Gen adored her husband, this betrayal had wrecked her.
And she had worshipped Duncan, and his loss had nearly destroyed her.
Corey had been in her life since she was eight. If she was going to grow those types of feelings for him, it would have happened already.
But now the door was opening.
A new door.
And it was opening.
Because he knew Duncan had, several years ago, undergone a divorce.
“Of course I am,” she snapped, albeit quietly. “And him too.”
Corey did not want to give that first shit about Tom.
However, Tom was the kind of man, just good through and through (which made this recent happenstance all the more shocking), where it was impossible to spend years knowing him, sharing time with him, being considered a part of his family, and not caring about him.
Corey had tried to do this.
It was a rare occurrence, but in this circumstance, he had failed.
So Corey allowed himself a vague sense of satisfaction that Chloe was seeing to things (though he’d never doubted it), not only taking care of Gen, but Tom as well.
“Matt and Sasha?” he demanded.
“Them too,” she murmured, reaching for her champagne.
She turned her gaze away again as she sipped it.
He sat back and modulated his tone. “They’re all right?”
He meant her brother and sister.
“Coping. As I said, I’m keeping an eye on things. We talk. We all talk, but Matt and Sash and I have our times to get things out. Just us.”
“Good,” he muttered and then moved as the server brought his coffee and water.
After the man had laid them down, he noticed both of them were ignoring the menus resting on their place settings.
“I’ll return,” he said, and drifted away.
Corey focused on Chloe, who, even if he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew they were pointedly fixed on him.
“Yes?” he prompted when she said nothing.
“I’m looking after them,” she stated.
He ignored the sugar and cream and lifted his coffee cup to take a sip of the black brew.
When he was finished and returning it to its saucer, he said, “I had no doubt. And I didn’t mean to offend you, Chloe. But I’m sure you understand, considering the circumstances, why I had to ask.”
“I’m looking after them,” she repeated.
Corey’s gaze intensified on her.
But he said nothing.
“So I’m looking after them,” she said once again. “They’re all looked after. Which begs the question, who’s going to look after me?”
Corey relaxed.
He smiled.
And then he replied.
“Why, me. Who else?”
It took her a moment.
And then Corey was surprised at how honored he felt…
When Chloe relaxed too.
Chapter 10
The Overflow
Chloe
Now…
My doorbell was ringing.
This wouldn’t do.
I was a mess.
I was never a mess.
But I was a mess.
I’d changed my outfit three times, and in the end, decided to go for super casual.
A pair of distressed jeans and a gray T-shirt that said Surely Not Everyone Was Kung Fu Fighting.
I paired these with bare feet, minimalist makeup (though, with a dewy highlight), my hair in a messy bun with just that perfect amount of trailing tendrils (that took me half an hour to achieve).
Accompanying this ensemble were the two-carat, princess-cut diamond earrings Mom and Dad bought me for my sixteenth birthday.
That was it for accessories.
I told myself this would make it easy, later, to throw on my patent-leather yellow Jimmy Choo pumps or my bow-tie detailed, robin’s egg blue Prada, kitten heel slingbacks, tie a dashing scarf around my neck, shrug on a black blazer, and I’d be speakeasy ready.
What it was not, was an effort to show outdoorsy, down-to-earth Judge I could be down-to-earth too.
I further told myself I wasn’t showing my playful side and that I could let my hair down, I was simply being comfortable in my own living space.
And I told myself Judge was just coming over to be in my home, with my friends, and me, to get the ball rolling on a project I wasn’t looking forward to doing, but in the end, it’d do good for a lot of people.
I also told myself not to be concerned with the fact I’d sent an emergency text to Mom’s housekeeper, Julietta, begging her to come over and make my townhome sparkly clean and tidy while I was covering at the store, something she’d not only agreed to do, she’d accomplished.
And I told myself I didn’t do this in order to impress anyone who may soon be coming over with my stellar ability to juggle work, family and social lives, right alongside home, all of this swimmingly.
I told myself that I wasn’t even yet twenty-five years old.
Therefore, this small two-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath, two-story townhome rental in the middle of the vibey bustle of downtown Phoenix was perfectly fine, rather than something bigger, grander, hipper, with a mortgage on it.
My kitchen with its white subway tile rising to the ceiling over white cabinets with black marble countertops, even if not large, was charming, with my plants in steel buckets and accoutrements in white, cream and crystal.