One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

(Actually, Celeste had just told me she was moving in with her boyfriend Brys at the end of the month, so I was either looking for my own place or a new roommate anyway.)

But seriously, what the hell?

The first conversation Armand and I had after I realized I would be sleeping with him more than once concerned how I do not do relationships. Yes, he was a fabulous lay, but the very idea of someone wanting to own me made my blood run cold.

Did he listen? Clearly not.

So typically French.

I packed my bags and left that day for home—my real home.

Sure I could’ve lived alone in Paris, but that’s just sad. I like having someone to chat with in the evenings.

Another deep inhale of late spring Chicago air, and I’m standing in front of an imposing steel skyscraper. I’ll figure out the Armand situation later. For now, I have to do my familial duty.

Pulling the shiny brass handle, I go through the double doors, cross the grey marble floors, and punch the elevator button.

I don’t need this meeting. I grew up in Chicago. I know all the connected assholes in this city and all their children, too. If worse comes to worse, I can dial up Karen Philpot and invite her to lunch.

Karen. The very idea makes my skin crawl. You know how every group has one person with all the gossip? One person who knows which businesses are failing, which executives are cheating on their wives, and which socialite was spotted covertly leaving rehab? In the old Chicago group that person is Karen.

I swear, the woman does nothing all day but lunch with her spies. While some of us actually focus on our careers or worthwhile endeavors...

Honestly, I don’t give a shit.

The bad blood between Karen and me is ancient history, I’m sure. Enough time has passed, enough water under the bridge, and I trust I’m the only one who remembers those days with a cringe.

No, Karen is not an option. Instead, I’ll meet Edward Merritt. Non-sparkling Edward Merritt. My lips curl in a smile, the Karen problem momentarily forgotten.

Edward is clearly a newcomer to the Chicago scene. He wasn’t here when I left for Cornell. Good god, what a grueling penance that was. Ithaca is as cold as a witch’s tit half the year, and the spring does not make up for it. I should’ve opted for Berkley instead.

“May I help you?” A petite brunette

with a fashionable pixie haircut greets me from behind the receptionist’s desk.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Merritt,” I say, choosing to be formal. Don’t want him to think I’m the typical, narcissistic Millennial.

“Are you...” Her eyes flicker to her computer screen. “Amalie Knight?”

She actually got it right. “Yes,” I say with a smile. “You speak French?”

Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she rises from her seat. “I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris.”

“You should do it!” So often Americans put European trips on this high pedestal, as if they’re impossible to accomplish or would take so much effort. The truth is, traveling to Europe is relatively easy once you have a passport.

“I know.” She shakes her head and looks down as she goes to the wood and glass double doors. “I’ll let Mr. Merritt know you’re here.”

I watch as she strides through them and down the mahogany-paneled hallway. While I wait, I take in the reception area. It’s very traditional, with brass, wood, and leather everywhere. Dark, cherry-wood paneling and stained oak floors. Not a speck of dust or a fingerprint in sight. The entire place smells like a library.

I’m glad I opted for my steel-grey crepe suit. The pencil skirt keeps it from being too masculine, and trust me, such details matter in the Midwest. I’m a feminist, but I also know how to play the game.

“Miss Knight?” Pixie is back. “If you’ll follow me?”

I nod, taking my tan clutch with me. The hall is as elegant as the reception area, and when she arrives at what I assume is Edward Merritt’s office, she steps to the side, allowing me to pass.

“He’s on a call, but he’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.” I give her a smile. She can’t help it if her boss has no manners.