Chasing Love (Dark Love Series)

Present

I’m trying to make sense of what had happened with Charlotte.

As soon as I mentioned heading back to London, our lighthearted conversation had suddenly turned sour. Her demeanor changed, her lie about being busy barely believable. She no longer wanted to speak to me, and I don’t know why. She rushed out so fast I had no time to ask her what the hell I did wrong.

The flight back to London feels like the longest five hours of my life. The last few days have been a whirlwind, and everything I’ve become suddenly means nothing. People used to tell me that time heals all wounds, but what the fuck do they know about me? I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can barely breathe. I left her, again. It’s only for two weeks, but time doesn’t matter.

I run my fingers through my hair trying to get a grip on things. Fuck, someone tell me how to make everything right with her.

After a quick trip by taxi from the airport, it’s six in the morning when I arrive at the office intending to prepare for an important meeting we have scheduled today. Seeing as it’s so early here in London I second guess myself, but I decide I’ll text her anyway, apologizing for my sudden departure, anxious to stay in her good graces and not let what happened at the café create this unwarranted distance between us.

Me: I’m sorry I had to leave for London. Can I make it up to you with more brownies? I think next time you’ll remember how much you like them.

Knowing the time difference, I don’t expect a response straight away, and willing my overanxious mind to calm down, I check our share prices trying to distract myself.

Just before nine, I walk to the boardroom and set myself up at the head of the table. People file in, and knowing how anal I am about punctuality, we start on time and dive straight into acquisition mode with the head of our operations team taking the wheel.

Somewhere during a graph on projections of the Asian market, my phone lights up on the table.

Charlotte: The brownies were great, fantastic just as I remembered them. My problem is that I hadn’t had them for a while and suddenly they were on my plate. While not eating said brownies, I found that there are other desserts I enjoy as well.

My lips pull back, baring my teeth as my pulse elevates. My fingers wrap around my phone with a tight grip to control my need to throw it across the room. What fucking game is she playing? With a tight expression, I stare blankly at the screen unable to process the numbers.

This is not at all like me. For all I know, I could’ve signed away the rights to Lexed. My attention isn’t where it needs to be, and barely able to control myself, I terminate the meeting, commanding my executive team to report back to me later.

Kate rises from her chair, watching me with a concerned expression. “Mr. Edwards, is everything okay?”

I know Kate is sincere with her concerns for me, but what the fuck am I supposed to say? My ex-girlfriend who I still have feelings for thinks her current beau is better than me, and it makes my blood boil to think they are fucking? I can’t imagine anything more juvenile.

“Just a few things I need to take care of.”

Back inside my office, Kate knows better than to follow me and push for anything. My office is my sanctuary, off-limits to anyone unless I permit them to enter.

Sitting at my desk, I run my hands along the woodgrain, admiring the neatly organized space. The control freak within me uses the quiet time to calm the fuck down. With my computer screen on, emails flood my inbox, but I couldn’t care less. I scroll through, different day, same old bullshit. I turn away, swiveling my chair to face the window.

I know nothing about her.

Well, not nothing exactly.

She’s a lawyer, and then there’s the information that Bryce has given me, but I still know nothing about her personal life. I tap my pen on my desk, frustrated I’m getting nowhere. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. Maybe I need to scour social media.

Opening up a Facebook page, I manage to guide myself through the platform. I don’t have an account because I don’t have time to talk to people from ten fucking years ago, despite my mother and Adriana begging for me to activate one.

There are ten Charlotte Masons, none matching her. I try Charlie Mason, same result. Fuck. Okay, what if I look for Eric? I type Eric Kennedy, and twenty-five results come up. I scroll through the profiles immediately spotting his face. The profile picture is of him on some beach doing that annoying duck-face thing while holding the phone up in the air, obviously taking a self-portrait. I click on his friends’ list, which thankfully isn’t private. I figure, if Charlotte is on here, she’d have to be friends with Eric.

Scrolling through the names, I stop at a Charlie Brown. I click on the photograph of a bird, a phoenix, I think, but the page is private. I scroll further in case there’s anyone else. Nothing.

Back to Eric’s profile page, I stumble across his latest status update, saying he’s going to watch a movie and tags Charlie Brown. As I open up the comments, the muscles on my neck begin to tighten, veins straining against my skin as the heat begins to rise from my accelerated breathing.

It’s her all right.

She commented about going to see the movie with a companion and about sitting in the back, and all I read are lewd comments from Eric and someone named Rocky about blow jobs.

I clench my fists, ready to punch the fucking screen. I leave her alone for one minute, and she’s giving that fucker head in the movie theater? Who the fuck is she now? This isn’t the Charlotte who’s the love of my life. The Charlotte I’ll fucking move heaven and earth for if she asks. I bury my face in my hands, trying to get a grip on my anger.

On impulse, blinded by rage, I type profusely in a text.

Me: Why are you still seeing him?

I sit there for exactly thirty-four minutes and twenty-one seconds with no response. I’m losing my sanity, and to make it worse, I have an important meeting at the Hilton in less than an hour. What the fuck am I going to do? Every second I’m gone, the closer she’s getting to him. For all I know, she could be at the courthouse saying ‘I do’ right this minute.

