Page 56 of Romance with Mr. Bossy Pants

What else has Chloe been sharing about me online?

I scroll through to another photo, and it’s a vase bursting with purple flowers. ‘Create your happiness. Create beauty.’ the caption reads. She can’t possibly find anything joyful about a pot of flowers, at least enough to post about it.

Next up is a cozy picture of Chloe and an older lady, probably her mom. They’re cheek to cheek with their teeth on full display. ‘The other piece of me.’ says the caption.

Then there’s a beach picture of Chloe and a friend, both hidden under huge straw hats, wearing bikinis and sipping on those fancy drinks with little umbrellas poking out. Its caption is ‘Just pure fun in the sun.’

My eyes linger on her in the bikini. She has curves in all the right places. Thin, yet voluptuous. My mind flashes back to our kiss and how my arms wrapped around her waist, then slowly slid down to her hips.

Ugh. I shake my head. This was a bad idea.

I go back to my own Facebook page. It’s so different from Chloe’s colorful feed. The last update is a photo of Maddie and me that she’d taken right after our wedding reception. I remember the warmth of that day and how I looked at her, unaware of the heartache ahead.

I exhale slowly, wondering why my profile has been empty since then. What would I even share? Late nights at the office? Solo dinners? Or a candid moment with Michelle?

The pull of Chloe’s page is too strong, though, and I find myself drawn back to her recent uploads. I’m not sure what I’m searching for as I click through her life in pictures.

Then I see it—a photo of Chloe wrapped in an embrace with some guy, their lips locked in a kiss. Her hand is outstretched towards the camera, and a ring sparkling on her finger. The caption reads, ‘I said yes!’

But the ring is gone now. It seems Chloe and I may have something in common—both touched by love’s fleeting promise.

If I continue to browse, I’ll spiral forever thinking about what happened with her ex-fiancée.

I need to visit my therapist again. I used to see her consistently after Maddie’s passing, but our sessions have become more of an as needed basis over the past year. I sure need it now.

I send her a quick email and call it a night.

***

I get back on the grind the following day. I sit through calls behind closed doors and sign so many contracts that my fingers momentarily go numb. I catch myself about to call Chloe throughout the morning for some input, but I stop short. I figure I can handle it—or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

But the itch to talk to her doesn’t go away, and eventually, I cave. I dial her extension, only Sarah answers. “Daniel Andrews office, Sarah speaking.”

Sarah?

“Sarah, can you come in here for a second?” I ask.

Sarah pops into my office with a notepad a few minutes later. “You called for me, Mr. Andrews.”

“Where’s Chloe today? I called her extension but got routed to you.”

“She called in sick. I’m covering for her, sir.”

Sick? A knot forms in my stomach. Is she really sick, or is this just her way of avoiding me after overhearing what I said last night? The possibilities are unsettling.

“I see. Can you get Alex for me?” I dismiss Sarah with a nod.

Alex strolls inside a bit later. “Hi, Mr. Andrews.”

“Have you heard from Chloe today? I heard she called in sick. How sick is she?”

Alex nods, “I stopped by her place for a few minutes late last night to drop something off after she got home from the soirée. She started feeling sick around midnight and I heard it got worse this morning.”

A pang of jealousy hits me.

Did Alex spend the night with Chloe? What’s going on here? Or did he go there for her friend? Or are they all in cahoots with each other?

My thoughts consume me, but I regain focus.

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