until every last detail had been sorted out.

On the twenty-minute drive to their house, I called and left a message for my travel agent. Then I left a message on my brother Henry's work voice mail that I was leaving for three weeks. I didn't even let myself imagine his reaction. We had a new office, we had everything at work sorted, and we could leave the business of packing up to someone else. I left a message for each of my senior managers letting them know the plan and what I expected each of them to handle in my absence. And then I rolled down all of the windows and let the cool night air whip around me, taking all of my stress with it.

Pulling up in front of my parents' house, I laughed thinking back on the first time Chloe and I had come here together as a couple.

It was three days after her presentation to the scholarship board. Two of those days we'd scarcely left my home or my bed. But after the constant calls and texts from my family asking us to come over, for me to let them share some time with Chloe, we agreed to a dinner at my parents' house. Everyone had missed her.

We talked on the drive, laughing and teasing, my free hand entwined with one of hers. Absently, she ran the index finger of her other hand in small circles over the top of my wrist, as if rea.s.suring herself that it was real, that I was real, that we were. We hadn't faced the world outside yet, other than that night out with her girlfriends following her presentation. The transition would no doubt be at least a little awkward. But I would never have expected Chloe to be anxious about any of it. She'd always faced every challenge with her own brand of bullheaded fearlessness.

It was only when we stood on the porch and I reached to open their front door that I realized her hand inside mine was shaking.

"What's wrong?" I pulled my hand back, turned her to face me.

She rolled her shoulders. "Nothing. I'm good."

"Unconvincing."

She threw me an annoyed look. "I'm fine. Just open the door."

"Holy s.h.i.t," I said on an exhale, stunned. "Chloe Mills is actually nervous."

This time she turned to glare up at me fully. "You spotted that? Christ, you're brilliant. Someone should make you a COO and give you a big fancy office." She reached to open the door herself.

I stopped her hand from turning the k.n.o.b and a grin spread across my face. "Chloe?"

"I just haven't seen them since before . . . you know. And they saw you when you were all . . ." She made a gesture around me, which I gathered was meant to indicate "when Bennett was a complete disaster, after Chloe left him."

"Just . . . let's not make this a thing. I'm fine," she went on.

"I'm just enjoying the rare sighting of a jittery Chloe. Give me a second, let me savor this."

"f.u.c.k off."

"f.u.c.k off?" I stepped in front of her, moved until her body pressed into mine. "Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Mills?"

Finally, she laughed, her shoulders surrendering their tense determination. "I just don't want it to be-"

The front door flew open, and Henry took a step forward, enveloping Chloe in a ma.s.sive hug. "There she is!"

Chloe peeked up at me over my brother's shoulder and laughed. "-awkward," she finished, wrapping her arms around him.

Just inside the doorway stood my parents, wearing the biggest s.h.i.t-eating grins I'd ever seen. My mom's eyes were suspiciously misty.

"It's been way too long," Henry said, releasing my girlfriend and looking right at me.

Groaning inwardly, I registered that this entire night could very easily turn into a giant recap of what a trial this whole thing had been for Chloe, of how impossible I'd been to work with; the details of Miss Mills's challenging att.i.tude would be whitewashed for history.

It was a good thing she looked so d.a.m.n fit in her little black dress. I'd need the distraction.

I'd called Dad the morning of Chloe's presentation, telling him I'd planned to attend and convince her to present the Papadakis slides. I told him, too, that I was going to ask her to take me back. As usual, Dad had been supportive, but guarded, telling me that no matter what Chloe said, he was proud of me for going after what I wanted.

What I wanted now stepped into the house and hugged my mother, and my father, before looking up at me. "I don't know what I was worried about," she whispered.

"Were you nervous?" Mom asked, eyes wide.

"I just left so abruptly. I've felt bad about that, and about not seeing either of you for months . . ." Chloe trailed off.

"No, no, no, no-you had to put up with Bennett," Henry said, ignoring my irritated sigh. "Trust us, we get it."

"Come on," I groaned, pulling her back. "We don't need to make this a thing."

"I just knew," Mom whispered, putting her hands on Chloe's face. "I knew."

"What the h.e.l.l, Mom?" I stepped closer, hugging her first and giving her a scowl second. "You 'knew' this even when you set her up with Joel?"

"I think the phrase is 's.h.i.t or get off the pot,'" Henry offered.

"That is absolutely not the phrase I would have used, Henry Ryan." Mom threw him a look and then wrapped her arm around Chloe, urging her down the hall. She turned to talk to me over her shoulder. "I figured if you didn't see what was right in front of your face, maybe another man deserved a shot."

"Poor Joel never had a shot," Dad mumbled, surprising all of us and apparently even himself. He looked up, and then laughed. "Someone had to say it."

Climbing out of the car, I smiled at the memory of the rest of that evening: the ten minutes during which we'd all dissolved into hysterics over our shared experiences of getting food poisoning at inopportune times, the unbelievable creme brulee my mother had served after dinner, and, much later, the way Chloe and I had barely made it back inside my house before falling into a tangle of limbs and sweat on my living room floor.

I turned the k.n.o.b on my parents' front door, knowing my dad would still be up, but hoping not to wake my mother. The k.n.o.b creaked and I eased it open with familiar care, lifting it slightly where I knew the wood swelled a little at the threshold.

But, to my surprise, Mom greeted me in the entryway, wearing her old purple robe and holding two cups of tea.

"I don't know why," she said, extending one cup to me, "but I was pretty sure you were going to turn up here tonight."

"Mother's intuition?" I asked, taking the cup and bending to kiss her cheek. I lingered there, hoping I could keep my emotions in check tonight.

"Something like that." Tears filled her eyes and she turned away before I could say something about them. "Come on, I know why you're here. I've got it down in the kitchen."

Five.

"And you're sure we'll get the signatures on time?" I asked my a.s.sistant, who checked her watch and jotted something down in her notepad.

"Yes. Aaron's on his way over there now. We should have them back by lunch."

"Good," I said, closing the files and handing them back. "We'll give it a final look before the meeting and if everything goes-" The door to my outer office opened, and a very determined-looking Bennett walked inside. My a.s.sistant let out a terrified squeak and I waved for her to go. She practically sprinted out of there.

Long legs carried him across the room in only a few strides, and he stopped just on the other side of my desk, slapping two crisp white envelopes down on a stack of marketing reports.

I looked down to the envelopes and then back up to him. "Something about this is so familiar," I said. "Which one of us is going to slam the door and storm out to the stairwell?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just open them."

"Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Ryan."