Charlotte has always been mine.

And now isn’t the time to be complacent.

I need to go now.

I have to fucking see her.

Pressing the intercom, I call Kate into my office.

“Kate, please book the next flight to New York City,” I command, neatly organizing my papers while shutting down my computer.

“Um… sir, sorry, I d-don’t understand,” she stutters, narrowing her eyes. “The meeting at the Hilton starts in forty-five minutes. We actually need to leave now.”

“I have to go back to New York. Something urgent has come up, and I need to be there now,” I tell her, irritated by her lack of direction to follow orders.

“Sir, this meeting has taken months to organize, and we have a lot riding on this merger.”

Fuck, does she think I’m an idiot? Of course, I know that, but this can’t go on any longer.

Every second that passes, Charlotte will slip further away from me, and I refuse to allow that to happen.

“Have Brooks replace me. He’s done the groundwork. I’m heading to the airport now. Please book the Waldorf indefinitely. I expect you to fly in tomorrow.”

“But, sir, I can’t stress enough the importance of your presence at this meeting.”

With a pained and watery gaze, I think she’s going to cry on me. For fuck’s sake, she just needs to do the job she’s paid to do.

“Kate, do as I say, or you can find yourself another job,” I warn, placing my laptop into its case.

She races out of my office, probably ready to burst out crying for all I know. Following her, I lock my office door behind me and head out to Reception. I don’t say goodbye to anyone, bowing my head and walking straight for the elevator. When it arrives, I embrace the quiet solitude. Exiting the elevator, I rush toward the street and hail a cab while sending a quick text to my sister asking her to arrange some clothes for me as I have no time to pack.

By the time I arrive at Heathrow, Kate has booked my business-class seats with the flight leaving in one hour. The flight isn’t as crowded, and by the time we board, I get comfortable in my seat and wait for the plane to depart.

Charlotte: He is my fiancé. He treats me the way I deserve to be treated. I don’t have to fight with him every time I see him.

I don’t respond to her straight away, making her suffer in silence like she did me. Placing my phone in my pocket, I close my eyes, desperate for some sleep to shut down my racing mind. I barely slept last night on the plane to London, not to mention I was hitting the gym twice a day to get rid of this tension that constantly hangs on my shoulders.

The announcement comes on that we’re about to land shortly at JFK. I rub my face, trying to wake myself up. I can’t believe I slept the whole flight—that’s very out of character. Fastening my seat belt again, I stare out the window.

I’m accustomed to flying, rarely spending enough time in one spot. London is home, but even then, I rarely spend much time there. Mom and Dad are still living in Carmel but spend most of their time traveling abroad, and Adriana has moved to Brooklyn with Elijah.

As we deplane, I make a quick detour to the men’s room to wash my face. Contemplating a quick session in the stall, I decide against it, my hand needing recovery time.

Making my way through the airport quickly, I hail the first cab on the rank, giving Charlotte’s work address praying she’s still there.

Me: I don’t share. You must know that by now. I will be back in Manhattan next Friday when we can discuss this face to face.

I force the lie with a plan in mind. In just twenty minutes, she will find out the truth.

As the cab drives through the streets, I gaze out the window unable to count the number of times I’ve been to Manhattan in the past nine years. To think, all along, she was here. After Bryce told me about her house in Connecticut, it didn’t make sense. But then she said she stayed with her grandmother, so I’m assuming she inherited it.

Life has changed for both of us. Who would’ve thought nine years ago we’d both wind up here? I’m still coming to terms with her graduating from Yale and opening her own law practice. I’m proud of everything she has accomplished but, of course, I can’t tell her that—she never wants to talk about anything, always shutting me down if I get too close. The rare moments when she will open up, I soak up everything she gives me, but then she realizes what she has done and puts up that wall again.

I pay the driver, climb out, staring at the building in front of me. My email keeps pinging, knowing the aftermath of not attending today’s meeting will be an absolute nightmare.

As I walk into the lobby, I head straight to the elevators. Pulling my phone out of my shirt pocket, I open the text sent two minutes ago. I read her words, my blood boiling as they sink in, dragging their sharp edges along my skin.

Jealousy and rage are what got me here in the first place, but I want nothing more than to rip him into pieces and purge him from her mind and heart. She’s my fucking girl! And I’m the idiot who listens to everyone else instead of following my instincts.

I ride the elevator up to her floor, my stare fixated on the doors. The elevator pings open, and the glass doors with Mason & Romano written on them are in front of me. As I walk toward them, Eric is shutting the door behind him.

“Lex! What are you doing here?”

“Is Charlotte here?” My tone is stiff, warning Eric of my intentions.

“She’s still in her office.” He lets me in, but before closing the door entirely, he says, “And she’s alone.”

There’s a faint light coming from the double doors where Eric has pointed. With every step I take, the anger swirls inside me, my hands automatically curl into fists itching to swing out and punch the wall after what she said in her text message.

Beside the window, she’s standing quietly, lost in thought. Is she thinking about me? Her expression is pained, my anger suddenly turning to compassion. I’m tired of living without her, and she needs to know that.

Seconds pass, yet I stand still watching her, the expressions she makes, the breaths she takes.

It’s now or never.

“Are we done, Charlotte?”