by Misti Murphy
“Hold up.” She dated that shark? Is he the reason she’s so neurotic about relationships and her career to the point where she’s almost ready to throw ours away just because my brother is her boss? “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit far? James clearly doesn’t have an issue, so I’m not sure why you’re so worked up about it.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. But this is my career, Paynter. I won’t let you ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that I would sabotage your career?”
“Well, you do hate plans. And you told your brother about us when I asked you not to.”
“I told him before I even knew you worked for him.”
She ignores me, directing her attention to James. She touches one of the diamonds at her ear and lifts her nose in the air. “I am so sorry about this. Would you mind if I took an early lunch?”
It’s a gut punch, an almost déjà vu moment, only the last time a woman made me feel like I was little more than a hindrance I told myself I was done with women like that.
"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?” James glances at his watch. “You and Paynter should probably use the afternoon to sort this out. Come in tomorrow morning with renewed focus.”
“There’s nothing between your brother and I to sort out. But thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I promise I’ll be back to my usual self.”
“Hang on.” I grab her elbow. “Did you mean that?”
“My career is my priority.” She flicks her gaze at me. “I thought I was clear on that point.”
I drop her arm and she races back the way she came, around the corner to where the elevators are. I honestly have no fucking clue what I was thinking, getting involved with another neurotic, power-hungry princess. It’s amazing how easily some sexy lingerie and a few breathy uses of my name can make me forget that I don’t just dislike her kind. I swore on one well-hung chandelier that I was done with them.
Done with Queen B.
And now done with Chloe “Oh God, my promotion” Green, who I am not going to chase down yet again. She can go ahead and run in those spindly heels of hers. The ones she isn’t actually wearing, thankfully, because otherwise she’d probably break an ankle or snap her neck with the way she bolts.
“So that was interesting,” James says as we both return to his office. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. What is there to do about it? “I’m pretty sure she just ended whatever was between us for the sake of her career. Or at least that’s what it sounded like, didn’t it?”
And why would I want to get more deeply involved with anyone like that? Just because when she’s not acting like her head’s lodged up her butt, she’s the most sexy, adorable woman I’ve ever met doesn’t mean she’s not completely unbalanced when it comes to her goddamn plans.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so out of sorts.” James collects his briefcase from under the desk. “Maybe that means something and maybe it doesn’t, but it might be worth looking into.”
“I’m not sure I want to find out,” I tell him as we head for the elevators.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHLOE
Why is it whenever I momentarily lose control over my life, it’s always because of a man? Marcus, who I thought would be the Mr. Corporate to my Ms. Corporate, until he backstabbed me. James, my boss, who has been grooming me to be a partner in his company and who has never seen me as anything less than the perfect business associate, witnessed me lose my cool with his brother. In his office, no less. I’ll be lucky if I have a job to go back to tomorrow, and I know I can kiss that partnership good-bye.
And then there’s Paynter. I don’t even know what to think about him. I want him, I probably could have had him, if not for that scene with Marcus. I thought he’d seen me at my worst when he caught me hanging laundry on my clothesline, but to him, watching me give my ex a dressing down while wearing one of my power suits is far, far worse.
Because it reminds him of his ex and the reasons they aren’t together anymore.
I swipe at annoying tears and then flip on the wipers to clear away the raindrops battering the windshield. I’m almost home. In a few minutes I can slip inside my second-best house and lock the doors and turn off all the lights and drown myself in a bottle of wine and a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms. I might just add a bag of Sour Patch Kids to the mix. Sugar always makes me feel better. At least until the stomach ache hits, but right now, I don’t care about consequences. I just want to disappear, be alone, wallow in my misery for a while. Reality will still be here tomorrow. Unfortunately.
Damn it, I hate crying. I brush away more tears and sniffle, and then I dig around in the console, searching for a tissue or a napkin, something to wipe my dripping nose. I guide the car down my street and then glance down when something stabs my palm. A pen. Not going to help get the waterworks under control.
Shifting my focus back to the road, I let out a shriek as I clench the steering wheel and slam both feet against the brake. The car skids to a stop, but I feel it anyway. A bump. Ohmigod, I hit something. Please tell me it was a squirrel or a raccoon or a mongoose or better yet, a rat. An animal I have no concern for whatsoever.
But as I scramble out of the car, practically falling on my ass on the wet pavement, I know it was not a rat. Whatever hopped out in front of my vehicle and then stopped and stared, mesmerized, was too big to be a rat. It was brown with floppy ears and a big white spot on its head.
It wasn’t a rat.
“Please tell me this is not happening.” Now I’m talking to myself. “This day has been bad enough, but this, this will definitely be the pinnacle. This will—oh no, it is!”
Spot is lying on the pavement, one leg twisted at an odd angle. She looks up at me and shakes her head, sending water droplets everywhere, and then she lets out this pitiful bleat that is nearly my undoing.
