With a sigh, I stand up and glance into Chloe’s backyard. I see her dive into the pool and swim the length of it below the surface. I keep watching as she surfaces at the far end, then turns and starts doing casual laps back and forth with Noah and Nadine’s voices still ringing in my ears. Yeah, Chloe scares me. She was the first taste of rejection and failure I ever had in my life, and it’s an acrid taste I’ve yet to be able to wash out. It’s dulled over the years, but it’s never completely gone away.
And I know if I take their advice, I’m simply setting myself up for another mouthful of the same.
But I’ve never been somebody who lets my fears get the better of me. When I come up against something that scares me, I will always find a way through it. I don’t let myself be intimidated, and I never back down. If there is something I want, I will chase it to the ends of the earth. It’s partly why I’ve been so successful in my life.
I can’t allow this to be any different.
Steeling my nerves, I head downstairs and out the front door. I breathe a small sigh of relief, seeing that Chloe’s mother’s car isn’t there. The last thing I want is to have to battle that salty old lady on top of everything else. Besides, if Chloe does wind up shooting me down again, I’d rather not have witnesses.
Since she’s out back, she won’t hear it if I ring the doorbell. So instead, I walk to the gate on the side of the house that leads to a side yard that will take me to the backyard. As I walk down the side yard, I hear splashing in the pool and feel my heart turn a somersault in my chest. Not wanting to give myself time to think, I press forward as I try to clear my mind of all the turmoil churning inside of it.
I step out onto the back deck and stand beside the lounge chairs lined up in the shady overhang from her outdoor patio area. Chloe’s mother had constructed a barbecue area in her backyard detached from the main house. It’s a covered space with a concrete floor that houses a large table and bench seating enough for at least twelve. I know from experience that her mother regularly hosts wine tastings and other gatherings at her house.
Chloe surfaces and hangs on the edge of the pool for a moment, catching her breath. Her eyes widen, and a startled look crosses her face when she sees me standing there.
“Jesus Christ, Braxton,” she chokes out. “What in the hell are you doing creeping around here like that?”
“I needed to talk to you,” I tell her. “And I knew you were back here and wouldn’t hear the door. Sorry to have startled you.”
“How did you know –”
I cut her off by pointing to my windows and immediately wish I hadn’t when a look of dark anger spills out onto her face.
“You’ve been spying on me?” she hisses. “You son of a bitch.”
I run a hand through my hair and let out a patient breath. “I haven’t been spying on you,” I tell her. “I was working in my office and happened to see you out here.”
She says nothing but continues to glower at me from the edge of the pool. I’m definitely not scoring any points right now.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“Pretty sure we don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Pretty sure we do,” I fire back. “Please. Just give me a couple of minutes – for old time’s sake.”
She rolls her eyes, then sighs dramatically and hauls herself out of the pool. She’s wearing a red one-piece bathing suit that doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. Not that I’m complaining. I draw in a sharp breath as I watch the way the dying light of the afternoon glistens upon her golden skin and the way her body, confined by that swimsuit, shimmies and sways. I try to be subtle in my movements as I shift on my feet, doing my best to hide my raging erection.
Chloe leads me into the covered patio area and motions for me to take a seat at the table then drops down onto the bench across from me. She gathers her hair into a single tail and wrings it out, letting the water splash onto the concrete at her feet. Sitting across from her and looking into her eyes again feels so surreal. We sit in silence for a long moment, the air around us saturated with so many unexpressed emotions that it’s cloying.
“What do you want, Braxton?” she finally breaks the silence.
I clear my throat and gather myself, doing my best to shut down the emotions surging within me. All I want to do at that moment is pull her to me, feel her body pressed tightly to mine, and feel her kiss. I want to run my fingers through her hair and breathe in her scent. I yearn to recapture the magical time we once spent together – a time when everything felt so right and so perfect.
But I know that time has passed. Long ago. I know that same magic can’t be recaptured, and everything that had felt so right back then was nothing more than a fond memory. At least for me. Looking into eyes that smoldered with anger, I’d have to guess those memories aren’t quite as fond for Chloe anymore.
However, there’s nothing saying that just because the magic of old can’t be recaptured that something different – and maybe even something better – can’t be forged to take its place. I am convinced that Chloe and I belong together. She belongs to me every bit as much as I belong to her.
She’d probably say that’s outlandish and nothing more than wishful thinking. But the fact that she not only turned up in Vegas again but right next door to me at that, is only reinforcing that idea in my head. I’ve never been one to be particularly religious or spiritual, and I sure as hell don’t consider myself a believer in the paranormal or metaphysical, but it’s like there’s some unseen force that keeps leading us back to each other.
I mean really, what were the odds of us running into each other all those years ago in the first place? And what are the odds that she moves in next door after eight years away? Now, what are the odds of both of those things happening? I’d have to say not very good. Which means, it seems to be something like fate, or God, or the universe – or whatever the hell you want to call it – intervening and shaping events to make it happen.
