The elevator doors open again and we step out onto our floor.
“I never doubt you; you’ve always got a plan.”
I nod. Carl’s right, I’m always in control. This thing with Chloe will be no exception. While I didn’t originally plan for her to move in, it’s better this way. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway.
We push through the glass doors, then walk down the hallway toward the executive office wing.
“Have you heard of WordIt? It’s some kind of word game app.”
“Oh, yeah. Everyone is playing it. Lindsay loves it. It’s the first thing she does when she wakes up. She broke her streak the other day and she was not pleasant to be around.”
“Find the developer. Draw up an offer.”
“You want to buy the app?” Carl is surprised by my request. Hell, I am, too, but I don’t let it show.
“If it’s as popular as you say it is, it shouldn’t come as a shock. It’s in our wheelhouse and it’ll be an advertising goldmine.”
“You’re the boss.”
I nod. “Let me know what you come up with.”
“Sure thing.” Carl peels off toward his office and I continue on to mine.
Bea greets me with a smile.
“Good morning, sir. Your eight thirty meeting is already set up in the conference room on twelve. I moved your lunch meeting to twelve thirty because your call with Qwest Corp was moved to eleven. And I sent you an email of optional dresses for Chloe for tomorrow evening’s event.”
I drop into my desk chair and wake up my computer. Ignoring the people waiting for my eight thirty meeting, I open Bea’s email to find three dress options for Chloe.
Bea looks over my shoulder as I scan through the options.
“I’m a fan of the green one,” she comments.
The neckline would expose Chloe’s breasts. It’s a charity event for dogs, I don’t want to be the one drooling over her all night.
I click through to find a blue dress. The sapphire color would look great on Chloe, but unlike the green one, it has a higher neckline.
“The blue one,” I confirm.
“Of course. I’ll have it ordered and sent over to Chloe’s apartment.”
“You can send it to my address,” I say.
“Oh.” Bea’s eyebrows lift to her hairline. I can tell she’s dying to ask, but I give her a stern look and she withdraws. “My pleasure.”
After Bea leaves my office, I walk to the small closet on the far side and select one of the spare suits I have hanging there. The coffee stain on my pant leg is dry but has left a brown ring. Then, I move on with my day, doing my best to get back into my routine and to not think about Chloe.
CHAPTER 12
Chloe
I’ve barely sat down at my desk, when Jules barges into my office.
“What the hell is going on? You sent that text last night and then nothing. You can’t leave me hanging like that.” She pauses her ramblings, and does a double take. “Oh my God. Did he knock you over the head and drag you to his lair? Should I call the police? Blink twice if you need help.”
“Jules. Relax. I’ve got everything under control.”
“The angry bruise on your forehead does not convey that.”
“It’s a tennis injury. I got hit in the head yesterday when Barrett and I played with Fred and Frankie.”
“Ah. For a moment I thought maybe you and Barrett were banging and things got a little wild.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I imagine that’s how it would be with him. Those cold eyes boring into you. His lips in a frown, all moody and pissed. A good stern fucking.”
“Jules!” I glance toward my door, knowing that JoAnna’s office is a mere ten feet down the hall. And Jules’ voice carries at least double that distance.
“I think you should at least have some fun with this fake relationship. No reason to make it miserable.”
“I’m just trying to make it through this without losing my mind. Now that JoAnna has given me a real shot at assistant editor, I don’t want to mess it up.”
“I know,” Jules says, nodding sympathetically. “You deserve that promotion. You’ve been kicking ass with selecting submissions.”
“Thanks.” I give her a small smile. “I have to focus on work and do my best to play along with Barrett, then I’ll put this fake relationship behind me.”
Jules nods. I can tell she wants there to be more to it than that. There isn’t, not with Barrett. He’s got his own agenda, and I’m just a pawn in his game. At least I’m aware of it. But, now that I’m not dying of mortification anymore, I can tell her about last night.