Beautiful Bitch
Page 22
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He followed my gaze. “What?”
“Three weeks? I can’t just drop everything and go to France for three weeks, Bennett!”
He stood, confused. “Why? I was able to make arrangements and—”
“Are you serious? First, we’re moving in a month. A month! And we haven’t even picked out an apartment! Then there’s my best friend, who was cheated on by the world’s biggest asshat last week. And let’s not forget the minor detail called my job? I have meetings and an entire department to hire and move to New York!”
His face fell; clearly this was not the reaction he’d anticipated. The sun was behind him and when he turned his head, tilting it the slightest bit, the light caught his eyelashes, the angles of his face.
Ugh. Guilt swelled in my chest like a balloon. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I leaned into him and laid my head against his shoulder. “That is absolutely not the way I meant to say all that.”
Strong arms wrapped around me and I felt him exhale. “I know.”
Bennett took my hand and led me to the small table in the corner of the room. He motioned for me to take a seat, while he took the chair opposite me. “Shall we negotiate?” he said, a challenge in his eyes I hadn’t seen since he’d stepped into my office.
This I could do.
He leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on the table in front of him. “The move,” he began. “Admittedly, it’s a big one. But we have a Realtor; I’ve seen the top three contenders. You just need to decide if you need to see them, or if you trust me to choose. We can let the Realtor handle the rest and pay people to do the actual packing and moving part.” He raised a brow in question and I nodded for him to continue. “I know how much you care about Sara. Talk to her; see where she’s at with all of this. You said you didn’t even know if she was leaving him, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. And your job . . . I’m so incredibly proud of you, Chloe. I know how hard you work and how important you are. But there will never be a perfect time. We’ll always be busy, there will always be people who want our attention, and there will always be things that feel like they can’t wait. It’s a good exercise for you in delegating tasks—I love you, but you suck at delegating. And it’s going to be even more hectic when we move. When’s the next time we’ll have a chance to do this? I want to be with you. I want to speak French to you and make you come on a bed in France where nobody can just drop by on the weekend or call either of us away for work.”
“You’re making it very hard to be the responsible adult here,” I said.
“Being responsible is overrated.”
I felt my mouth fall open and could do nothing but gape at him. I was just about to ask who this easygoing person was, and what they’d done with my boyfriend, when there was a knock at the door. I pulled my eyes away from a very pleased boyfriend to see a terrified intern walk in, staring at Bennett with fear in her eyes. No doubt she’d drawn the short straw and been sent down to retrieve the Bastard.
“Um . . . Excuse me, Miss Mills,” she stuttered, gaze locked on me instead of her real target. “They’re waiting for Mr. Ryan in the conference room on twelve . . .”
“Thank you,” I answered. She left and I turned back to Bennett.
“We’ll discuss this later?” he asked quietly, standing.
I nodded, still a little off balance from his change in attitude. “Thank you,” I said, vaguely motioning to the tickets, but meaning so much more.
He kissed my forehead. “Later.”
Travel had . . . never really worked out for Bennett and me. San Diego had been perfect while we were still tucked away in our own little bubble. It was when we tried to rejoin the living that it had all gone to hell. In a big way.
And then we’d planned to travel last Thanksgiving, and ended up canceling the trip because of work. We tried again in December; Bennett had been drowning in a huge fitness account that was set to launch just before the New Year, and we both had the Papadakis launch in early January. Somehow, though, I’d convinced him to come home with me for a long weekend over the holidays.
To meet my father.
Bennett hadn’t wanted to—he’d been in the final stages of this huge campaign, had a family of his own to contend with. And a girlfriend who had spent the better part of the last year telling her father what a giant, overbearing dick her boss was, only to then finally admit she was having sex with this boss. This trip had disaster written all over it.
“Three weeks? I can’t just drop everything and go to France for three weeks, Bennett!”
He stood, confused. “Why? I was able to make arrangements and—”
“Are you serious? First, we’re moving in a month. A month! And we haven’t even picked out an apartment! Then there’s my best friend, who was cheated on by the world’s biggest asshat last week. And let’s not forget the minor detail called my job? I have meetings and an entire department to hire and move to New York!”
His face fell; clearly this was not the reaction he’d anticipated. The sun was behind him and when he turned his head, tilting it the slightest bit, the light caught his eyelashes, the angles of his face.
Ugh. Guilt swelled in my chest like a balloon. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I leaned into him and laid my head against his shoulder. “That is absolutely not the way I meant to say all that.”
Strong arms wrapped around me and I felt him exhale. “I know.”
Bennett took my hand and led me to the small table in the corner of the room. He motioned for me to take a seat, while he took the chair opposite me. “Shall we negotiate?” he said, a challenge in his eyes I hadn’t seen since he’d stepped into my office.
This I could do.
He leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on the table in front of him. “The move,” he began. “Admittedly, it’s a big one. But we have a Realtor; I’ve seen the top three contenders. You just need to decide if you need to see them, or if you trust me to choose. We can let the Realtor handle the rest and pay people to do the actual packing and moving part.” He raised a brow in question and I nodded for him to continue. “I know how much you care about Sara. Talk to her; see where she’s at with all of this. You said you didn’t even know if she was leaving him, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. And your job . . . I’m so incredibly proud of you, Chloe. I know how hard you work and how important you are. But there will never be a perfect time. We’ll always be busy, there will always be people who want our attention, and there will always be things that feel like they can’t wait. It’s a good exercise for you in delegating tasks—I love you, but you suck at delegating. And it’s going to be even more hectic when we move. When’s the next time we’ll have a chance to do this? I want to be with you. I want to speak French to you and make you come on a bed in France where nobody can just drop by on the weekend or call either of us away for work.”
“You’re making it very hard to be the responsible adult here,” I said.
“Being responsible is overrated.”
I felt my mouth fall open and could do nothing but gape at him. I was just about to ask who this easygoing person was, and what they’d done with my boyfriend, when there was a knock at the door. I pulled my eyes away from a very pleased boyfriend to see a terrified intern walk in, staring at Bennett with fear in her eyes. No doubt she’d drawn the short straw and been sent down to retrieve the Bastard.
“Um . . . Excuse me, Miss Mills,” she stuttered, gaze locked on me instead of her real target. “They’re waiting for Mr. Ryan in the conference room on twelve . . .”
“Thank you,” I answered. She left and I turned back to Bennett.
“We’ll discuss this later?” he asked quietly, standing.
I nodded, still a little off balance from his change in attitude. “Thank you,” I said, vaguely motioning to the tickets, but meaning so much more.
He kissed my forehead. “Later.”
Travel had . . . never really worked out for Bennett and me. San Diego had been perfect while we were still tucked away in our own little bubble. It was when we tried to rejoin the living that it had all gone to hell. In a big way.
And then we’d planned to travel last Thanksgiving, and ended up canceling the trip because of work. We tried again in December; Bennett had been drowning in a huge fitness account that was set to launch just before the New Year, and we both had the Papadakis launch in early January. Somehow, though, I’d convinced him to come home with me for a long weekend over the holidays.
To meet my father.
Bennett hadn’t wanted to—he’d been in the final stages of this huge campaign, had a family of his own to contend with. And a girlfriend who had spent the better part of the last year telling her father what a giant, overbearing dick her boss was, only to then finally admit she was having sex with this boss. This trip had disaster written all over it.
