Risking It All

by Christi Barth

  As he lay there, bleeding profusely, bucking against the restraints and the four SWAT members holding him down, he’d turned to look at Chloe. His face contorted into an ugly, taut mask of rage. “Why aren’t you dead?” he’d screamed. With a far-from-shocking lack of originality, he’d done the same thing to her during the trial. Well, to her and to every other victim who showed up to testify. So at least it wasn’t personal, right?

  Dave’s angry face was the last thing she’d seen before slipping into unconsciousness. It came back to her in nightmares consistently, night after night. For a few years, if she saw an angry person in a movie or television, it sent a spear of ice down her spine. Her therapist finally banished the nightmares through hypnosis. Every once in a while, though, she felt that echo. That’s what caused the stupid tears.

  So after being accosted by dissatisfied client number one, Chloe went home and made raviolis from scratch. The sauce, the pasta sheets, everything. It helped her get focused, get back in control. Then she’d invited Summer over for dinner and they’d written out a script of exactly what to say should an upset, unappreciative, or ungrateful ex-client ever accost her again.

  They’d decided against starting with an apology. It put her in a position of weakness and defense. Instead, the script began with a strong, factual statement. Chloe interlaced her fingers. Noticed that she needed to touch up her cherry blossom nail polish. Then she looked Lucy dead in her eyes—after a quick glance at the silver lightning bolt through her eyebrow—and said, “I wrote exactly what you asked me to express.”

  “It backfired.” She didn’t just spit out the word. A little actual spittle went flying across the table. Chloe thanked her lucky stars that Rosalia and her knitting friends were absent today. Rosalia was a big-time germaphobe. “You must’ve done it wrong.”

  Sticking to her memorized script, Chloe calmly stated, “I emailed you a draft for approval. Which you gave.”

  “I’m not a letter expert.” Lucy kept ripping the letter into ever smaller pieces. Confetti, really. “How was I supposed to judge it? That’s your job.”

  Talk about a circular argument. Chloe skipped down two bullet points in the script. “I can only guarantee that my letter expressed your thoughts and feelings. I have no control over how the recipient reacts.”

  “That’s not true. That’s not what I paid you to do.”

  “Lucy—” Chloe tried to put a soothing tone in her voice, but the woman cut her off with an eruption of words. Loud, very loud, words.

  “The letter was supposed to make Lacey stop pestering me. Make her be okay with me not being her mirror image on her wedding day. Now she doesn’t want me standing up for her.” She white-knuckled the chair to lean down closer to Chloe. “Lacey said the letter was selfish. That on a day that was supposed to be all about her, I wanted it to be all about me. And it made her realize that I’d been ‘selfish’ toward her for years.” Lucy made air quotes with her fingers. “By not going with her to hear bands I hate. By not going to her stupid yoga class with her when I can’t even touch my toes. By skipping a weekend at the beach with her friends to drink stupid girlie drinks and lay out and do freaking nothing all day long because it was the same weekend as the Americade motorcycle rally.”

  It didn’t sound selfish to Chloe. It sounded like two different people living different lives. On the other hand, it also sounded like Lacey constantly reached out, tried to include Lucy, and got turned down. Over and over again. Hurt feelings were understandable. Especially in that super-sensitive-bride mode so many women entered for the months leading up to their weddings. In other words, no matter what Chloe wrote, there would’ve been an explosion. Not that she’d say that out loud. Nope, sticking to the script was imperative with someone as volatile as Lucy.

  To get on more of an even physical footing with the angry woman, Chloe stood. “Letters touch people in a very personal way. Seeing thoughts and feelings on paper, in ink, gives them a solemnity that isn’t expressed through texts or calls. The recipient reads and rereads and can fixate on a single word that isn’t representative of the missive as a whole.”

  “Lacey didn’t reread it. She gave it back to me when she came over to take back the bridesmaid dress. Thanks for nothing, bitch!” Lucy threw the handful of letter confetti in Chloe’s face.

