A part of me was egotistic enough to think he’d be happier with me than with his trust fund. I looked at how much better my own life was without my parents’ money, and how much richer I was with him in my life.
Regardless, it wasn’t my decision to make. It was his.
93. Coercion is a Dish Best Served Wet
“Move in with me.”
The words didn’t register. Maybe because my head was tilted back, hard against the pillow, my nails scraping against the top sheet, trying to find something to hold on to. Or maybe the issue was the fact that his mouth was so far away, the heat of his words hot against my naked skin, his tongue finishing off the final syllable with a flick across my sensitive clit.
“Oh God,” I groaned when his tongue changed, from a flick to a flutter, soft and hot, the constant pressing going faster and faster, bringing me closer and closer…
I arched off the mattress, pushing myself harder into his mouth…
And he stopped. “Move in with me.”
My body yearned, the need intense, my hands reaching down, in between my legs, just a touch needed to…
He grabbed both of my wrists and slid forward, pinning them to either side of my head, my sexual haze lifting as I blinked at him. “Chloe.”
“Carter,” I shot back, struggling against his grip, my hips bucking off the bed, the orgasm still right there, just needing the right touch…
His body was now on top of me, a fine stretch of muscles that—at any other point in time—would have been celebrated. But right then, I could only think of one thing: my rapidly fading orgasm.
“Will you move in with me? You can have the big closet.”
“I’m so close.” I worked my legs free and wrapped them around his waist. Talk about sexy—having him huge and hard against me, each minute shift of his body a giant reminder of how lucky I was. “Please,” I begged.
I couldn’t even process his request. Couldn’t decide whether to be happy or freaked out. When a man like Carter moved his bare cock along your body, you didn’t think. You didn’t do anything but beg.
I tightened my legs and tried to change our angle.
I reached down and tried to grab him, to wrap my hand around his girth.
“Say yes,” he whispered, his weight on his hands, his head dropping down to brush over my lips.
“Why don’t you make me scream it instead?” The words were a challenge and I watched his eyes when they hit, the darken of his stare one that filled me with anticipation.
He sat up, his torso moving away and gripped my hips, positioning himself in between my legs, and I couldn’t help but whimper in relief as his fingers dug into me, his initial thrust slow and deep and perfectly in control.
After that, nothing about our sex was controlled. And my YES was a scream. A loud and long scream, followed by fifty or so short, concise versions, coming quicker and quicker before … I curled forward, my hands gripping at his shoulders, my body stiff as everything turned the most perfect shade of orgasm.
When I came down, limp against the mattress, it was settled. Moving in together. I steeled myself for panic, but there was none.
94. To Pack or Not to Pack?
“Maybe this is a mistake.” I said. “Moving in together?” Something I never did with Vic. I’d never lived with anyone, save those months with Cammie.
“Why?” Cammie asked, sipping a red Starbucks cup, her elbow knocking Benta’s arm when she reached for her cookie. “You guys’ve been together, what … three months?”
“Two and a half, exclusively.” I corrected. “But we’ve dated since…” I scrunched up my face and tried to think. “July.”
“Carlos moved in with me after three months,” Benta unhelpfully supplied.
“Exactly. And we all remember how well that social experiment turned out.” Benta and Carlos lasted three weeks after he moved into her place. It took that long for them to come to the conclusion that they, in fact, hated each other.
“You know what the issue was?” Cammie asked, pointing a navy fingernail in Benta’s direction. I waited for this gem of knowledge with all the excitement of a root canal. “Carlos moved into your place. I think it works better when the girl moves in with the guy. Otherwise, you feel like he’s a freeloader.”
“Didn’t you guys split the rent?” I looked at Benta, who nodded through a mouthful of—damn her—my cookie.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cammie said. “Call it tradition, patriarchy, whatever. A woman wants a provider, and you don’t feel that way if he’s suddenly taking over half your closet.” This coming from a woman who’d never lived with anyone other than me. “You guys won’t have that problem, since you’re moving in with him. And plus…” she popped a peppermint into her mouth, “you’ll save on rent!” She beamed, like she had ever once worried over a rent payment.
