Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (37 page)

He paid and printed out his boarding pass.

His phone rang. His hopes soared. Then Danny’s number flashed across the screen.

“Hey,” Cary said. “Look, I’m sorry I was as ass earlier.”

“No problem. I’m at the bar,” Danny said. “There’s a couple of hot chicks here. Why don’t you—”

“Nope,” Cary said. “There’s only one hot chick I want to see. I need Sheri’s number.”

“Who? Sheri, Chloe’s friend, Sheri?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Cary said.

“No. Call that Paula chick,” Danny bit out. “She’s engaged.”

What?Who?
“I don’t want Paula. Just give me Sheri’s number,” he pleaded, not understanding Danny’s problem.

“You’ve got Chloe, you’re not going after Sheri.”

“What?” Cary asked. It started to make sense. “I don’t like Sheri. I need to talk to her about Chloe.”

“Oh,” Danny said and then, “Shit!”

“Shit what?”

“I like Sheri. And I don’t mess with engaged women. I don’t mess with women . . . that I like too much, either.”

Damn if Cary didn’t know the consequences of doing that.

“I’ll have to text you the number,” Danny said.

“Fine.” They hung up. Cary stared at the boarding pass sitting on the printer. He’d find Chloe. He would.

Chapter Forty-one

Chloe and Sheri were still in her office. Chloe was trying to figure out what she’d say. “How about I say we just aren’t suited for each other?” she asked.

Sheri’s phone rang. She held up a finger to Chloe and looked at the screen. “What does anonymous want to sell me?” She put her phone to her ear, but looked back at Chloe. “Just tell him you aren’t interested.” She focused on her phone. “Hello?” Sheri answered. “Hello?” Sheri repeated into her phone again, and then looked back to Chloe. “Shit or get off the pot.”

“I’m trying to. I just need to know what I’m going to say.”

“No,” Sheri said. “I’m not talking to you, I’m speaking to anonymous caller who refuses to talk.” She pulled her phone from her mouth. “Tell him it’s not him, it’s you.” She paused for a second and looked back at her phone and brought it back to her lips. “Okay, I’m not wearing any underwear, so go whack off to that, buster.”

Chloe dropped her head on her desk.

“Come on,” Sheri said. “Let’s go back to my place and drink another bottle of wine.” Then she hung up her phone.

• • •

The line went dead. But Cary didn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to convince himself it wasn’t Chloe’s voice he’d heard. It was . . . he knew her voice. He had it memorized in his head. Then he reheard some of what Sheri had said:
Just tell him you’re not interested.

Oh hell! He looked at the boarding pass he’d just printed. He’d just bought a thousand dollar ticket to visit a woman who was about to dump his ass. Then he recalled something else Sheri had said.
Let’s go back to my place.
  Chloe wasn’t even in Florida.

An epiphany hit. Not so much about Chloe, but about the pain living and breathing in his chest. He’d felt this before. Had been consumed with it the day his boss called him into his office and told him Korine had talked to someone about killing him.

Why the hell had he done this? This, being letting himself start caring about a woman? Oh, and if he hurt this bad after only a short time, what would it have felt like later, after he’d really fallen in love? That’s when he knew for sure. There was no later. He was already in love with Chloe Sanders.

He closed his eyes and groaned. He’d willingly gotten on the Chloe train and said he wouldn’t get off unless someone pushed. Now someone had. Chloe had. She knocked him off the train and on his ass.

He went to his kitchen and pulled out his own bottle of good scotch.

• • •

Friday morning, the sun spilled into Cary’s bedroom. With a hangover from hell, he almost didn’t hear his phone ding with an incoming text. He forced his eyes open, only to have the bright light make him cover his face. He could barely remember last night. Moving his arm, he squinted at the bedside table and the empty scotch bottle. Hell, no wonder his head hurt.

His mind went to Chloe. Had she decided not to call him and just send a text?

He moved to get up, but his head started pounding. “Shit,” he muttered and pulled a pillow over his face. Why was he in a hurry to read it? It would be there later. And it would hurt just as much.

Later ended up being four more hours. He got out of bed. His head still hurting and the ball of pain still lodged in his chest. He went to piss and then brushed his teeth. It was pretty dang bad when you couldn’t stand your own breath.