  Chloe flinched. It was just paper, but it was annoying and surprising. Almost as surprising as the sight of Griff sprinting from the front counter straight toward her. Lucy picked up her helmet and strode away. Griff looked as though he planned to body slam her to the floor.

  “Let her go, Griffin,” Chloe yelled. “Just let her leave.”

  He checked himself at the last moment. Lucy kept going right out the door. The twenty or so people in the coffee shop didn’t bother to hide their gaping stares. It was deathly quiet. Until the espresso machine let out its powerful hiss of steam. That sort of nudged everyone back into their own worlds. Chairs scraped. Silverware clinked. Chloe tried to brush the paper bits from her shoulder, but a second later Griff had her arms locked in the tightest embrace she’d ever felt.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled against his T-shirt.

  “Do you want me to call the police? Go after her? Both?”

  “What? No. Oh my gosh, no. This was no big deal. Really.” He held her so tightly that Chloe couldn’t get her arms around him. Or turn her head. Or…“Breathing, on the other hand. If I could breathe right now, that would be a big deal.”

  Griff rested his cheek on her head and sucked in a long breath. Then he let her go. Not far, though. Holding her hand, he walked all the way around the table to sit down right next to her. Chloe leaned in to feel the heat of his skin on her bare arm. Told herself that soaking him in wasn’t at all a sign of weakness. It was, in fact, a better way of dealing with the knot in her stomach than, say, eating a scone or doing deep-breathing exercises.

  She squeezed his hand. Talk about reassuring. He erased all the stress Lucy had dumped on her. Sitting with Griff might be even more relaxing than her knee-jerk reflex to go and cook four courses. It was certainly better for her waistline. Chloe rested her head on his shoulder. Then popped it back up.

  “Why do you smell like buttered toast? Is it a new cologne? Like how the scent of vanilla is supposed to turn guys on? Because while I like toast, it doesn’t make my toes curl or anything.” Talking about toast made Chloe remember about the scone she had yet to get. Rats.

  “Not cologne.” He dipped his head to sniff at his sleeve with a grimace. “You’re smelling an honest day’s labor. I helped out on the food truck all morning. Trust me, I far prefer my usual workday scent of chopper fuel and salt water.”

  Yeah, yeah. Hero pilot. Whatever. Chloe zeroed in on the only truly crucial thing he’d said. “What food truck?”

  “One of my roommates, Josh, runs a food truck. Calls it Capitol Grilled. His assistant called out sick this morning.” He shrugged. “I pitched in. We all helped when he first opened. Simple enough to remember how everything works. It was swamped today. Tons of Cherry Blossom Festival tourists all over the Hill. Instead of just taking orders and cash, I had to make the muenster guacamole bacon grilled cheese.”

  Yum. Forget the scone. Chloe wanted to leap out of her chair and run to get one of those sandwiches. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Didn’t know you cared about the employment history of my roommates.”

  Men were so dense. She twisted around for a better angle to talk to Griffin. “First of all, the ACSs aren’t just roommates to you. They’re brothers. They’re important. And second, you know I love cooking. I have to meet Josh. I have to try his food.”

  Griff stroked his chin. Raised a golden brown eyebrow at her. “Should I be worried?”

  “About what?”

  “About you throwing me over for a guy who knows his way around a griddle?”

  It was hard not to giggle. So hard that Chloe covered her lips with her hand, pretendi
ng to seriously mull an answer. “Well…is he as hot as you?”

  “A lot of people think we’re brothers when they see us together.” He gave his abs a double thump with the sides of his hands. “But I’m obviously the hotter one.”

  Chloe didn’t have to meet Josh, or see a picture of him, to know that Griff was right. And even teasing, she couldn’t keep him in suspense any longer. “I’m going to assume that nobody in the entire world could kiss me better than you do. I’ll keep you, Lieutenant.”

  “Then I’ll introduce you to Josh.” Griff nudged her with his elbow. “How about tomorrow? We’re doing our first podcast, and going out to celebrate afterward. Or laugh at ourselves. Either way, there’ll be good food. You should come to dinner. Great way to meet all the guys at once.”