But … she did have a point. Now that Nicole was back home and settled, the plan was for me to quit on Monday. I’d offer to work a final two weeks, but Nicole would most likely kick me out the door. Unemployed just in time for the holidays. JOY. It would help the situation if I didn’t have to worry about rent. But was that really a reason to move in with a guy? I voiced the question.
“What you need to think about,” Benta reasoned, “is if you would move in with him if your rent stayed the same. If the answer is yes,” she shrugged, “then you’re good to go.”
It was kind of a stupid hypothetical because I couldn’t even decide if I should move in with him and my rent wasn’t staying the same, but I understood her point.
“It’s the next step,” Cammie said. “Either you and Carter are serious about each other or you aren’t. If you are, then you need to know if you can live together.” She blinked at me as if it was so obvious, and I eyed her eyelashes suspiciously. The girl got extensions. She had to. She wasn’t that lash-blessed before. I swallowed the observation and tried to focus on her advice. She was right. It was the next step. Did I want a future with him? It was a question that took a minute to answer, a decision that I wanted to be absolutely sure about. And the answer, after three long sips of my coffee and a lot of time staring out the window, was yes.
I loved him. I fell in love with him thinking that he had nothing. And I wanted a future with him. The man was willing to risk his entire financial future on me … I could certainly risk the next step with him.
I wanted to try. I wanted more. And if the next step toward our future was moving in together, then I wanted to take that step. I swallowed hard and looked away from the window. “You’re right,” I nodded. “I’m going to do it.”
I didn’t know why they squealed, coming forward and hugging me tightly. But the celebration was what I needed. Validation that gaining a relationship didn’t jeopardize this friendship. “I’m proud of you,” Cammie whispered against my ear.
“Thanks.” I released them and sat back, glancing at Cammie one more time before I decided to risk her wrath. “Now, what the hell did you do to your lashes?”
95. We Are All Worthy of Love
Two weeks after Nicole’s hospitalization, I slowly climbed the steps to the Brantleys’, my eyes on the toes of my Jimmy Choos, my heart hiding somewhere in my chest. I stared at their front door and remembered, a year ago, how desperate I felt, ringing their doorbell. When I looked back at that woman, I barely recognized myself. Cammie was right. I had changed. Everything in my life had changed. I inserted my key and turned it in that lock for one last time.
Maybe I should have rung the bell.
I opened the door and stepped into a fight. Clarke and Paulo, standing toe to toe in the foyer, a maid standing in front of me, her mouth half-open, a broom in hand, her steps hurriedly moving to the side to let me in. The director’s shirt was gripped in Clarke’s fist, Clarke’s dark and angry face growling out something too soft for me to hear.
The New York wind sucked the front door shut with a loud slam that announced my presence. I winced at the sound,
but neither man moved, their eyes locked.
“Where’s Nicole?” I whispered to the maid.
“In bed.”
“Does she know about this?” I watched Paulo attempt to push Clarke away, his struggle against solid muscle worthless.
“No.” The answer was a hushed whisper and almost lost in the loud crash. I’d heard that sound before. The sound of expense and turned to see Paulo bent backward over the foyer table, the glass centerpiece—one that replaced my broken one—now in a thousand pieces on the marble floor, Paulo’s hands frantic as he attempted to hold off Clarke.
“I’m going to tell you a final time,” Clarke threatened, “and then you’re going to get the hell out of my house. Stay away from my wife.”
“Easy.” Paulo’s squeak was embarrassingly feminine, and I didn’t move, as fascinated by this train wreck as I was horrified. “I just wanted to tell you it wasn’t mine. I got snipped five years ago. I just thought you’d want to know. And she and I—we’re done. We’ve been done. She broke it off when she found out about the baby.”
