by Hannah Ford
CHLOE
At six am the next morning, my phone rings, interrupting a restless sleep.
I reach for it as I sit up and rub my eyes. My head feels heavy, my body groggy.
“Chloe!” my mom’s voice comes down the line, sounding panicked. “Chloe, thank God. The police were just here, Brandon is out of jail!” By the end of the sentence, her voice is almost a wail.
Shit.
I should have called my parents last night after I left the police station. Of course the NYPD would have sent someone from the local police department in Syracuse to let my parents know what was going on.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry, I should have called you last night.” I grab for the sweatshirt that’s been left for me at the end of the bed, a gray one that’s almost certainly Gage’s, since it’s so big that the hem hits the top of my knees and the sleeves droop over my wrists.
“It’s fine,” my mom says. “I’m just glad you’re safe. Your father and I have talked, and we’ve decided you should come home.”
“I can’t come back to Syracuse, Mom. I have a job here.”
“I’m sure that given the circumstances, the school will be more than understanding.”
“I don’t want to ask for special treatment.” The scent of coffee is drifting down the long hallway from the kitchen, and I can hear the sounds of someone shuffling around in there, the clink of cups and spoons, the drip of the coffeemaker.
I swallow. There’s been no sign of Gage since he left me last night. I was half hoping that he would appear in my bedroom in the middle of the night.
But nothing.
“It’s not special treatment, Chloe,” my mom says, sounding exasperated. She begins to give me the five hundred different reasons why it’s okay for me to ask my school to postpone my internship.
I try to bite back my frustration, reminding myself that while I may have lost my sister, my mom lost her daughter. It’s just that my mom is sometimes so over the top with everything.
I’m in the kitchen now, and the refrigerator door is open, blocking whoever it is that’s rustling around inside of it.
I brace myself to see Gage, but instead, when he door closes, his sister Aubrey stands there, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, last night’s mascara smeared under her eyes. She’s holding a tub of Greek yogurt and wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt.
“Oh,” I say dumbly.
She looks at me, taking in the fact that I’m wearing Gage’s sweatshirt, and she smirks. “So you’re the new Willow.”
“What? No, I’m not.”
“Who’s that?” my mom asks suspiciously.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s no one.”
“That’s rude,” Aubrey says. “I’m definitely not no one.”
“Mom, I have to go. I’m fine, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”
Aubrey sighs, sets the tub of yogurt down on the island, and grabs my phone right out of my hand.
“Hello,” she says to my mother, her voice smooth and polished. “This is Regina Marsden, I’m the personal assistant to Mr. Gage Stratford. I’d like to let you know that Mr. Stratford has arranged for your daughter to have personal security escorting her anywhere she wishes to go. He’s also in touch with local law enforcement to make sure that they’re coordinating their campaigns and doing everything they can to catch Brandon. Yes, thank you. You’re welcome. Goodbye.” She ends the call and slides my phone back across the island toward me.
“Thank you,” I say, too shocked to say anything else. So Gage has told her about Brandon. And obviously about me.
Aubrey shrugs. Sure.” She sits down on the island and picks up her yogurt, looking at it. “What are your thoughts on this yogurt?”
“Excuse me?”
“My brother buys this plain Greek crap, it has no flavor.”
“Add some fruit,” I say. “Or honey.”
“I guess.” She sounds despondent, like this unsweetened yogurt is going to ruin her entire day.
“Um, where’s Gage?” I ask, hoping I sound nonchalant.
“He went to work.” She looks at me. “You know, I was just kidding.”
“What?”
“About you being the new Willow. You’re nothing like Willow, I can tell.” I’m not sure if this is supposed to be a compliment or an insult, and Aubrey’s phone bings with a text before I can ask her for clarification. “Jesus,” she murmurs, her eyes darkening as she reads it. I want to ask her if everything’s okay, but something about her body language tells me this would be an unwelcome intrusion.
“Um, well, I guess I better get ready for work.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to be late.” She rolls her eyes, like anyone who takes anything like work seriously is ridiculous.
“Thanks again,” I say. “For, um, lying to my mom about the security. You know, and calming her down.”
“Sure,” she says, as her fingers fly over her phone. “But I wasn’t lying. There’s a security guard outside waiting for you.”
Chapter 6
CHLOE
Aubrey is right about the security guard – he drives me to work in a black car with tinted windows, like I was some kind of politician or diplomat. By the time we pull up in front of the Stratford Building, I still haven’t heard from Gage.
The whole situation is making my head spin, and when I step out of the elevator onto my floor, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.
“Chloe!” Poppy appears in front of me, a huge smile on her face. “You have to try my chocolate peppermint bark. It’s a new recipe I’m trying for Christmas, only instead of peppermint, I’m using lemon.” She holds up a paper plate where something that looks like a melted yellow crayon sits in a glob.
The thought of putting anything Poppy made into my mouth is not something that appeals to me on a good day, much less on a day like today, when my stomach is already churning.
“No, thanks,” I say, pushing by her toward the conference room where we’ve been meeting every morning. The thought of seeing Gage after what’s happened last night is making me nervous, and I just want to get it over with.
“Wait, Chloe,” Poppy says, and there’s something in her tone that I should recognize, something that should let me know that maybe something’s up, that she’s trying to be nice to me.
But I’m distracted.
So when I push open the conference room door, my heart jumps into my throat.
Dr. Truett, head of the internship program, sits at the conference table, her hands folded. In front of her sits a slim manila folder and nothing else.
And next to her, a fake serious look on her face, sits Alanna.
“Oh,” I say, startled. “Dr. Truett. I thought we had a phone call scheduled for ten this morning. I didn’t realize you’d be here in person.”
“Chloe,” Dr. Truett says, her voice even. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
And I know from her tone that whatever she’s about to say can’t be anything but bad…
The End of Part Five
Why did Gage stop everything just when Chloe was finally about to give him her virginity? Will Chloe’s security detail be enough to keep her safe from Brandon McCarthur? And why has Dr. Truett shown up to talk to Chloe in person?
Find out more in Strict (Part Six) coming soon!
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