But then he spotted his phone. He had to know.

The text was from Chloe.

I tried to call, but you aren’t answering.”

“
Yeah, that would be because I was drunk on my ass,” he muttered aloud.

Anyway, I think it’s best that we just don’t see each other again. I know I said I didn’t want promises, but I think I do. And I think I deserve someone who doesn’t lie.

He’d no more finished the last line when he wished he hadn’t read it.

Wished like hell.

He checked to see if she’d left a message. No message, but she had called.

Then he reread her text again.
Lie?
When the hell had he lied?

He started to text her back, then tossed his cell on the bed.

The hell with it. He didn’t want or need this pain.

Before he got out of the bedroom, his text dinged again. Had she changed her mind?

It pissed him off that he wanted her to change it. She’d put him through hell the last few days. But he still went to see what she said this time.

It wasn’t from her.

Paula?

He started to throw it down again then stopped. He didn’t owe Paula anything. They were both just using each other for sex, but that didn’t mean he had to treat her like shit. He didn’t treat people like shit. His name wasn’t Chloe Sanders.

Dropping back on the bed, he picked up the phone to call Paula and offer her a nice goodbye. He started to dial her, but instead he read her message.

I said I was sorry. I really didn’t see the text until . . . it was too late. And it’s okay if you don’t want to see me again. But if it doesn’t work out, you can call me.

Sorry for what? Too late for what?

He started scrolling back to previous messages.

Sorry I didn’t see your text.

That told him nothing.
He moved up to the message before that.

I shouldn’t be upset. And I’m not really. But I was surprised, she was too good-girl pretty. I thought you liked bad girls.

Damn it! Shit! Suddenly, everything made sense. Paula had shown up when Chloe was here.

Why the hell hadn’t Chloe just told him and given him a chance to explain?

Then another question hit. Why the hell hadn’t he texted Paula and told her it was over right away? He should have. It sure as hell wasn’t because he wanted to continue seeing her.

For that matter, he’d pretty much made the decision to stop seeing her before he’d slept with Chloe.

But Chloe wouldn’t know that. Would she? She probably thought he . . . he was fucking both of them.

That’s when he recalled her asking him,
You aren’t dating anyone? No one special in your life?

Now her comment about him lying made sense.

But he hadn’t lied. Even his sisters said sex wasn’t. . . Hell, he’d lied. Not that Paula was special, but in his gut, he knew what Chloe really meant. At the time, it had just been easier to tell a white lie. White because he knew he wouldn’t be seeing Paula again. He’d already gotten on the Chloe train.

But she didn’t know that. She thought he was a cheating, lying . . .

His next intake of air burned. It hurt to breathe. Standing up, he paced into the living room and plopped down in his leather chair, right down on the mail he’d picked up yesterday. Reaching down, he slung the mail on the end table.

He had to talk to Chloe. She had to give him a chance to explain.

He called Chloe’s phone and closed his eyes and prayed she’d answer. “Come on, Chloe. You’ve gotta give me a chance.”

The call went to voicemail. He waited for the beep. “Chloe, it’s me. Look, I know why you aren’t taking my calls. I know you’re not even in Florida. I need to explain. And if you’ll just please call me, I’ll . . . Call me, baby. Please. I just . . .  I didn’t . . . I haven’t been with Paula since. . . I know you think I lied about . . . her.” He paused. “I guess I did lie. But not really. Do you know what I mean? Hell, you don’t know what I mean, do you? Look, when I was with her all we did was . . .”
Fuck
. “It wasn’t as if she meant anything. I didn’t even like her. All she did was show up and . . .”
Fuck
.  “Shit. I’m screwing this up. Look, I never—” The line beeped.

He closed his eyes, and ran a rough hand over his face. No doubt his little message probably made things worse. He sucked at leaving messages. Totally sucked!

Then, wanting to know how bad things were, he called Paula.

“Hello there,” she answered in a sultry voice. “Am I forgiven?”

“For what? What did you say to Chloe?”

“Not much,” Paula said.

“Just tell me, please.”

