Chasing Zoe

by Mia Barrett

  What was I saying? Tell her how you feel and then offer her a job. In that order, idiot.

  “I think it’s time. For a break, I mean.” Stammering, her pale complexion grows pink under my gaze. I watch the flush creep up her flesh, from her chest to her cheeks, utterly mesmerized. As she speaks, my eyes focus on the movement of her mouth and I feel the corners of my lips curve into a smile.

  So many nights I’ve thought about that mouth, those ruby lips, dark with arousal, tight and wet around my cock. Those big green eyes peer up through fluttering lashes, and she asks, no begs me to place it on her tongue. I tell her to wait until we get home. There’s no time. People will find us. Someone will see. But she doesn’t take no for an answer. Gripping my cock with those perfectly manicured hands, she glides it in, closing her swollen lips over my hard shaft, as she takes half of it down her throat. I whimper and wind my fingers through her hair. Testing her, I try to force more down. And she tries to take it, but she can’t. I’m too much for her. She’s not used to me yet. Soon, baby. Soon. Twirling her tongue around the head, licking the precum oozing out, she moans as she tries again. Swallowing more, suctioning, pumping and thrusting, she shows me no mercy as she milks my cock with such exquisite finesse, I need to lean against the wall to steady myself. I watch her bobbing head and call her name. I need to come, and I want to come in her mouth. Please, baby, let me see it in your mouth.

  “Zoe!”

  “Ivan! What’s wrong with you?” She shouts from across the table. Her brow creased with confusion.

  Jesus Christ! How long have I been daydreaming?

  “Fuck, Zoe. I’m so sorry. I was... I just realized I missed a conference call earlier today.” My voice shakes as the lie spills out. That was the best I could do. No need to get too elaborate. No need to tell her I’m so hard my cock is about to unbalance this table.

  “Oh, okay. Do you need to make a phone call?” She sits up straight, brings her hands together in her lap and studies my expression. I’m not sure she believes me.

  Shifting my weight in my seat, uncomfortable with the massive erection tenting my pants, I tap the rim of my glass to gesture the waiter for more wine. When he comes, I take a fast swig, then exhale sharply, hoping the words will make it from my brain to my lips and end this torture.

  For both of us.

  “I’d like to ask if you don’t mind holding off your break for another six months. There’s a project that just landed in my lap. You’re perfect for the lead. You don’t have to answer right away. But I think it would be nice to work together one more time before you take this hiatus.”

  Wait. Fuck. I did this wrong.

  Chapter 4

  Zoe

  “What?” My heart stops. My breath labors but I hold it steady as I feel all the butterflies that have been fluttering in my stomach die of shock.

  The waiter pours more wine and I think I see it float from the bottle into my glass, defying gravity while the room comes to a standstill and the earth stops spinning. I’m here for a job interview. I bought a new couture dress so the man I love could tell me to delay my much-needed break and come work for him. This filthy rat is not offering me his heart. He is offering me a job.

  I have never been more furious, more enraged, or more incensed at anyone in my entire life. I’m done. This is strike two and three together. No, strike two was never complimenting my dress. It’s couture for fuck’s sake. I look gorgeous and he knows it. This dress deserved one measly compliment and it got zilch.

  What am I doing? What is he thinking? I’m right in front of him, 5’7, with big tits that I’m always shoving right in his face and he can’t help himself. He still sees pre-teen Zoe.

  He will never fall in love with me.

  With a broken heart, I gather my strength, reach for my glass and take a sip. Bringing my cold, dead eyes back to his, I utter one word.

  “No.”

  “What? Wait. Zoe, That’s not all.” He stammers. Unaccustomed to hearing anything but yes, his mouth slacks.

  “No. I’m not interested.” I down the rest of my wine in one long swig and bang it on the table.

  “I’ll be leaving now.”

  “What?” He shouts as his eyes flare open. “Are you angry? Please, hear me out. I thought it would be nice to work together. Spend time together. Let me explain.”

  When I stand, he stands. I can’t hear another word that comes out of his wretched mouth.