And now it’s up to me do to my part.
“Braxton?” she prompts me again, a hint of irritation in her voice. “What do you want?”
I give my head a shake and flash her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, sorry,” I start. “What are you doing here? I thought you were running your dad’s London office. What happened?”
I see a look of raw pain flash across her features. She quickly recovers and pushes the emotion from her face, favoring me with a look of cool indifference.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she replies. “And if this is just a social call, I’m sorry but, I’m not interested in a stroll down memory lane.”
I nod. “Fair enough. Well, in that case, I couldn’t help but notice that you missed your interview today,” I continue. “I just wanted to find out why.”
She looks away, unable to meet my gaze. “I guess I – reconsidered things.”
“Why?” I press. “Is it because of me?”
I fold my hands on the table in front of me and look at her, but Chloe still won’t meet my eyes. She’s looking down at the table in front of her, and although she’s trying to control it, I can still see her emotions churning wildly inside of her. Chloe chews on her bottom lip and gives me a slight nod.
“Yeah, I suppose it is,” she says quietly.
I sigh. “That’s ridiculous, Chloe,” I declare firmly. “I don’t know why you’re at this point, but you’re looking for a job, right?”
She nods, her eyes still focused on the table, rather than on me. I can see the tumult of emotions raging inside of her, and I realize it’s not all about me. Something happened to her – something bad – and it’s led her here. It’s a situation she’s obviously embarrassed by and one she’s having trouble dealing with. And I realize in that moment that what she needs right now is a break. She needs something good to happen for her. I can tell that more than anything, Chloe badly needs a win.
“I want you to come back in,” I tell her. “I want to offer you the junior designer job.”
Her cheeks flush scarlet, and she seems to draw further into herself. “I don’t want or need your charity, Braxton.”
“It’s not charity,” I advise her. “You’ll be getting stuck on a shit team with a shit lead. If this was charity, I wouldn’t be sticking you with such a shitty job.”
She pauses for a moment as if considering it, but then shakes her head. Chloe finally raises her head and looks at me, her face harder than iron.
“Are you offering me the job because of our past?” she asks bluntly. “Are you offering it to me because you’re hoping you can use it to get into my pants again?”
A thousand snarky, sarcastic answers immediately spring to mind – the same sort of answers I never would have hesitated throwing at her in the past. But I can see she’s not in any mood for it.
“In part, it’s because of our past, yes –”
She opens her mouth, likely to blow me up on the spot, but I put my hand up to cut her off before she can utter a word.
“It’s because of our past that I know how brilliant you are, and what a talented architect you are, Chloe,” I explain. “It’s because of our past that I know how dedicated and thorough you are. I need somebody I can trust to do a job and do whatever it takes to do it well. These are things I know about you already – because of our past. It’s not out of trying to get in your pants. But you need a job, and I have a job to offer, and I know you’d kill it. That’s all.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the wheels spinning in her head. She purses her lips and fidgets with her fingers. Chloe lets out a sigh and looks up at me again.
“I really don’t think we can work together, Braxton,” she declares. “There’s just too much history between us.”
I lean forward and hold her gaze. “Ancient history,” I tell her. “What happened almost a decade ago is irrelevant to anything happening today.”
Except for that whole being married thing. That seems kind of relevant. But it’s also not something I’m going to bring up right now. I know I should – it’s probably better to get everything out on the table right now, but the little voice in the back of my head is telling me this isn’t the time. I’ll get around to it, but I’d like to be on at least semi-solid footing with her first.
“I don’t know, Braxton –”
I hold up my hand to cut her off again. “I know it’s a lot to drop on you like this. But the position is yours if you want it,” I say. “If you want it, just be in the office by eight Monday morning. If not, I guess I’ll have my answer.”
Without waiting for her to reply, I get to my feet and let myself out through the side gate again. Best to not squeeze her too hard right now. I’m sure she’s reeling from our strange reunion every bit as hard as I am. But I threw it out there, and now I’ll have to wait and see if she bites.
And if she doesn’t, I’ll have to find another way to wiggle back into her life. I refuse to think that her being back in my orbit is just random coincidence. I truly think there is an inevitability about us, and I’m determined to see it to fruition.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chloe
“What in the hell am I doing?”
My reflection in the mirror doesn’t answer me, leaving me without any clue why I’m actually going through with this. I smooth out my skirt and pull the matching black jacket over a red blouse. I turn to the left and then to the right, trying to see myself from every conceivable angle as the butterflies swarm in my belly.
I can still back out. I don’t have to do this. I mean, if I decide to not show up, nothing changes about my current situation. I can still send out my resume, still contact Ms. Walsh or any other recruiters I can find – I can still find a job like I’d been planning to do. Probably. More than likely.