Clarke shoved off the man, Paulo’s body rolling to the side, his arms failing to catch his fall, his knees landing in the crystal and he wheezed out a cry. Clarke stepped another pace back, his breath hard, emotions barely controlled, his hands on his hips as if he were resting from a sprint.
I needed to go upstairs. None of this was my business. It was too personal, the emotion on Clarke’s face too raw, for me to witness. Yet, my feet couldn’t move, my eyes watching as Paulo made it to his feet, carefully limping toward the door.
“We still have to film,” Paulo said. “Just a few press things. Shouldn’t take but a day or two per week.”
“That’s fine.” Clarke spat out. “I’ll be there with her.”
“Seriously,” Paulo said, shuffling the last step to the door. “We’re through. I just thought you’d like to know.”
Clarke said nothing and the scrawny man made his exit, my attempt to sneak by thwarted by a loud crunch of crystal underfoot. Clarke’s eyes met mine and my heart sank at the sadness there.
“I’m sorry.” I said, my shoulders falling. “I wanted to tell you. I just…” I swallowed. “I just kept hoping she would.”
His jaw tightened and he glanced upstairs, to their bedroom. “I wish she had.”
“Why are you still with her?” The question I’d sat on for so long jumped, uninvited, off my tongue. I stumbled after it. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business—”
“It’s fine.” He interrupted me. “It’s a valid question.” He tilted his head at me, considering his words. “Nicole … there’s a part of her that’s broken. But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t worthy of being loved. Everyone is worthy of that. And, for some reason or another, my heart chose her.” He shrugged, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the broken crystal. “Another woman would have been easier to live with, to love. But another woman wasn’t in my cards. Nicole was.” He looked at me. “Do you understand?”
I sort of did. Unfortunately, when I looked at Carter and myself, there were certainly some parallels—consistencies that put me squarely in Nicole’s role. Part of me was broken. I had a hundred pieces I was trying to fix. And there were certainly other women Carter could have picked, ones that would be easier to deal with. I looked back up at Clarke.
“I do.” I stepped toward the staircase. “I’ve got to talk to Nicole.”
“Leaving us?” There was a wisdom in his eyes that I couldn’t lie to.
“Yeah.”
“Good for you.” He smiled and I relaxed a little. He was such a good man. He really was. I think the reason I fell so quickly for Carter was because I saw Clarke in him. Both of them solid and steady. Both of them trustworthy and loyal. Both of them so far removed from the superficial world that Nicole and I lived in.
I nodded a goodbye and took the first step, my climb up the giant staircase increasing in speed the higher I got.
Quitting. One chapter in this crazy journey, finally coming to an end.
96. My Penniless Ass is FREE
I ducked when she threw the pillow, her face red, lungs already hoarse from screaming. I watched it bounce off the dresser, and Chanel instantly growled, pouncing on it with excitement, her ferocious playfulness taking any air out of Nicole’s hissy fit.
“I’ll work a final two weeks,” I offered. “I’ll train a replacement—”
“You scheming bitch!” she hollered, looking for a new pillow, and I eased to the door before she made her way to the alarm clock. One good thing about quitting now—her immobility gave me a degree of safety. Looking at the rage on her face … if she could get up and strangle me, I think she would have.
“So … you want me to leave now?” I reached for the knob.
“Fuck you!” she seethed.
“I’ll leave everything in the office, with instructions—”
“Stick them up your penniless ass!” Her groping hands found the remote, and I didn’t move fast enough, it catching me in the shoulder and stinging like a bitch.
I swallowed any parting niceties and darted out the door, Chanel quick on my heels, both of us hightailing it down the stairs. I was almost glad for her fury. No guilt from a final sniffling memory of Nicole begging me to stay. On the downside, I was pretty sure, scooping Chanel up in my arms and kissing her goodbye, that my chance of a recommendation letter was toast.
