Love, Chloe
Page 41

“Hi Vic,” I spoke quickly, my fingers picking at the seam of my shirt. “Are you in town?” I held my breath, half hoping he wasn’t, our interaction pushed off further.
“Nope. Blue marlin are hitting in the South Pacific, so we’re going out. I’ll be back in Fiji by the first, then back in the States by the fifth. Why?” His voice sharpened. “You need anything? I can have Jake there—”
“No.” I tried to collect my thoughts. “I just wanted to talk. In person. We can do it when you get back.”
“Is everything okay? I can fly back today.”
“NO.” I took a deep breath. “No, that’s not necessary. I just wanted to…” This was stupid. A face-to-face wasn’t needed. Discussing it right now was a better idea. “I’m seeing someone. I just wanted to tell you about it. And talk through it.”
“Oh, yeah. The handyman.” I could hear the smirk on his face, and it pissed me off.
“Just call me when you get back in town,” I snapped. “We can talk then.”
“I’ll be back on the fifth. Let’s meet then. My club. Ten o’clock.”
“No.” I sputtered. “I was thinking breakfast. In Central Park.”
“Breakfast isn’t good for me. And you said it was important. So let’s knock it out as soon as I get back. Ten o’clock.”
“I can’t meet you at ten at night, Vic. That doesn’t … work for me.” I let out a hard breath and dug harder on the seam, finding a loose thread.
“For you or for the insecure boy you’re dating?”
I frowned.
“Ten on the fifth. Wear something hot.”
And before I could find a response, he hung up.
I knocked on Carter’s door. Glanced at my watch. Tried a second time. No answer.
I eyed the stairwell and took that route, jogging down the stairs and into the basement. Carter had an office there, a tiny box stacked so high with items you could barely get inside. I had about forty-five minutes before Nicole would get out of her spa appointment and was hoping for lunch with my—I swallowed hard—boyfriend. That word still seemed foreign in my throat. Especially now, when I entered the dirty bottom floor, a place my prior boyfriends would never set foot in.
His office was empty, but the engine room door was cracked. I peeked in, the room cool and dark, and saw him. His shirt was off, the giant mechanics of our building behind him. We were talking rough big machines framing his tan, muscular skin, and I couldn’t help but step inside, my hand pulling the door shut behind me, my sandals smacking against the floor.
He looked up, a wrench in hand, and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. Saw the look in my eyes, and stood, setting down the wrench. I forgot all about eating.
He picked me up under my arms, carrying me backward, my feet hanging limp, a huff of breath leaving me as he pushed me against the wall. My red sundress got shoved up, his pants quickly unzipped, and then he was inside me. Concrete cool and hard against my back, his grip biting into my ass, the grunt of his thrusts hot in my ear. He fucked me against that wall, and when I came, I screamed, the yell lost in the loud rumblings of the machines. When he finished it was sudden, his grip on my skin tightening, and I felt the shudder of him right before he pulled out.
That night, I told him about my attempt to call Vic and the disaster it had become. He listened quietly, his eyes darkening when I didn’t sugarcoat the ending and told him exactly what Vic had said. How he’d called him insecure. How he’d wanted to meet me at night. Carter had looked away, a pulse in his jaw ticking, then back at me.
“I didn’t want to force you to meet him. That wasn’t what it was about.”
“I know.” We sat on his couch, my feet in his lap, his thumb rubbing gentle pressure into the soles of my feet. I rested my head on the arm of the couch and looked at the ceiling. “And I do think I should talk to him. Just to clear the air. Just so there’s no doubt, in his mind, that we’re over. I want him to stop everything he’s doing.”
“So then meet him. What difference is morning or night?” Carter’s thumb resumed its massage.
I shrugged. “It’s a control thing, really. I guess I don’t like him dictating the place.” My lie came out perfectly. It wasn’t really the place, or the time that bothered me. It was the thought of seeing him. I wanted to put Vic in a box and pretend he didn’t exist. I didn’t want to look up into his face and see our history there. Even scarier, any regret on his face.
“It’s the last time you’ll have to see him.” Carter ran his hand up the entire length of my leg, and I shifted, giving him better access.
“Right.” I was starting to lose my train of thought, his fingers sliding along the inside of my thigh.
He watched me squirm and his eyes darkened. “I don’t want you to meet him alone. Make sure there will be other people there.” There was possession in his words and it was unbelievably hot, his face tightening, hands a little rougher on my legs. My mind flashed back to our second encounter, in the hall of my apartment, when he’d been pissed. I’d thought that look on him was hot. A possessive Carter was even hotter.
I slid deeper into the couch and pushed my foot into his crotch suggestively. “I’ll think about it.” I grinned when he crawled on top of me, his eyes narrowing.
“You do that, Ms. Madison.”
“Or what?” I challenged him.
His hands settled on the clasps of my shorts.
His fingers pulled at my thong.
His head dropped between my legs.
And our conversation officially ended.
64. Six Tons of Oh Shit
I sat next to Dante, my laptop out, fingers quick as Nicole barked things from the backseat. Good thing I took typing in high school. I needed every bit of my 50-words-per-minute ability when dealing with Nicole’s demands.
“And tell him that if he can’t tell forsythia from winter jasmine that it’s his damn fault, and I’m not paying for it.” She paused and I heard the crack of a Diet Pepsi opening. “Did you run that background check on our new neighbors yet?”
“Yes. Just a second, I’ll pull it up.” I opened the file and turned in my seat, glancing back at her. Later, they would say that that small movement, my shift to the center of the car, saved my neck. All I knew was when the airbag exploded, it knocked me sideways in between the two front seats. And when we were hit a second time, six tons of moving truck slamming into the back of the SUV, our eyes met for one horrific split second.
A split second where Nicole wasn’t bitchy or demanding or unfaithful.
A split second where she was confused. Then, smoke was everywhere, and I didn’t see her at all.
I couldn’t breathe. It was hot and dusty, clouds of smoke coming from the airbags, and I clawed at the door, trying to get it open. My hand finally found the handle and I pushed it open, gulping at the fresh air, the cab clearing. I heard Dante cough my name and turned to look at him, his hand pushing at the airbag, his own door cracking. “I’m fine,” I called, fumbling for my belt, the hot metal of the other truck close, glass everywhere, and I wanted to look in the backseat, wanted to know … but I couldn’t, I didn’t.
65. I Should Have Seen This Coming
Nicole was not a person I’d ever felt affection for, yet there was this lump in my throat at the thought of her hurt. A bigger swell of emotion for Clarke. I didn’t know why he loved that rotten woman, but he did. If she was hurt or dying … I didn’t know how he would react. I stared at the carnage that was our vehicle and started to shake. The front hood was smashed, nothing incredibly major but enough to have stopped the Escalade in the middle of the street. It was the giant truck stuck into the back of the vehicle that was the problem. A collision that had eaten Nicole’s seat in the crunch.