He heard her breathing on the other end. “Your door opened, but the chain lock was on. I thought it was you behind there.”

His gut tightened. He imagined the worst. Once Paula had shown up wearing nothing but a trench coat. “And?”

“And it wasn’t you.”

“What did you say to her?”

She huffed. “I said something about hurrying and letting me in because I wasn’t wearing any panties.”

He closed his eyes again.
Friggin’ hell!

“And then she opened the door and we saw each other and . . . I dropped them.”

“Dropped what?”

“My panties. They were on the end of my finger. And that little rat thing got them.”

“Fuck!” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, okay?” she said. “But you should have told me you were seeing someone else and I’d have known to be more careful.”

He closed his eyes. “You’re right, it’s not your fault.” That’s all he could give her.  “But it’s over.”

“Really? That’s a relief. Do you want me to come over? We can have makeup sex. Even though we didn’t really break up.”

He shook his head. “No, Paula. It’s over between us. Not Chloe and I.” At least he hoped like hell it wasn’t over between them.

“Okay.” She didn’t sound too upset. “I’m a big girl. It was fun while it lasted.”

“Yeah. I gotta go. Take care of yourself.”

He sat there for a good fifteen minutes staring at his phone, wondering if Chloe would call him back. Then he realized he couldn’t just sit back and wait.

He needed to see her. Hell, she’d lied to him about even being in town. What was the chance of her opening her door to him?

Beyond frustrated, he went to stand up, and saw the little envelope still in the chair. The handwriting was familiar. It was his niece’s.

Probably her birthday invitation.

Son of a bitch! That was tomorrow. He hadn’t even bought her a present.

That’s when he remembered. That’s when he knew how he was going to get to see Chloe.

He grabbed his wallet and keys and set out to make it happen.

Chapter Forty-two

Grabbing the damp piece of cotton, Chloe put some real elbow grease into attacking the countertops in circular motions. Polishing. Wiping. Polishing. Wiping.

She’d heard his message. And as usual, it sucked. And she’d been right about the reason he hadn’t taken her call last night.

Footsteps echoed behind her. She recognized the light tap of Amber’s shoes.

“What’s wrong?” Amber asked. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ When you clean countertops at vampire speed, there’s always something wrong. Right after Jerry died, it was as if you dared a piece of dust to take up residence on your counters.”

Chloe turned around, squeezing the life and the moisture out of the innocent towel in her hands. “It’s official.”

Amber took a few more steps into the kitchen, eyeing the towel clutched in Chloe’s hand as if it was a weapon. “Okay, I feel as if I should know what that means, but I’ll admit ignorance and ask. What’s official?”

“He’s seeing her again.”

“Johnny Depp is seeing the pantiless woman?” Amber moved in and leaned against a counter.

Chloe nodded. “He had to have. He knows. He just left me a voicemail about her. How would he have known what I knew, if he hadn’t seen her?”

“Have you heard of this thing called a telephone?”

“What are the odds of that?” Chloe was so deep in hurt, she could barely think. “Especially when he didn’t take my call last night. And the reason why is because he was probably screwing her.

Amber shook her head. “You know I love ya, right?”

Chloe nodded.

“Good. Then I need you to listen what I’m going to say.” She reached for Chloe’s hand and looked her right in the eyes.  “You’re an idiot.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open and she pulled her hands away.

But it didn’t stop Amber from continuing. “Have you stopped and asked yourself if the reason you refuse to give him a chance isn’t just about what he did, but about Jerry? You’re scared. I know. But you’re still an idiot. I’m not saying take him back. If he’s really a womanizer, kick his ass to the curb. But damn it, hear him out.  And you can fire me if you want for not sugarcoating it, but you need to hear this.”

“Okay, you’re fired,” Chloe said.

Amber looked at her, eyes wide.

“I’m not serious.” Chloe leaned against the counter, her heart hurting, her head spinning. Sheri and Amber had basically said the same thing. Were they right?

• • •

After giving all her counters a good polish, Chloe went home.  She gathered a week’s worth of mail from her box and then faced her apartment. It felt empty. She felt empty.

Walking into her bedroom, she stared at the chair, free of the presents. Her fairytale dress no longer took up residence on her bed.