  “No. No chance. No way. I’m not interested. I couldn’t possibly be persuaded to spend one more second working with you, Ivan. I hate you. I’m sorry to be so forthcoming, but I hate you.” My venomous words slither out while I gaze into his stunning blue eyes. The same eyes I spend most days dreaming about.

  Choking on lies, I turn on my heels and bolt. I need to leave and get far away from him before the dam breaks and he sees me cry an ugly river.

  “Hate me?” His voice sharpens, rasping through his hateful throat as he follows me out. I can’t see him. I’m walking too fast, but I feel him following close behind.

  “Yes! I hate you. I have shed pounds I hate less than you. Please, go away.” While I walk, I strike the numbers on my phone and call for a car.

  “Pounds? I don’t even know what that means.” He sounds exasperated.

  “Typical. It’s not just me. You don’t understand my entire gender.” Turning to face him, I push him away.

  “I understand what that means. I just meant you’ve always been thin. When have you ever had a weight problem?” His voice is much louder than it needs to be for such a sensitive topic.

  I gasp. “You don’t know everything about me! Read my blog.”

  “Blog?” He’s befuddled.

  I gasp again. “I have over a three million followers, you jackass! You’re obviously not one of them. Just back off or I swear to god I will scream bloody murder.”

  I fight to wrangle on my coat, stomping and flailing with righteous indignation.

  “I am not working for you. I am going on a break. Maybe I’ll retire. Either way, I will never work for you, with you, near you, or around you again. I never want to see you again. Good riddance.”

  Reaching out, he struggles to speak. “You don’t understand. There’s more. I promise there’s more. The job was the second part. I swear.”

  I yank my arm away from him. “I don’t care about anything you have to say ever again. I hate you. I hate you. Oh my god, I hate you!”

  As I rush out, I lift my arm in the air and flip him off.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! Have a nice life, asshole!”

  Chapter 5

  Ivan

  I try to call. I’m blocked. I can’t text. Running on adrenaline, I race home through traffic, rush up the stairs and call her from a land line. She’s turned off her phone and her voicemail is full.

  What the hell have I done? Why didn’t I just shout out the truth?

  I don’t give a fuck about the damn movie. I just want to spend more time with her. There was no need for her to get so angry. I just wanted to buy us some time until she gets older. She’s nineteen. She must expect I feel something. I’m single. I act like an idiot in front of her.

  Maybe, I’ve misjudged her. I can’t read her. She doesn’t seem like the same person. Zoe’s always been a sweetheart. No matter how big she got, she never let fame go to her head. Why wouldn’t she let me explain? What’s wrong with offering her a job? It’s a good role.

  Is Zoe Burton too big now? She wins an Oscar and she can’t work with me anymore?

  Fine. She said no. That’s not a big deal. It’s disappointing, but I’ll figure out another way to stay in her life. If she let me get one damn word out, I could have told her it’s a not a long shoot. It would’t eat up too much of her precious time. But no, she flipped me off and swore she never wanted to see me again.

  And she said hates me.

  Hates me? How can she hate me? I love her.

  I pace the fl
oor and clutch a jar of antacids waiting for the pain in my chest to subside. She was so pissed. I can’t believe she said she hates me. Where the hell did that come from? Loosening my tie, I yank it off and unbutton my shirt. The air feels thin, like I’ve just reached the top of a mountain and I’m fighting for oxygen. This fucking apartment feels like Mount Everest. Placing my fingers to my wrist, I check my pulse. I’m too frazzled to time it, but my heart is thumping and the beat in my ears is driving me mad. These walls are closing in on me.

  Tearing off the rest of my suit, I step into the shower and replay the evening over and over in my mind. She looked stunning. Breathtaking. The minute she walked in, my heart ached to pull her into my arms. My knees felt weak standing in one place, holding myself back. I fell in love all over again. Like I always do. But I never stop. I’ve loved her for years. Maybe it’s been from afar, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I’ve been waiting for her. I haven’t been with anyone in two years. No one feels right anymore. Not since I started falling for her. She’s all I want.

