The next morning I called him.
“Hey babe.” Vic sounded ridiculously cheerful. Carefree. He was probably back on a beach, drink in hand, his yacht floating nearby. I stood on a dismal New York street, rain tapping against the top of my umbrella, a hangover blazing, and stared at my his car. There was a parking ticket, stuck on its windshield, soaked by the rain.
“You can’t do things like this.”
“Of course I can.” The confidence stretched through every syllable and why wouldn’t it? He was right. He could do anything he wanted. In Vic’s world there were no worries, no consequences, no ramifications.
“No, you can’t. I don’t want this car. Send one of your people to come pick it up.” His people used to be my people. His employees had picked up my dry cleaning, grabbed my groceries, driven my drunk self home. It had been the opening act to the rest of my life, a life that never happened. A life that was shattered that one, terrible afternoon.
“The car is in your name, Chloe.” His voice grew harder, more stubborn, the authoritativeness having the wrong effect on me.
“Put your hands on the wall.”
I didn’t question it, had put my hands on the gold-foil wall, my taupe nails digging into the surface when he ran his hands down my back, over the strings of my bathing suit and down to my ass, his fingers pulling my bathing suit to the side. We were in the Hamptons, at his family’s estate, the din of a hundred friends floating up the staircase from downstairs. “Vic,” I said softly, the word becoming a moan as his fingers pressed in between my legs.
“Shut up and face the wall. I can’t see your body another second without having it.”
“Someone will come upstairs,” I protested.
“Then they will see me fucking my girl, won’t they?” The words were as hard as his cock, the push of him taking my breath, my nails sliding down the wall, my fingers gripping the chair rail as he held my hips and eased himself out, then thrust back in.
“Say my name, Chloe. Tell me how much you love it.”
“I love it,” I gasped, my cries rising in volume as he let loose on me.
And I had loved it. I had loved when he’d ordered me around. Had loved it when he took control of my life and made it so easy for me. Had loved everything up until the moment I realized what it cost.
I swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. The car. That was what this was about. “I didn’t put the car in my name, you did. Without asking me. So fix it.”
“The only thing I’m fixing is us.”
I closed my eyes. “You can’t fix us, Vic. We’re broken beyond that.”
“I can fix anything.”
“No Vic, you can’t. You can’t buy trust. You can’t buy back what you did.”
“I made a mistake. One mistake. I’ll never do it again, Chloe. Never.” His voice broke on the last word, and I heard the sincerity in it. How easy it would be to forgive him. To walk away from this tiny apartment and my shitty job as Nicole’s assistant and back into a life of luxury on Vic’s arm.
Everything would be easy, and every day I’d wonder.
If he was really going where he said he was going.
If he really needed to have two cell phones.
If he could be trusted.
It hadn’t been one mistake. I knew that in some place, deep in my soul.
“The car already has a parking ticket on it. I can’t afford parking tickets, I can’t afford insurance, I can’t afford anything extra. Dammit, Vic, send one of your people to pick it up!” My voice was shrill, the words panicked and angry.
“Chloe, love, I’ll buy a spot for you, I’ll cover the expenses. I already spoke to Joey; he’s going to get you a salary for your work on Boston Love Letters, that will help with—”
“Oh my God—STOP!” I screamed into the phone, my voice reaching a pitch it hadn’t reached since I was a child. “STOP SCREWING WITH MY LIFE! I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE!” I gasped, gripping a nearby post for support and wanted to hang up, didn’t want to hear his response, didn’t want to hear anything but a dial tone.
There was only silence on the other end. I wet my lips and assumed a calmer tone. “Vic, please listen to me for once. I don’t want any money from you; I don’t want any gifts from you. I am asking you to please stay away from me. If you love me, if you’ve ever loved me, please respect the fact that I am not strong enough to always do what I should do. I shouldn’t have hooked up with you in the trailer—God, I hate that I did. I shouldn’t answer your calls; I shouldn’t have even read your card. And I definitely shouldn’t accept this car. Please stay away from me. Please do not call me. Please.” The last word was a final beg in a conversation that already had me on my knees.
When he finally spoke, it was a Vic I’d never heard before. One broken and quiet. “I can’t stay away from you, Chloe. I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.” I sank against the nearest wall. “Please.”
I needed him to stay away because I couldn’t.