I waved at the maid, the crystal pieces almost fully gone, and gently set Chanel down, all but skipping out the front door. I wanted to jump up and down when I hit the sidewalk. Wanted to grab the closest stranger and shake them with joy. I was actually FREE. Free of that woman and her drama. A taxi turned down their street, and I flagged it down, glancing at my watch as I hurried to the curb and opened the door.
Chirping out a hello to the impassive driver, I gave him the address to the BLL set and settled back in the seat.
I did feel sorry for her unborn child. I felt sorry for Chanel, hated pulling away and knowing that she was still stuck there, in her puppy booties and designer dog sunglasses. The taxi turned a corner, and I thought of Clarke, the tension in his shoulders, the sorrow on his face. It looked like he and Nicole would make it through this. Especially with the baby coming. Clarke would be a great father. And maybe the birth would change Nicole for the better. I was just glad I wouldn’t have anything to do with any of it.
Warm sun came through the window, and I pushed any lingering thoughts of Nicole out of my mind. I smiled like a crazy person, and pulled my sunglasses out of my bag, pushing them on. Unemployment, so far, felt great.
97. Senior Citizen Kink
“I’m sorry, Chloe. We can’t let you in.”
I stopped, mid-text to Carter, and looked up at Fred. Dear sweet Fred, who shared his banana bread with me when I got grouchy. Dear sweet Fred, who had stepped out of the security shack and now stood in front of me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Mrs. Brantley called. Said to take you off the list.”
“I have a purse in her trailer. That’s all I’m here for.” And… maybe one last order of cheese biscuits from the catering truck. “Five minutes,” I pleaded. “Maybe ten.”
He shook his head at me and I wished for the old days. When I could just pull out a hundred and buy the ability to break some rules. “Escort me,” I offered. “You can handcuff me to your side if you want. I know you’ve been dying to use those cuffs.” I gave him my best smile and saw him weaken slightly.
“Well…” He glanced toward the shack.
“Five minutes,” I repeated. “Just straight to Nicole’s trailer and back.”
And that was how I ended up handcuffed to an eighty-year-old man.
Just kidding. He didn’t use the handcuffs. And he was more like mid-sixties, but that doesn’t have near the storytelling punch. He shuffled toward Nicole’s trailer, and I trailed behind him, texting Hannah, hoping to get a good
bye in before I left.
I opened the upper cabinet and moved a bag of chips aside, tugging on the edge of the black bag until it fell out. There. Just as beautiful as the day I left it. I clutched it to my chest and turned to Fred. “One last stop,” I said. “Joey Plazen’s trailer. I just have to drop this off there.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s been ten minutes already, Chloe.”
Ten minutes because he walked slower than death. I could have hit both trailers and gotten cheese biscuits in the time it had taken us to walk here.
“It’s on the way back. Two doors down.” I jumped up and down a little and gave my best doe eyes.
“Fine,” he grumbled, and I swooped out the door ahead of him.
“Shut the fuck up.” Hannah stood at the counter in Joey’s trailer and gawked at the bag. “You’re giving this to me?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “I know. I’m amazing.”
“Seriously?” She ran a tattooed hand over the front of it.
“You quit?” Joey asked the question for the third time and I finally turned to him.
“Yes. And yes,” I said to Hannah. “Seriously.”
“Why?” he asked, standing from the couch and walking over, the kitchen in his trailer too small for the three of us. Fred coughed from the open doorway, and we all glanced his way.
“Umm… ” he said tentatively. “Miss Madison…”
“I’m not allowed on set,” I said, filling in the others. “Fred wants me out.”
“Here.” Joey pulled out his wallet and shuffled through some bills, pulling out a handful and holding them out to Fred. “I’ll watch the klepto. Make sure she leaves straight from here.”
“With a stop at the catering truck,” I chimed in, giving Joey a hopeful smile.
“No,” he said. “No catering truck.”