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Ivy
Ithadbeentwo weeks since our breakup in the Hamptons, and I’d decided to throw myself into work and design my blog. That was easier said than done. To say I lacked inspiration was an understatement.
Munching on a muffin, I sat in the back room of the boutique and stared aimlessly out the window at the stream of humanity taking purposeful strides. I needed a hit of what they were on. And I didn’t mean caffeine or one of those green juices that tasted like cow shit.
My mother entered. “There you are.”
“I just needed a break. I unpacked all the latest arrivals,” I said.
“Darling, you look so flat. Why don’t you give yourself a nice break at the spa?”
I shook my head. That would remind me of Chase, especially after that Tantra session. The thought of his gorgeous face pissed me off. Why couldn’t he have suddenly developed facial boils, chipped teeth, and baldness?
“I’m going out tonight.” I picked at my nails. “A girl from class is having a few drinks for her birthday.”
She smiled sympathetically. “You haven’t been out for a while. Try to enjoy yourself.”
“I’ve just needed some time to get over…” I sighed at how pathetic I sounded.
“Is Chase still calling?
I nodded. “Everyday.” I thought about the silly emojis Chase kept sending and the singing donkey lip-synching to “You’re My World.” It was the first time in weeks that my mouth cracked a smile.
“His campaign for the spa is excellent. Mitch is very excited about it. We have that cruise in a few weeks. Why don’t you consider it?” she asked.
“What about the boutique?”
“Astrid can run things. She’s capable.”
I nodded. “She’s great.”
Astrid was our new shop manager my mother had hired so she could take a step back. She’d offered me the role, but running a boutique didn’t fit with my life plan.
“Maybe I will go. I could use a trip to the Caribbean and a tan.”
“And if you want to bring someone…”
“I’ll go alone.” My heart felt heavy. I wished Chase hadn’t proposed because then we would still be together, having fun.
I even started to question whether I’d overreacted. Chase could have asked any number of girls, but he’d chosen me.
Sadness gripped me again. It just didn’t sit well with me. I needed that proposal of marriage to come from love, and not because he’d been forced into finding a wife to satisfy some family demand.
I joined a party of man-hungry, super-screechy girls for a night of celebrations. I’d met Amy at pole dancing classes. She was fun and single, and after a few drinks, I’d opened up about Chase. She’d become a sympathetic listener who’d also experienced her fair share of messed-up relationships.
I appreciated the distraction, even if some of the girls were getting a bit rowdy. Three shots into the night, I noticed a guy who looked vaguely familiar. When our eyes met, he came over.
He was hot in that tall, dark, and handsome way. More a brooder than a smiler, I conjectured by the serious expression hitting his brow.
“I think we met one night,” he said. “You were with Chase Elliot.”
“That’s right.” I smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”
“Jack.” He held out his large, well-manicured hand. “Jack Whitman.”
Chase’s archenemy. I recalled how he’d poached his clients.
His mouth turned up slightly at one end. “Are you here alone?”