  When our eyes met, I swore I felt a charge of electricity crackle between us. Her eyes were green fire, sparkling to life with each smile. That burgundy dress hugged every curve, outlining the swell of her breasts so tightly the firm peaks of her nipples peeked through the fabric, taunting me to look. It took every ounce of willpower not to jump across the table, pull that dress off her shoulders and see if they were as hard as they appeared. And if they weren’t, I’d use to mouth to bring them to life.

  I hate that dress. It mocked me. She mocks me.

  Maybe, I should change and walk the seven blocks to her place. It won’t take long. With this sexual frustration brewing, I can sprint and make it there in a few minutes. But she’s furious. It’s best to let her cool down. She’ll see things more clearly in the morning. I’m sure. Perhaps, she was angry about something else and projected it on me. No, I’m sure I made her mad. She wants to take a break and instead of respecting her wishes I tried to coax her to come back to work. It was disrespectful.

  That was an asshole move.

  I’ll wait until morning.

  Things will be better in the morning.

  Chapter 6

  Zoe

  “Jesus Christ, you look like shit.” Gus Gallagher, my closest friend, offers his warm support gazing at me through the bathroom mirror. We’re leaving town. Getting the hell out of Dodge. Blowing this popsicle stand before Ivan has the chance to make some type of apology or grand gesture.

  “I know I look like shit, but this concealer is the best.” I wave the small tube with pride while he sits on the toilet lid and watches me get ready.

  “You cried all night, didn’t you? After I specifically told you to stop crying, you cried anyway.” He reprimands me like a child. He’s only half-kidding. He did demand I magically get a grip on my emotions, but I do remember telling him to go to hell.

  I roll my eyes and toss a towel at him. “I didn’t sleep. It’s been four hours! I was devastated. He’s the love of my life and I told him I hated him. I said goodbye for good.”

  When the words leave my lips, they tremble again. I can’t believe I told him I hated him.

  Not Ivan. How could I say those things?

  “Don’t you dare start crying. And you did not say goodbye for good. You threw a tantrum. He’s clueless. Big surprise. I have no idea what you see in that idiot, but after all this time, I doubt it’s going away. When the shock wears off, that buffoon will come here and demand an explanation for your deranged outburst. You’re not ready to give him one without confessing your undying love. I suggest you move your ass. He doesn’t deserve an explanation. If he can’t confess how he feels, you shouldn’t either.” He rolls the towel into a whip and snaps my ass.

  “He’s not coming here. He doesn’t give a damn about me. He and I are done. Over before it started.” I take a deep breath and choke on the pain in chest. Ivan’s trash. Beautiful, perfect trash that makes me weak in the knees whenever he speaks my name.

  I don’t want to hear another word about that gorgeous man!

  While I chuck clothes into my luggage, I fight the start of tears. Exhaling slowly, I spread my eyes open with my fingers, hoping to dry them out before Gus sees me. I don’t care if he makes fun of me, but he’s right. I’ve cried enough over such an unworthy man.

  Why did I think he was going to profess his love? Why did I get my hopes up?

  For the past two years, he’s loomed close enough to watch me but never close enough to let me in. And all along he’s probably sought comfort in the arms of his sluts. He’s gorgeous. I’m sure he hasn’t been lonely.

  Unbelievable. When I’ve been right here all along. Begging to be plucked.

  There was no feeling. No longing in his voice. My heart burst in my chest while I watched him sip his wine and listened to him tell me about his dumb screenplay. A part of me wanted to say yes. It was a chance to be near him. Be his leading lady. He said we’d spend time together. But that feeling quickly faded. Working for him would be a mistake. An exercise in torture. I want him, but I won’t take scraps.

  I’m through with scraps. Zoe Burton deserves the whole damn pie!

  “How much do you want to bet he’ll make an appearance? Do you want to find out? Hurry up, our flight leaves at 6:00.” Gus grabs a suitcase and rolls it into the foyer, prodding me to finish dressing.

  “I’m not betting.” I pull on my sweater and brush my hair one more time. Wringing my hands, I search the room for any items I might leave behind. I don’t plan to return to Paris until the new year and almost everything I own is here.

