Page 73 of Miss Typed

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“We’re cutting out early. I’ll show you the rest of the software tomorrow.”

I took her directly to my apartment.

She didn’t say anything on the car ride over, content to look out the window.

“What do you feel like eating? I can order something.”

Her brown eyes focused on me. “Doesn’t matter. Look, I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight. This is beyond the scope of dating, and I should go home.”

She was right. It was beyond dating, but boundaries were blurring, and I didn’t care. I just needed to be with her. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it. How about I go next door and pick up soup and sandwiches? I could eat them shirtless if you think it’ll help.”

I was rewarded with a twitch of her lips. “All right. Deal.”

When I returned to the apartment with food in hand, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. In my last relationship, Miranda would pout, and I wouldn’t chase. But there was no game or pretense with Chloe. I wasn’t sure how to proceed in the shadow of her quiet sadness.

Luckily, she broke the ice as we were eating our soup. “What did Reid say?”

“He said Tom is calling a meeting with global HR tomorrow afternoon.” Although I wanted to sugarcoat it, I couldn’t. “Reid is standing by his decision, but Tom is pushing to fire you. What happened at home in Toronto, Chloe?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nothing like getting a taste of what everyone else went through when they asked me questions and I refused to talk. It was frustrating as hell. “Ask me anything.” Maybe if I opened up, she’d be more willing to do the same.

She looked up from her meal. “Why did you join the military?”

Only Reid was aware of the real reason. Only he and I knew about the day I’d done a complete one-eighty with my future. “I grew up having everything and anything handed to me. Entitlement was practically my middle name. In my senior year of Harvard, I was getting ready to graduate and take a position in my father’s firm before moving on to law school or business school. That’s when it all changed.”

“What happened?”

“I was on spring break with my family. We went to the Cayman Islands where we rented a house. There was this family who lived and worked on the property—a man, his wife, and two kids. A boy and a girl, like ten and eight maybe. Anyhow, I remember watching them work. Even the kids. They were schlepping laundry or helping serve us, all day, every day. The man did the yard work while the woman did all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Anyhow, I remember the second day, my mother complained about how this woman had washed something silk when she shouldn’t have. Of course, my mom had put the garment in the wash bin, but she maintained the woman should’ve read the label and known better. My father, being the way he was, said they’d simply take it out of the family’s tip. That tip is what these people killed themselves for, renter after renter, season after season. I remember my parents laughing about it. And I recall looking over to see the ten-year-old boy in the doorway with tears in his eyes. I’d never felt lower in my whole life.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but I was growing up to be just like them. Wielding money as a weapon. Blaming other people for my mistakes. Forgetting my humanity. I hadn’t worked or earned anything in my life. I was spoiled.”

“You ended up paying the difference in their tip, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did. After that trip, I noticed all the little things my parents did that were in their own self-interest. Realized how Miranda was even worse. With the exception of Reid, I noticed how superficial and spoiled my friends were. Status meant everything to them. And I began to resent it. Began to feel suffocated by it. I wanted out.”

“Why the Marines?”

“At first, it was to simply piss off my dad. He had such disdain for military service, thinking it far beneath the likes of him and the Samuels family. And frankly, I enjoyed the idea of picking the most challenging branch of the service. But then I met the recruiter. For the first time, I was talking to someone who wasn’t telling me what I wanted to hear. Who didn’t treat me differently because of my family or money. That’s what I loved most about serving in the military. It’s a great equalizer.”

Her lips formed a smile. “Was it a shock to you?”

“Totally. But in the best way. For the first time in my life, I was doing things for myself, from making my bed to ironing my own clothes and cleaning my rifle. It was totally and completely mine. I loved every minute of the camaraderie. Of course, being deployed in the desert sucked because I missed the creature comforts, but it solidified what was important in life.”

“How did your parents react?”

“In the beginning, they were stunned. Then they were pissed. They threatened to cut me off financially, but when the threats didn’t work because I no longer gave a damn, they tried begging and pleading. Even years later, they still don’t understand my decision. But they got the ultimate ‘I told you so’ when I lost my leg.”

“That’s awful. They’d never say I told you so.”

“Not to my face. To the outside world, they reveled in being the family of a disabled veteran. Like I said, status is everything to them. Since none of their friends had a disabled vet, I became the novelty at their Christmas party last year.”

She held a hand to her mouth in shock. “No wonder you moved far, far away. Do you still speak to them?”