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“Wilder,” Piper greets back. “Have you thought about everything we talked about?”
“I have.”
“And?” she questions.
“Make the call.”
Chapter 7
Charlotte
The instant the elevator doors swing open, my assistant, Becca, hurriedly skips over to me, her expression beaming with excitement.
“Tell me it’s true? Tell me I’m not dreaming?” She jumps in utter glee.
“Becca, it’s too early on a Monday morning for me to decipher your riddles. I haven’t even had coffee yet,” I grumble while darting over to my office with Becca shadowing my every footstep.
“Rough weekend?” she asks, her bright smile morphing into a concerned frown.
“You can say that.” I sigh, taking off my coat and placing it on the rack.
“Cooper?” she throws out a perceptive guess.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
The last thing I want is to start off my week by discussing my idiotic spur-of-the-moment decision of going to New York over the weekend to visit my aloof boyfriend.
I grimace just thinking about it.
It was supposed to be romantic—me showing up at Cooper’s Manhattan apartment and surprising him. But instead of being welcomed with open arms, I spent most of Friday night sitting in his hallway, waiting for him to come home. Serves me right for forgetting his house keys back home in my rush to catch the five o’clock train.
After a few restless hours of waiting, I finally gave up and texted him that I was there, uncaring if I had spoiled the surprise or not. I could barely hear him on the phone over the loud music playing in the background where he was and ended up having to text him instead. An hour later, Cooper finally showed up, completely disheveled and drunk.
I didn’t know if I should be angry at him or disappointed in myself.
Not that Cooper noticed.
He was too drunk to string two sentences together, his slurred words and slobbered kisses making me instantly regret my impulse to spend the weekend with him. Like an idiot, I put him to bed, only to wake up the next day with him gone, a note on the side dresser telling me he had a packed day with meetings, but he would try his best to have dinner with me.
It’s on me, really.
I knew his job wasn’t a Monday to Friday, nine-to-five type of thing. Cooper was expected to network and schmooze his clients, be it playing racquetball at the elite men’s club in the city or spending time in the Hamptons to attend every socialite party there was. Or, as he later explained, going clubbing with a possible new client to show him a good time in the hopes of securing his business with Cooper’s firm. But when he didn’t make it to dinner and texted me that he’d be late coming home again, my imagination went to some very uncomfortable places.
Was my boyfriend really that busy, or was he no longer interested in me?
I didn’t stay around to find out.
Instead, I packed my bags and left Sunday morning on the early train back to Boston, leaving Cooper fast asleep in his bed after coming home in the early hours.
This time, when he woke up, he would be the one to find a note from me on top of his dresser.
Sigh.
Lately, it seems that’s what our entire relationship consists of—texts and notes.
What’s worse is that Cooper didn’t even seem upset that I came back home when I did. At least it didn’t sound like he did by the one text I got from him.
Coop:Sorry I missed you this morning, babe. Had one hell of a night. Hope you had a good train ride back. Luv you.