Of course, finding another job as an architect might be difficult. I have a passion for design and would love to finally be able to put my education to use. But I’ve perused some of the job listings for architects, and most of the firms require a minimum of two years of practical experience – which I obviously don’t have. The best-case scenario if I turn Braxton’s offer down is that I’ll spend at least a year – but probably more – fetching coffee and returning correspondence before I even get a shot at a design team. But if I take Braxton up on his offer, I’ll be on a design team immediately.
The only problem, of course, is that I’ll be working with Braxton. I could tell by the look in his eye that he still has feelings for me. He’s never been very good at masking his emotions from me, and I’ve always been able to read him. I worry that he thinks this job will lead to something romantic between us. That is not going to happen. It can’t.
And that’s what I need to make sure he understands – that if I’m going to work for him, it’s going to be a professional relationship and nothing more than that. Ever. I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror one more time and give myself a short nod, satisfied. I look good. Professional. A kick-ass, take no shit kind of woman.
“I got this. I got this,” I tell myself in the mirror.
My stomach churning wildly, I head downstairs. Thankfully, my mom has chosen to sleep in this morning, so I won’t have to deal with her this morning. I’m stressed out enough as it is. I think about eating something, but considering my stomach is churning so hard, I don’t want to risk getting sick to my stomach, so I settle for a glass of orange juice and a protein bar.
After finishing my breakfast, such as it was, I steel myself as best as I can and head out, as ready for this as I can be.
“This is Curtis Greeley,” Braxton introduces me. “He’s going to be your team lead.”
I extend my hand and get the limpest, most insincere handshake I’ve ever gotten in my life. Curtis gives me the elevator eyes, taking me in from head to toe, a sour expression upon his face. I can tell he has no interest in me being part of his team and that Braxton is forcing me upon him – and that he’s entirely resentful about it.
I suppose I can’t ever say Braxton lied to me – he did tell me I was getting the shit job. But if I’m planning on keeping this job, I should probably try to ingratiate myself as best as I can.
“It’s nice to meet you, Curtis,” I smile.
“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” he mutters, his tone saying it’s anything but.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” I add.
“For,” he replies.
“Excuse me?”
“For,” he snaps. “You work for me. Not with me.”
I recoil like he just slapped me while a bucket of ice water was being dumped over my head at the same time. I’ve dealt with some rude people in my life, but with just a few words, Curtis seems determined to make it to the top of my list. Braxton takes a step closer to the man, his eyes boring into him. I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a stove.
“With. She works with you, Curtis. You’re, teammates and teammates work with each other,” Braxton says, his voice a low, deep rumble. “On the other hand, this is my company, so you work for me. See the difference?”
Curtis’ face darkens, and he looks at me, absolute poison in his glare. “Of course,” he says. “It’s nice to have you on my team.”
Without another word, Curtis turns and stomps off down the hallway, his footsteps thumping hard on the tile. Braxton stares at him hard, looking like he wants nothing more than to rip the man’s head off. There’s obviously some history between them I feel like I’m getting caught up in it. I lay a gentle hand on Braxton’s arm, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “Let it go. It’s not worth it, Braxton.”
I don’t condone violence in any way, shape, or form. It’s a barbaric way to handle any situation and is the biggest turn off I can think of. I don’t like being afraid of people, and although I know Braxton would never intentionally hurt me, I don’t want to be around people who solve their problems with their fists. I know he’s g
ot a temper – he always has. But I’ve never thought him capable of violence.
I feel the muscles in his arm slowly relax, and he lets out a long, loud breath. We both look down at my hand, still resting on his arm, and I quickly snatch it away like I’ve been scalded. Braxton looks at me, a grin tugging one corner of his mouth upward as I feel myself flush.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to look at him. “We should probably talk.”
He nods and silently leads me back down the hallway toward his office. He tells his secretary to hold his calls and shuts the thick glass door behind me. I watch as he walks around his desk, drops down into the seat, and motions to the chair across from him.
I sit down as instructed and look around. His office is thoroughly modern, sleek, and spartanly furnished. What furniture is in the office is all black, stainless steel, and glass. Two large windows are set in the rear wall, looking out over the rugged Nevada desert, and a glass bookcase is set between them. On the shelves are some pictures and other personal effects, but other than that, everything else in the office is business related. The décor in his office is slightly cold and aloof – much like the man himself.
From where I’m sitting, I can see one of the few pictures that grace the shelves, and it’s one of Braxton and what looks like a teenage boy. The boy has olive-colored skin, dark hair that’s cropped close to his skull, and the small dusting of a mustache on his top lip. He’s a good-looking kid, and I can’t help but wonder who he is to Braxton. He can’t be his son. That would mean he had him as a teen.
Boss Next Door Page 17