With me. I’ll be there around six.
Sinking into the mattress, I shake my head, unsure if I should feel annoyed he thinks he can just boss me around like that or give into the laugh I’m barely holding back. Honestly, what did I think would happen when I threw down the challenge? Did I really believe Chance would roll over and give into anything I wanted? I may have just met him a week ago, but I already know better. Chance is the first man that’s ever pushed me back when I tossed out my rules. He doesn’t let me walk all over him and run the show like I’m used to. All the other guys were happy to go along with whatever I said as long as they were getting laid but not Chance. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to walk away from him. Maybe the challenge of getting him to give into me is making this whole thing more interesting than it normally would be.
I stare down at my phone and try to think of something to say but I can’t come up with anything. He wanted to ensure that he got the last word and it’s exactly what he will get. Glancing up at the clock, I bite out a curse and toss my phone on the bed as I rush into the bathroom. I’m running late—again—so I throw my hair in a low bun at the base of my neck and put on eyeliner, mascara, and a lip stain. When I look presentable, I grab my shoes from the closet and slip them on. I grab the phone off the bed just as it rings and my mother’s name flashes on the screen. A loud, dramatic groan slips out of my lips and I squeeze my eyes shut, contemplating ignoring her for a moment before I shake my head. If I don’t answer, she’ll just spend her morning calling me until I pick up and then chew me out for not being at her beck and call. Even though this is the last thing I want to do this morning, it’s less painless to just pick up the phone.
“Hello, Mother,” I answer, my voice clipped as I walk into the kitchen, my heels clicking against the bamboo floors.
“Carly, did I wake you up?” she asks, her voice sweet like she gives a damn if she woke me up, but I know the truth.
“No.”
If I had been sleeping, she would have scolded me on wasting my morning away in bed. Which would have inevitably led to how I will never land myself a decent man if I spend all my time in my apartment or at work.
“Oh, good. I was just calling to remind you about the gala this weekend.”
I hold in another groan as I slip my laptop in its case and grab my purse off the counter. In all honesty, I had forgotten about the stupid gala this weekend and I would have preferred to keep it that way. “Yep, I’ll be there.”
Even through the phone, I can hear her tsk and I roll my eyes. “Carly, what have I told you about speaking like that?”
“Mother, I promise you are one of the only people on this earth that gives a damn if I say “yep” instead of “yes”.”
“Carly Rae Mills, don’t you dare curse at me,” she hisses and my hand itches to end this call. “Now, what are you going to wear on Saturday?”
I scan through my closet in my mind as I rush out the front door and lock it behind me. I have plenty of dresses for the occasion but it’s impossible to know which one she deems acceptable for this event. “Uh, the blue one, maybe.”
“The blue one?” my mother asks, mocking me in the special way she does, and I already feel a headache coming on. “Please tell me how I’m supposed to know which blue dress you’re speaking of?”
“It’s the blue one I wore to the charity thing on New Years.”
She gasps in horror and I once again resist the urge to hang up on her. It’s too goddamn early for this shit. “Oh, god, no. Wear the black beaded one I got you for your birthday. It will look lovely on you.”
“Yes, Mother,” I reply through gritted teeth and wonder how much hell she would rain down on me if I really hung up the phone. No doubt, the black dress she’s talking about shows ample cleavage because my mother does not pass up an opportunity to set me up with my first husband.
“Good. I’ll see you this weekend, then.” She hangs up before I even have time to respond and I shake my head as I tuck my phone into my purse and step outside. The fresh air and bright sunlight makes me feel a little better and I decide to walk to work since I only live six blocks from the office. I can also grab breakfast and a coffee at a café along the way since I ran out of my house without caffeine - thanks to my mother.
I get halfway to work before I think maybe this was a bad idea. It may only be eight thirty in the morning but it’s still July in Louisiana and it’s the kind of hot that makes you think about moving to the arctic. A breeze quickly blows through the trees and I’m thankful for it as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. Thank god, I was running late and didn’t wear my hair down today or it would be a mess by the time I showed up at the office. My phone buzzes in my bag and I pull it out.
Izzy:
Drinks on Friday.
You in?
Me:
Absolutely.
Slipping my phone back into my bag, I can’t help but smile. Drinks with Izzy is exactly what I need if I’m going to survive a charity gala with my mother on Saturday. I’ve hated going to these things for as long as I can remember. No matter which event you attend or what cause they are championing, you can break all the attendees down into one of three groups. For my mother, it’s about socializing. She’s always on the hunt for her next ex-husband and a benefit full of rich, eligible men is her playground. There are also those who go because of status. All they care about is being seen there, letting everyone know just how important and well off they are and then there is the tiny group of people that go to support the charity. On the plus side, after I attend on Saturday, I can get out of going to them for, at least, a few months.
When I reach the coffee shop, I duck inside and let out a sigh of relief before breathing in the rich aroma of my second favorite beverage. Behind wine. The air conditioning feels like heaven and I consider calling Mercedes to see if I can work from here, so I don’t have to walk the remaining block to the office. There are a few people waiting in line, so I stand behind them and pull out my phone, noticing a text from Chance.
Chance:
Are you allergic to anything?
Me:
Just you.
A soft giggle escapes me as I stare down at the screen, waiting for his reply before I shake my head and glance up to see if the line has moved. I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to him. Whatever. What’s the harm in flirting with him as long as he and I are on the same page? If we both know this relationship has a shelf life, we won’t read into things like that. My phone buzzes in my hand and I’m smiling before I even unlock it.
Chance:
You wound me, Princess.
Me:
You’ll survive.
“Can I help you?”
My head jerks up and the barista smiles as I step forward and close the space left by the person in front of me in line. I glance up at the menu, even though I always order the same thing, before meeting his eyes again.
“Large vanilla latte with a double shot, please. And a blueberry muffin.”
He nods. “Coming right up.”