Chapter 50
He leaned close, trying once again to pull me into his arms. I pushed away and looked up at him. "Just what are you implying?" I said.
"Baby," he said. "I don't want to judge you. I mean, the things I've done for money–" He blew out a breath. "In a way, I guess I sold my body too, right?"
Slowly the pieces started to click. And once they did, they clicked so hard and so fast that I had a hard time staying upright. "Oh my God," I said, stepping away from him.
"Hey," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Like I said, I don't wanna judge you for doing what you had to do, but—" He shook his head. "It stops now, alright? You've gotta promise me."
I closed my eyes, feeling all the color drain from my face. When I opened them again, he was staring at me with a look of such pity, I wanted to slap that look right off his face, and then kick him in the balls for good measure.
"Let me get this straight," I said. As I stared up at him, my body trembled, and my voice rose. "You think—" I felt myself swallow. "You think I'm some kind of hooker?"
"Chloe." His voice was soft. "I didn't call it that."
"But that's what you think?" I stumbled backwards. Breathing hard, I pushed my hands through my hair. It was official. This day was a nightmare.
"Baby," he said. "What is it? You okay?"
I glared up at him. "Okay?" I shook my head. "Nope. Definitely not okay here."
I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered toward the interior of the house. "Chucky! C'mon! We're leaving!"
"What?" He reached for my hand. "Why?"
I slapped the hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Why not?"
"Because, you idiot, I'm not a hooker." I spoke very slowly and clearly, enunciating every word. "I'm a house-sitter!"
His jaw dropped. "What?"
"Oh yeah." When I tried to laugh, it came out half-crazed. "Big difference there, huh?" I turned away and shouted out again, "Chucky, where are you?"
With muttered curses, I stalked toward the kitchen. I felt a hand on my elbow. I shook it off and whirled to face him. "I already told you, stay away from me!"
Lawton stared at me with a pained expression. "So those guys–"
"Who?" I said. "The property manager who stopped by this morning?"
He swallowed. "Property manager?"
"Or maybe," I said, "you meant the financial guy?"
"Financial guy?"
"Yeah. The guy on the porch." I gave Lawton a cold smile. "And just so you know, when I say financial guy, I mean someone who manages the home-owner's accounts, not for example, some f*cking pimp!"
As I spoke, Lawton's face grew paler and paler, until he looked white as death.
"And the call last night?" he said.
"It was just what I said. And in case you're wondering, she's a woman. And she called me last night because their accounts are all screwed up, which, in case it hasn't escaped your attention, is a whole lot different than screwing for money!"
His brow furrowed. "So she's the home-owner?"
"Renter, owner, hell, at this point, I have no idea. But she definitely lives there." I crossed my arms. "Except, I guess, when she's off in Costa Rica with her husband."
Lawton shook his head. "But the guy who lives in that house, he's not married."
"Oh yeah? How do you know?"
"Bishop told me."
"Yeah? Well, maybe he's wrong."
"No. He's never wrong."
I gave him an icy smile. "Then maybe you should ask Bishop whether or not I'm hooker. I mean, he knows everything, right?" I threw up my arms. "Why am I even discussing this with you?" I turned to call over my shoulder. "Chucky!"
Lawton reached out for me. "Baby, c'mon, don't go. Not like this."
I slapped his arms aside. "Look, let me make this really clear. Whatever we had, it's over."
He shook his head. "Don't say that. C'mon. I’m sorry, alright?"
"No," I said. "It's not alright. What is it with you? Why do always assume the worst about me?"
"I don't."
"You do." I turned and stalked through the house, looking for Chucky, and beyond eager to leave.
"C'mon, Chloe." Lawton's voice broke. "Don’t go like this."
I whirled to face him. "You've got to promise me something."
"Anything," he said.
"Don't call me. Don't talk to me. Don't–"
"Baby, c'mon—"
"Don't write me. Don't email me. Don't text me. And, if you see me on the street, don't f*cking wave to me." I choked down a sob. "Just leave me alone, alright?"
He reached out, trying to gather me in his arms. Again, I slapped his hands aside. "What part of leave me alone don't you understand?"
"But Baby, you're upset."
"Of course I’m upset! My boyfriend—" I raised my hand. "No. Make that my ex-boyfriend, thinks I’m a damn hooker!"
"Chloe, c'mon, don't say that. That's not the way I thought of it."
"Yeah, right," I said, taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Now, promise me."
"To leave you alone?" His lips parted, and his eyes were glassy. "I can't."
"If you ever loved me," I said, "you can."
"Don’t ask me to," he said. "Beat me, yell at me, whatever, but don't make me do this. Please."
I made a scoffing sound. "Look," I said, "All the time I've known you, I've never asked you for one f*cking thing. And I know damn well that other girls have. So now, this is it, the first thing I've ever asked, and you can't even say 'yes'."
"Baby—"
"Promise me. I mean it."
I needed a promise, because there was one thing I'd learned the hard way. The guy was impossible to resist, and I was too tired to try.
"And if I do promise you?" he said. "What then?"
I looked away. "I don't know."
His voice was ragged. "Are you saying there's a chance?"
"Yeah," I said. "Slim to none."
"I am so f*cking sorry," he said.
"You already said that."
Just then, Chucky skidded around the corner, one of Lawton's socks dangling from his teeth.
For Chucky's sake, I tried to keep my voice calm. "C'mon Chucky, time to go."
Lawton's voice was just a whisper. "Don't go. Please?"
I gave him a deadpan look. "Where's my promise?"
"I can't."
"Alright, fine. Whatever. I guess it's all about you, huh? Heaven forbid you do anything you don't want to."
He was silent, and so was I. Chucky looked from me to Lawton and back again.
The seconds stretched, and then Lawton spoke as if the words were torn from his throat along with his heart. "Okay."
"Say it," I said.
"I promise."
I gave him a slow nod, and turned toward the door.
"Wait," he said.
I turned around.
"I'm not giving up," he said.
"Well so much for your promises," I said. "What'd that last? Two seconds?"
"I'll keep it," he said, "even if it kills me."
"I mean it," I said. "Even if you see me in the supermarket, just keep on going. Alright?"
Instantly, it struck me as an incredibly stupid thing to say. Did billionaires even visit supermarkets? Whatever. As long as he got the point, right?
Slowly, he nodded. But then he spoke, a strangled whisper in the quiet room. "You call me. I'll be waiting."
"Then you'll be waiting a long time," I said.
"I don't care," he said. "Call me anytime. Day, night, middle of the night. I don't care. Just call me. Okay?
"Don't count on it," I said. And then, with Chucky in my arms, I headed toward the front door, opened it up, and walked out. When I hit the front walkway, I set Chucky down. He plopped down on the walkway and refused to budge.
"Damn it," I muttered and scooped him up. He wriggled the whole time I walked toward iron gate, still open from when we'd arrived. The short walk seemed to take forever. But when the gate was finally behind me, I stopped and turned around. Chucky gave a long, plaintive whine.
Lawton stood, framed in his doorway, looking out at me with an expression of such anguish that the lump in my throat grew to epic proportions. I choked it down and turned away, hugging Chucky close as I made my way along the smooth sidewalk.
"Time to go home," I said.
Of course, the home might be Chucky's, but it wasn't mine, because, let's face it, I didn't have one.