When she tries to stand, I drop to the ground and gently lift her into my lap, cradling her like the injured animal she is. She strains her neck and gives my face a swipe with her tiny pink tongue and somebody makes a sobbing noise. Shit, that’s me. I’m crying like a baby, bawling because I’ve just hit my goat with my car and I don’t know what to do now. I’ve never taken care of anyone but myself, and clearly I’ve done a lousy job at that, if my current predicament is any indication. So how am I supposed to fix this goat that I broke in the first place?
I hear the rumble of an engine over the sound of the rain splattering the ground, and it grows louder, indicating a car has turned down the street. I duck down, my wet hair slapping against my cheek. Burying my head against Spot’s sopping coat, I hope whoever it is isn’t a Good Samaritan and just keeps going. I don’t want to deal with any of my neighbors right now. I don’t have the strength to explain that yes, this is a goat in my arms, and yes, I hit it with my car, and yes, I’m crying because damn it, I didn’t mean to hurt her.
“Chloe? What are you doing down there?”
Of course it has to be that neighbor, although I’m actually relieved. Although I’m not thrilled that he’s seeing me sitting on the ground with wet hair, a ruined suit, and black mascara that’s probably streaking down my cheeks.
On the plus side, he seems to have a decent amount of goat knowledge, so maybe he’ll know what to do about Spot’s injuries.
He crouches and peers at me through rain-speckled glasses. “Why are you sitting on the ground in the rain? What’s wrong with Spot?”
“I hurt her.” I practically wail the words, the last one catching on a sob. Another escapes and then another, and then I’m a snivelling, snotty, soaked mess. So maybe Paynt hasn’t yet seen me at my worst. Until now.
“How?” he asks, not sounding fazed in the least over my pitiful crying.
“I-I-I...” I can’t even get the words out. “Tissue. Console. Wasn’t looking. Wh-what was she doing in the road?”
“Did you run he
r over?” He jerks out a hand to touch her fur, letting out a sigh when he feels her sides rise and fall with her breaths.
“Slammed on the brakes. But I think I-I t-tapped her or something. Her leg.” I finally sit up enough that he can bend over and inspect the animal, who seems perfectly fine with all the attention and especially seems to like the lapel of his coat, which she starts munching on until he leans out of reach.
“We should take her to the vet. I’m worried her leg might be broken,” he says.
“The vet?” Of course. I’m such an idiot. Even a dog and cat veterinarian would know how to inspect a baby goat for damages, I would think. “We?”
He shakes his head and hooks his hand under my arm, pulling me up with the goat clutched to my chest. “Yes, Chloe, we. As in you and I. Together. As a couple. A couple of goat parents.”
I half laugh, half sob. “I’m no goat parent. I can’t even take care of myself.”
“According to Garrett, they don’t give out manuals when the kid is born, and unless you want to listen to the advice of a thousand people—all of whom will tell you something different—you’re pretty much going to have to wing it.”
I don’t think he’s talking about goats.
“Come on,” he says, guiding me toward his vehicle. “Let’s get you out of the rain. I’m sure we can figure this out together.”
I sit on the plush leather of his BMW’s passenger seat, despite the fact I’m pretty sure my backside is caked with mud or, at the very least, soaked with rainwater.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, and he jogs to my car. I watch as he climbs into the driver’s seat and moves my Cadillac closer to the curb before killing the engine and heading back toward me. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he hands me my purse, and my brain finally kicks into gear.
“This isn’t your problem. I can handle this. Taking her to the vet is entirely logical. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I hope I haven’t ruined your seat. I’ll pay to have it detailed.” I reach for the door handle and he grabs my arm, giving me a squeeze to draw my attention.
“This is too my problem. That’s my goat, remember? You gave her to me.”
“But—”
“So I need to ensure she’s taken care of, and since you were actually there when she was injured, it’s only fair you come with me.” He doesn’t wait for me to argue. Shifting the gear, he does a U-turn in the middle of the road and starts cruising away from our houses.
We ride in silence for a few minutes, until he says, “So, you want to tell me about him?”
“Not really.”
“Why don’t you anyway?”
Hugging the goat to my chest, I stare at the rain battering the windshield. After that blow up in James’s office, I’m not sure what to tell him. The truth is, I am just like Bernadette, or I was when I was with Marcus. And I haven’t changed all that much, even if I am comfortable hanging out in sweats with Paynter when I’m not at work. But that meeting with Marcus proved I’m that other woman, too. The one Paynter doesn’t want to be with.
As if he knows I need time to gather my thoughts or maybe I need to hear someone else’s story, he starts talking.
“We were almost engaged. I had a ring. We dated for five years. The entire time, she was grooming me to be the perfect socialite’s husband. Except I didn’t give a shit about all that superficial stuff she cared about, so I wasn’t very good at following her rules. But I thought I loved her, so I kept trying and I kept failing, and our fights kept getting worse.
“In the meantime, we started house shopping. I had no interest whatsoever in moving into our neighborhood, and I sure as hell had no interest in the house I got stuck with when we ended. But at least I got out with my balls intact. My brothers were starting to worry toward the end.”
I smile, because I can almost visualize the conversation between him and James. And Garrett already made it damn clear how he felt about Paynter’s ex.
