Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,49

I couldn’t.

“Besides,” he drawled, leaning forward and patting my leg. “She’s got nothing on you.”

Oh yeah. What man liked giant breasts and a supermodel smile? I was dusting powdered sugar off my shirt, a smartass response on the tip of my tongue, when the trailer door opened, and the last person I expected to see stepped in.

And I’d thought my day was bad before.

46. The Worst Time to See Your Ex

There were times when you wanted to see an ex. When you were looking fabulous and hanging on the arm of a billionaire. When you were out with your girls and having the time of your single life.

You didn’t want to see him in Joey Plazen’s trailer with powdered sugar smeared on your skirt, your ego recently trampled by a maintenance guy. I jerked to my feet, a chunk of donut dropping to Joey’s floor. “Vic?”

He stood in the doorway of the trailer, the sun streaming in behind him in a halo effect. The man always did know how to make an entrance. He stepped inside and closed the door, Joey moving forward, his hand outstretched. “Mr. Worth. I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

Mr. Worth? I grimaced and crossed my arms.

“Plans changed,” Vic said smoothly, shaking Joey’s hand, his Rolex glinting from under the sleeve of his suit. I gave him that watch, back when I spent weekends with Daddy’s AmEx in my wallet and eight inches of Vic in my hand. He’d never wore the watch much then; go figure he’d wear it now. “They’re giving me a tour in twenty minutes, then we’re going over the budgets. I wasn’t sure if I’d have another chance to come by. Sorry if I interrupted anything.” He turned to me and smiled. “Hey beautiful.” He stepped forward, his hands outstretched as if he was going to hug me, and I stopped that shit right there—moving away, my hand held up.

“What are you doing here?” I sounded accusatory and bitchy, and Joey stiffened, but I didn’t care how it came out because this was my world and Mr. Worth didn’t have a place in it. He didn’t belong here, in Joey’s trailer, his arms reaching for me.

“Mr. Worth is our newest investor,” Joey supplied, stepping forward with a smile, his glare sending a dozen messages, the main ones: be nice and this guy is important.

“The newest investor?” I repeated slowly. “On Boston Love Letters?”

“Joey, could we have a minute?” Vic asked smoothly, moving aside to clear the exit.

“Absolutely, Mr. Worth,” Joey said, and I swore on my life, if he kept calling Vic that, I’d chop off his balls myself. The trailer door opened, then shut, the trailer infinitely smaller even though there was one less person.

“Chloe,” Vic said softly, and I knew, right then, in that one word, I was in trouble.

That’d always been the problem with us. I just couldn’t resist the man.

47. The Hardest Kind of Drug

I was not a strong woman. I was weak, and still, over a year after our parting, deeply in love with this man. This man who was not good for me. This man who had a hundred faithful and dedicated bones in his body, but four or five wildly promiscuous ones, bones that jumped out of order occasionally and had their fun. Bones that shattered promises, ruined happily-ever-afters, and broke apart soulmates.

The sound of my name on his lips … it was a drug. A narcotic high heightened by Joey Plazen shutting the trailer door and leaving the two of us alone in this small, dim space. Vic stepped closer, and a light hint of his cologne flooded me with a hundred memories. For a thousand mornings, noons, and nights, this man was my future. I had picked out apartments, made post-graduation plans and browsed engagement rings, all with his hand in mine. And despite his lies and my broken heart, hearing him whisper my name was all it took. I crumbled.

“Don’t, Vic.” The words were a plea, my feet stepping back and hitting the wall, his eyes darkening as he stepped forward, his hand reaching out, brushing up my bare arm before his palm settled on the wall by my head. A breath eased out of me as I closed my eyes and pressed against the wall, feeling the familiar warmth of him, the press of his body as his legs brushed across mine. I waited for the touch of his lips even as I stiffened, searching for a word, a