  “All of them?” she repeated weakly. All was…a lot too many. Yes, she wanted to meet Josh and talk food. Hear him tell funny stories about Griffin back in high school. And then, maybe a month from now, after hanging out a few times and getting comfortable with him, she could move on to Knox. Maybe dial in meeting the rest of the house by Labor Day. That sounded like a much more reasonable approach.

  “Everyone except for Logan. He’s still AWOL. He goes off the grid like this sometimes. Death-defying adventures are his thing. Usually places without indoor plumbing, let alone good Wi-Fi. We thought he’d at least respond to our email about the podcast. But he must be up a mountain or down a river where the bugs are bigger than the cell towers.”

  Chloe wasn’t phobic or anything. She could hang out with people. The embassy party had been fun. But all the people around her had been strangers. As much a part of the décor as the antiques. Being put under the microscope by Griffin’s best friends was an entirely different situation. A scary one. One she wasn’t ready for—not yet. Luckily, there was an obvious way out.

  “It, um, sounds like a private celebration. Momentous.” She patted him on the arm—the sexy, muscled forearm that turned her on just by looking at it—and beamed a smile of pride.

  “It is momentous. That’s why I want you there with me.”

  The simple statement nearly undid her. Talk about momentous. Griff wanted to share his big day with her. Just his nearest and dearest friends…and her. Embarking on this new chapter of life together. It was as if he’d invited her to a meeting of a top-secret club. It meant she was in. It was a huge leap toward commitment. Chloe was honored. Overwhelmed. And fighting not to well up. “Then of course I’ll go with you.”

  “Great.” He pushed her half-empty glass of water into her hands. Waited until she’d guzzled the whole thing. Then said, “Are you ready to talk about it now?”

  Oh. My. God. Griff had charged across the restaurant to protect her. Had dropped the whole subject of the confrontation at her first request to do so. Let her tease him about dating his friend. It was all classic misdirection. He’d been giving her the time and space to calm down. Well, he was in for one heck of a surprise. Because it had worked—but now she was riled up for a new reason.

  She scooted so far away from him on the padded brown banquette that it crossed over into the territory of the next table. Good thing it was empty. “Griffin Montgomery, were you just handling me?”

  Something must’ve alerted him to her ire. Maybe her accusatory tone. Maybe the fire that had to be licking out from her pupils. Whatever the tip-off, Griffin paused, mouth partway open. Then he closed it. Pressed his lips together before starting again. “I was taking care of my girlfriend,” he said with great caution.

  “Look, I realize we’ve shared some big-time emotional moments. Probably more in the last two weeks than most people do in two months. But I’m not about to break. I’m not even about to crack. What just happened with Lucy was no big deal. No different, really, than a customer sending their entrée back to the chef because the sauce is too salty.”

  With more measured deliberation, Griff said, “She assaulted you, Chloe.”

  As a business owner, bumps like this were bound to happen. Chloe couldn’t be scared of them. Couldn’t let Griff be, either. The whole thing needed to be downplayed to get him to drop it.

  “I wouldn’t call it assault. I don’t have a black eye or anything. She tossed some paper scraps at me. My own mini ticker-tape parade for pissing her off. Guess the joke’s on Lucy, huh?”

  Her admittedly weak attempt at humor did not erase his serious face. “How often does that happen?”

  “Pretty rarely. This was only the third time. Despite how it may look after Lucy’s outburst, I’m quite good at my job.”

  Griff pulled a pen out of the lineup and spun it. “You should quit.”

  Huh? “That is a very random response to my previous statement.”

  “Clients berating you is not acceptable. Also, not necessary. Didn’t you just get two job offers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take one.”

  The thought had crossed her mind after the embassy party. But that’s all it did. Passed right through and then skedaddled away. “No. One bad day isn’t a reason to quit.”

  “Did you notice that nobody rushed to your defense just now?”

  “You did.”

