His grin was all-knowing. “Mr. Wrong must’ve been a little bit right, because you fell for that old trick easy as pie.”
“I have everything under control here. Mother had no reason to raise alarm bells, other than she’s looking for a way to see you. Jameson’s return is simply a handy excuse. Even after all these years, she’s still in love with you.” She rubbed at her neck again. “I have no idea why, given your demented sense of humor.”
Brushing off any mention of Genevieve, he sat forward. “And after all these years, are you still in love with Jameson? If you are, it’s okay.”
“Thanks for your approval, but no. I learned my lesson with that one.”
“I still don’t understand how it all went down so badly. And I mistrust your mother’s handling of it considerably.”
“He made his feelings clear when he left town days earlier than we planned. We were gonna run away together. Start this great adventure called life together. He got cold feet, simple as that. Genevieve playing carrier pigeon with his stupid reasons why will never change that fact. He left, Dad. He left me in a hell of a mess and without a word.”
An unforgivable offense, no matter how good he was in bed.
And something he did again on Friday night.
She’d do well to remember that bad habit the next time she invited him into her lumpy bed.
Nodding, her dad contemplated another angle.
“I know Genevieve, Chloe. She’s your mother, and I respect her simply because of that, and I won’t speak bad of her for your sake,” he said, on much higher ground than Genevieve could ever be. “But she’s not one to sit idly by and let events that she doesn’t approve of unfold. Especially where you’re concerned.”
“This is not news to me. She’s manipulated me my whole life. I appreciate your restraint, but I don’t need you to protect her, either. She is who she is because people in her life allow it. I don’t.” She gestured around her office, Something Borrowed’s existence a clear and utter revolt against her mother’s wishes. “I don’t allow her to decide for me anymore.”
Remember that PowerPoint presentation on her life goals going into the first grade?
Genevieve pulled out that report the day Jameson left—the day Chloe’s life irrevocably changed—and she’d been made to read it aloud, tears streaming down her face. Her handwriting child-like, with letters turned inside out and words like college and lifestyle misspelled, Chloe studied those goals.
Then, to please her mother—and Jameson too, because he made his opinion on the situation clear—she did what she had to do. And the following year, fulfilled one of those life goals though it wasn’t Harvard where she enrolled, much to Genevieve’s distress.
St. Lawrence was her choice because, up to that point, she’d not had any.
Choices.
It was her father’s choice, as well, but he’d always taken a different approach with her growing up, allowing her a hand in her own decisions. Teaching her to look at every possibility and work the problem presented.
He was the only one to stand up to Genevieve ten years ago, demanding Chloe tell him herself what her choice was. Demanding she could go a different route should she choose, and he and Soraya would be there to help. Demanding Jameson be brought in on that decision even though he’d already fled the state.
His demands fell on deaf ears.
Genevieve got her way.
St. Lawrence was the first time Chloe outwardly defied her mother, but it shouldn’t have been. She should’ve stood up to her far sooner. In that hospital room where life and death decisions couldn’t be undone.
“It’s all in the past, Dad,” she said now, and sounded convincing. “Water under the bridge. I make my own decisions, and she has to live with them.”
“What’s more important, honey, is that you have to live with them.”
And living, they both knew, wasn’t something she’d really been doing the last decade. Going through the motions, sure. Leading Wyatt on in a way that would never result in anything long-term.
Not bothering to look for Mr. Right when he came and left already.
“I’ve looked at that situation a thousand different ways,” he said, tapping his thumb against his suit pants, ever the negotiator. “As a young man once myself, I just don’t see him doing that. It never sounded logical from the start. You need to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I don’t need to give him anything,” she replied, thinking of Riverhead. “That’s what you get when you run away.”
I’m not sticking around to see shit. Good luck to him.
Disgusting words he said Friday night.
Words he’d backed up for the last decade.
“All right, well, it’s up to you how you handle it,” he said with a shrug, as if expecting her stubborn response. “But communication in the form of words is best, Chloe. I don’t know what happened that summer, and I’m positive I don’t want to know based on what occurred the following spring, but I always liked him. Seemed decent. Hardworking. So, ask him the hard questions. Press him for answers. Decide for yourself if they fit history. If maybe his judge and jury was a little too quick with a guilty verdict.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Always yours.” He stood to leave, turning his phone back on, releasing a cacophony of beeps and buzzers that rang through the office as multiple notifications came through. “I want you to be happy. I think you can be if you open yourself to it.”
If she opened herself to Jameson any further, she’d be doing the splits, stripper-style.
He paused while scrolling through numerous texts, a frown forming. “You sure you’re okay? This must bring back traumatic memories. It’d be understandable if you’re not. Soraya is worried sick.”
“You risked losing tons of money in the stock market just to make sure I’m okay? You’re terrible at your job,” she joked, walking him to the door. “Your clients should fire you immediately.”
“I’d risk everything to make sure you’re okay.” He bopped her on the nose. “Love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Dad. And as always, thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
Unsolicited but good advice. Something to ponder, along with the reasons she still gave a shit about a man named Jameson Maine.
“Bye, Mr. Morgan,” Wendy called out in a rush, somehow knowing their personal conversation was over. “Come back anytime. We love seeing you!”
He smiled at her, a person he’d known since she and Chloe were kindergarten classmates playing hopscotch on the playground, and Wendy blushed in response.
“Gotta go.” And out the door he went with the same swiftness as when he arrived.
Watching out the window, Wendy whispered again, “Hot dad.”
“Oh, my God, enough,” Chloe said on a laugh. “You’re embarrassing yourself, and it’s making me uncomfortable.”
She’d no more than sat back down at her desk and opened her digital calendar when Wendy’s next announcement had her jumping up.
“Uh, Chloe? You know your gorgeous dad and your gorgeous lover? Well, uh, they’re currently conversing on the street. Fairly certain they’re talking about you, too.”