Reluctantly Yours(14)
His hazel gaze holds mine, intense and challenging, before his full lips slide into a devilish smirk.
“Chloe Anderson,” he shakes his head, “you’ve been a bad girl.”
CHAPTER 5
Chloe
I’m having an out-of-body experience. When I made the decision to host Lauren’s bachelorette party in JoAnna’s living room, never in a million years did I imagine this scenario. If I thought I was stressed out before, no amount of vodka is going to fix this. Barrett’s cold, assessing eyes skim the length of me. His gaze is a chilly fifty-five degrees, and I visibly shiver. I’m stunned speechless, unable to say or do anything but watch this nightmare unfold.
One of Lauren’s co-workers, Molly, a tall blonde in a red strapless dress, moves toward Barrett. “Oh, Chloe isn’t the bride.” She grabs Lauren by the hand and pulls her out of the group of women. “Lauren is.”
I’m dead. Dead and fired. There is likely nothing Barrett would like more than to see me fired. I don’t know why, but it seems like something that would give him satisfaction. That and making babies cry.
My mind flashes to the image of the plethora of editorial assistant candidates that JoAnna had to choose from two years ago. There may be even more of them now. Just last week the news reported a population increase due to young professionals moving to the city. I’ll be replaced instantly. JoAnna is Beyonce and I’m her cheating boyfriend, she can have another me by tomorrow. I’m not irreplaceable.
Worse than losing my job with St. Clair Press, with one word, JoAnna could banish me from the entire publishing industry in New York if she wanted to. That’s the power that she has. I’ve rarely seen it wielded for anything other than the benefit of her clients, but I wouldn’t want to find out.
There would be no associate editor job in my future. No job at all. I’d have to move home and work at The Book Nook—the local bookstore I worked at for five years before I left for college—for the rest of my life.
Or I might be able to find some corner of the world where JoAnna St. Clair’s influence in the publishing industry can’t reach. Like Antarctica.
“It’s Lauren. Lauren has been a very bad girl,” Molly says, winking at Barrett.
Lauren, in her white sparkly romper and bride-to-be sash, bounces in her heels.
While I’m watching my life and career in New York City flash before my eyes, Lauren laughs and covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh my God, this is so fun!” She turns to find me across the room. “Chloe, I can’t believe you got a stripper. And he’s so hot!”
After three drinks, her tiara is crooked and her cheeks are rosy. She’s also oblivious to the stress Barrett’s arrival has caused me.
I think I’m having a heart attack. Finally, my feet get the message to move my body and I close the ten feet between me and Barrett. Around me, the conversation about Barrett’s performance kicks into high gear.
“Where’s your boom box?” Lana, Lauren’s cousin, asks. “Wouldn’t that be so nineties if he had a boom box?”
“Are you taking requests?” Lauren’s aunt, Clara, chimes in, her mouth practically salivating.
“Chloe, I think he needs a music hook up,” another co-worker of Lauren’s shouts excitedly.
“Um, can I talk to you for a minute?” I blurt out, before grabbing Barrett’s arm and pulling him toward the kitchen. My only goal right now is to get Barrett away from the women and to not have him tell them I’m technically trespassing.
He could call the cops. Have me thrown out or worse, arrested. In this dress and heels, I’d be mistaken for a hooker. My vivid imagination is working overtime thinking of all the worst-case scenarios.
I’m thankful Barrett follows me easily. That he doesn’t protest a relocation and demand he humiliate me in front of everyone.
I’ve never touched Barrett before. There’s been no reason to. Our interactions are few and brief, but laced with enough hostility to know that he’s more foe than friend. That being said, I didn’t expect the warmth of his body. I expected his body to mirror that of his icy stare. Cold and rigid. That there must also be cold blood running through his veins, either that or wires to connect to his hard drive. It’s nice to feel the heat of his skin and muscle through the fabric of his suit. I immediately drop his arm and reach for the pantry door.
Once he’s inside, I close the door behind us. In the small space, I can smell his cologne. It’s highly distracting. Has he always smelled like that? Intoxicating and decadent? His scent makes me wish we were in this pantry for another reason. Oh, no, did I just think about kissing Barrett? The vodka must be lowering my defenses. I need to focus.
Barrett has taken a firm stance on the opposite side of the pantry. One hand in his pocket, the other propped on a shelf next to JoAnna’s array of herb and supplement bottles.
I cross my arms over my chest, and swear for a nano second Barrett’s eyes drop below my face. My eyes drop to find my breasts pushed up higher on my chest, giving Barrett a full view of my cleavage. There’s no way Barrett is staring at my chest. That would require feeling something and he’s dead inside, but I drop my arms anyway.
“Okay, listen,” I say, now fidgeting with my hands. “This is not what it looks like.”