  “Exactly my point. I did because I care. If you were in an office with coworkers, they’d care if someone treated you badly. Here? Everyone watched. Hell, someone probably recorded it. Maybe you’ve already gone viral.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Ugh. Definitely not the kind of publicity her business needed. “My job is not dangerous. Don’t think you can smother me, Griff. Or rescue me. The only thing you can do is be here, by my side, while I chart my own course.”

  “If you used your mad language skills, you could work in an office. It’s safer there.”

  Oh, no. Chloe refused to listen to any more of this. “As safe as a classroom was supposed to be? Griffin, no place is safe. You know that. I know that. I haven’t managed to convince my mother of it yet, but it’s true.”

  “I bet a translation job would include lots of travel.”

  “I won’t do that either.”

  “Which is it, Chloe? Refuse to be locked away for safekeeping? Or refuse to travel and experience the world outside of the District?”

  Damn it. He was trying to box her in with logic. But emotions, phobias, anxiety—those couldn’t be logicked away. Time was the only thing that would help her mother. And that was something Chloe was more than willing to give.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my life just the way it is. No matter how contained it may seem to everyone else.”

  “You’re not using your mother as an excuse this time. Is it because maybe you’re not as healed as you think? That argument with Lucy jacked your pulse up and drained every speck of color from your face. What if your mom’s issues are a crutch? What if you’re the one who is still scared?”

  Amazing that he’d tapped into one of her deepest, darkest fears. Chloe second-guessed a lot of her actions and reactions since the shooting. The need no longer to be the broken, petrified, pathetic wreck with two therapists spurred her to heal. To combat her issues head-on. But she did have this safety hatch of her mom’s phobias. To fool herself into believing that she was perfectly normal and ready to travel to a foreign country at the first opportunity. Chloe still had no idea if that would ever actually happen. Again, easier to assume everything would be fine instead of living life.

  “What if I am? Being scared doesn’t mean it controls me. My friend Tasha is scared of bees. She got stung in her tongue when she was little and freaks out every time she sees one. But it doesn’t stop her from going outside. I can be scared without dwelling on it. Without reacting to it. And if I’m not ready to fly off to Switzerland right now, it doesn’t mean that I won’t someday.”

  Griffin batted at her ponytail. Confetti fell on her arms. “You finished spouting off?”

  “Maybe. Are you finished making stupid suggestions? Treating me with kid gloves?”

  “I’m a guy. I’m bound to say mor
e stupid things. But I can promise they won’t be intentional.”

  “Fair enough. You know how you can make it up to me?”

  “No clue.”

  “Two things. I’m in desperate need of a double chocolate scone. And I want to come with you to your podcast tomorrow, not just to dinner.”

  Both eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No. No way.”

  Awww. Look at how panicked and defensive he got when the tables were turned. “Griffin, I want to support you. What’s more, I’m quite sure it’s expected that I do so as your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t even want you to listen. I especially don’t want you to listen if you’re there.”

  “Why not?”

  He scrunched his face up. Sucked in a tight breath. “Look, this wasn’t my idea. Okay, it was originally. But since you and I cleared the air, I’ve tried day and night to change their minds.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I was kind of pissed. Taken off guard. Freaked out when you told me about your virginity. It slipped out when we were at our first meeting with SER. The producer loved it. It’s the topic of our inaugural show.”

  “My virginity,” she squeaked.

  “No. No names,” he reassured her swiftly. “Just how you’re still a virgin, and how men react to that news. The way I flipped out. The way my friends gave me shit. Basically, how much of a pain in the ass adult virginity is in the modern world.”

  “You’re turning me into a sociology lecture!”

  “Not you. Prudence from Bethesda. That’s the fake person we made to be the catalyst for our discussion.”

  If they were going to do it, she darn well intended to be there. To make Griff every bit as uncomfortable during the discussion as she’d been when he hightailed it out of her apartment after her big reveal. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more Chloe liked the idea as payback. “Fine. You can call me anything. You can use the story. As long as I’m right there to hear it.”