  “Let’s do twenty euros. No, dollars. We’re going home.” Gus makes one more pass through the apartment, unplugs all the appliances, and then turns off the lights.

  “He’s not coming and I’m not betting. Do you have the tickets?” I throw on my coat and fling my purse over my shoulder.

  “Tickets? Who carries tickets? They’re on your phone app, dumbass. CDG to JFK. We depart in less than three hours. Make sure you have your damn passport. I don’t want to come back.” He pushes me out the door, takes my keys and locks up.

  “Stop being such a dick. I’m grieving.”

  “You are not. Stop being such a baby. You two never even kissed. I’m the one who should be grieving. I’m way older than you and my great love is slipping through my fingers.”

  “Oh, hush. I already told you why I can’t fix you up with Lila Sinclair.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “Don’t you remember? You’re an obnoxious jerk.” I push him into the elevator.

  He sighs and nods. “Yeah. I remember.”

  Chapter 7

  Ivan

  Numerous texts come in, tearing through the silence. But it doesn’t startle me. I’ve been awake for hours. I’m not sure I slept. None are from her. They’re from people back home. Staring at the ceiling, I slowly close my eyes and listen to my breath. It’s 3:00, but I know she wakes early. She’ll be up by 5:00. Unless it’s raining, she goes for a run at dawn. I heard her say it relaxes her to see the sun come up. It fills her with hope about the possibilities for a new day. It’s kind of sweet. When I first heard her say it, I dismissed it as childish, but I must have been in a crappy mood. There’s nothing immature about optimism and gratitude. Sometimes I forget, she has an old soul. She’s thoughtful. Soulful. Kind. Smart. She has a good heart. She’s never been just a beautiful girl. Just an actress. Not to me.

  Zoe is so much more.

  Sometimes I wish she wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to talk to her. Half the time I’m in her presence I lose my concentration, forget my words, lose my mind and then I remember I know how to speak. Lying still, too overcome to move, I think about the look in her eyes when I offered her that job. Before she grew angry, there was a spark of disappointment. There was a hint of shock.

  How could I miss it?

  She was expecting something else. She wasn’t dressed for a business
meeting. That dress looked new. I’ve never seen it before, and I scour her social media daily. Unless she borrowed it from one of the designers, it must have cost her a pretty penny. She thanked me for inviting her to dinner. What if she thought it was my way of asking for a date?

  Oh, my god! How could I be such an idiot!

  I slap my forehead with the full force of my regret, but I deserve it. Poor Zoe. No wonder she was furious. She read the room. Who knows what she saw on the other side of the table? I love her. Maybe, she read it all over my face. But I never said anything. I’ve yet to do anything. Maybe, she’s been waiting all this time and I got her hopes up by asking her out for an evening meeting in fucking PARIS! She expected me to say something, just like I intended, and I let her down.

  You moron! That’s exactly what she expected!

  And I then I offered her a job. Real smooth, dickhead. My god, I ruined everything. I’ve waited years to be with Zoe. I’ve planned and held off until she grew older. I didn’t want to pounce at eighteen. I wanted her to be ready for everything that comes with a serious relationship. If I pressed the issue, I feared we’d fall apart too fast.

  When she was younger, I knew she had feelings for me. Her eyes followed me everywhere. But how could I take it seriously? She was a kid. She was bound to grow out of it. Then one day, I hoped she hadn’t. I hoped she still carried me in some part of her heart because she’d completely taken over mine.

  And now, I think I’ve blown it. I’ve blown it all the hell.

  Throwing off the covers, I fly out of bed and rush into the bathroom. No time to shower or shave. I brush my teeth, splash water on my face and run a comb through my unruly hair. Jumping into jeans, I pull on a sweater, boots, and grab my coat as I dart out the door. She’ll be sleeping but if I beg, maybe she’ll let me in. I’ll explain my stupidity. I’ll tell her I love her. She’ll listen whether she likes it or not. This was never about a movie. I want us to spend time together. I want us to be together.