“Bernadette.”
“Yep. Queen B, as my siblings call her.”
“She picked out that chandelier.”
“Sure did. Wrote it into the damn purchase agreement that it had to be installed before she would move in.”
A thought strikes me. “You just moved in. So you and Bernadette haven’t been separated for very long.”
“Don’t get any ideas in your head, Chloe. We’re through. We were through for months before she walked out without warning. It’s been about four months since she supposedly moved to California. I closed on the house but didn’t move in right away. I debated flipping it immediately, but I knew I’d take a bath financially, and frankly, I just don’t give a shit about Bernadette anymore. So I figured I’d move in, live in it for six months or a year, and if I didn’t like it, sell it. Hopefully, I could make at least what I paid for it.”
He reaches across the console and cups my thigh. Spot licks his hand.
“I don’t regret it at all that I made that choice. I think I might be developing a thing for my neighbor.”
A thing.
He stops for a red light, and I stare at water gushing from a broken gutter on the building to my right instead of asking him to clarify what he means, mostly because I think I know and I’m not sure I’m ready to address such a complication. Since he moved in next door, my life has become so twisted, I hardly recognize it anymore. The strangest part is, I’m beginning to think I don’t mind. But admitting that out loud is a bit more than I can handle right now.
He gives my thigh a squeeze, and it’s my turn to share. I’m not good at this, at opening up, talking about my past. I’ve worked so hard to bury it; bringing it to the surface is a frightening prospect. But then again, Marcus showing up at my office, claiming James had hired him … hell, my past just slapped me in the face. Maybe talking about it will help me get my equilibrium back.
“Marcus and I were that couple Bernadette was trying to turn you all into.” I say the words very fast, needing to get them out, past the initial stumbling stone. And then it gets easier to speak, as if I’ve cleared out a dam and the words could now flow like water.
“We were together for almost a year. He was exactly what I convinced myself I wanted in a husband. Connected, from the right family, good-looking—”
“What the hell am I, chopped liver?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I’d define you more as sexy.”
“I can live with that.”
“Anyway, Marcus was also successful but with plenty of opportunity to grow in his career. My career. We did the same thing. Do. We’re both in corporate real estate, both hungry, eager to make the next sale. We both like to see our names in the trade magazines. ‘Most Successful Under Forty.’ ‘People to Watch in Name-Your-Year.’
“We made a plan. We deliberately selected this neighborhood, your house—”
“My house?”
I nod. “I wanted your house. I’ve walked through it two dozen times, attended every single open house. I remember the chandelier that was there before you bought it.”
“If you wanted it so badly, how’d you end up next door?”
“Because I couldn’t afford your house without the promotion I was up for. That I knew I’d get. I knew it.”
“I assume we aren’t talking about my brother’s company here.”
“No. His biggest competitor, actually. And I trusted my boyfriend so much that he was able to steal my promotion from under my nose, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Except, of course, quit both him and the job. Which I did.”
“Don’t forget your chance at future happiness.”
I don’t contradict him. That hadn’t been my plan, of course, but I’m beginning to fear it’s worked out that way. “I didn’t want to get hurt again. And I didn’t want to fail again.”
“You didn’t fail. You got screwed. Big difference. And frankly, that guy’s a raging asshole, so you should consider yourself lucky you didn’t get saddled with him.”
&nbs
p; “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He practically barks the word as he guides the car into a parking space in front of a house that has been converted into a veterinary clinic. “You know what I’m sick and tired of, Chloe? Your lack of confidence. Even when you’re wearing those sexy little suits and walking around like there’s a stick up your ass, you’re still just waiting for someone to come along and knock you down a few pegs.”
He slams out of the car, and for a minute I think he’s going into the clinic without us, expecting me to hurry along behind him. But then the passenger side door is pulled open and he’s standing outside under an umbrella, holding the door and waiting for me to climb out.
Is he right about me?
Cradling Spot in my arms, I carefully exit the vehicle and we hurry toward the building. When we step inside, the reception greets us with a smile and a, “Who do we have here?”
“I’m Chloe and this is Paynter—”
“Not you, silly. Who’s this adorable creature in your arms?”
I look down at the animal, who I swear is preening. “Spot,” I supply. “She’s-she’s a goat.”
“She’s a cutie,” the bubbly woman corrects me. “We don’t see many of these guys. Lucky for you, though, our doctor not only did his residency on a farm, but he grew up on one, too. In fact, the only reason he’s here taking care of cats and dogs instead of out in the country, helping to birth calves and foals, is because his wife insisted she needs to be close to shopping.” She laughs at her own snarky comment while Paynter and I glance at each other and arch our brows at the same time.
“Come on, let’s get you into a room and I’ll let Dr. Benedict know you’re here.”
The room is maybe four by four square, with a sink and small counter in one corner and a stainless steel platform jutting into the middle of the space. Two well-used chairs are parked next to the wall. I seat myself on the one farthest from the door and try to contain a squirming Spot, while Paynt drops into the chair next to me.
