Page 19 of Chance's Choice
“He needed it,” she asserts with the weight of her own experience as a Little backing her conviction. “You did a good thing, Chance.” After another moment, she smirks, “But that was just Friday night. You vanished for the whole weekend.”
I can’t help laughing. She’s like a dog with a bone. Nodding, I admit, “We acknowledged that we both have lingering feelings for each other which we never quite managed to get rid of, and that we’d like to give a relationship a go.” Before she can squeal, I hurry to get the rest out, “We actually spent most of Saturday apart, to clear our heads and make sure that the night before hadn’t just been a fluke, or because it was so highly emotionally charged or whatever…” Fondness and frustration still war within me over that, and it carries into my tone.
Katie snorts. “Not your idea, I take it?”
“Nope. That was all Kade. I think there’s a part of him that still thinks I’ll regret being with him, or that I forgave him too quickly, or that he doesn’t deserve me, or…whatever.”
Her thick dark hair, pulled into a high ponytail, sways as she shakes her head. “The only thing that’ll help him move past those fears is time. Well,” she shrugs, “and, obviously, you demonstrating that they’re just that: fears and nothing else.” Then she cocks her head again and asks seriously, “Don’t you have your own concerns about it all?”
Immediately the words ‘puppy play’ spring to mind, but I don’t think that’s what she’s asking.
“I mean, yeah, of course I do. We’re coming at this thing with a history behind us, but twenty years of distance, too. So, while we know each other, we don’t really know each other…if that makes sense?”
“It does. But the not knowing part isn’t all that different to meeting someone new, is it? You’re getting the best of both worlds here. You already know the basics, and a lot of the hard stuff. But you also get the exciting ‘getting to know you’ stuff for the changes over the time you’ve been apart.”
I sit back in my chair, impressed by that logic. “I…hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Katie winks. “I know. That’s what I’m here for.” Then she snags a fry from my forgotten lunch plate and pops it into her mouth.
“Oh,” I tease, “so you’re not just here to mooch my meals, then?”
“That’s just a bonus,” she responds with cheek.
I check my watch and sigh. “Well, on that note, I’ve gotta get back to the office.” I’m on the project management team for a large retail chain. It’s not the most thrilling job, but it pays the bills. I push myself up out of my seat and then bend to kiss Katie’s appled cheek. “Thank you for listening.”
Before I can walk away, she grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Always, Chance. You know that, right?”
“I do.” I nod. As much as I love the guys and still consider Spence my closest friend, I’m beyond grateful to have found this extra support in the form of Kate and Cherie’s friendship. They just offer a different perspective and brand of comfort to the rest of the gang, and I appreciate it more than I can put into words.
And, as I’m making my way back to my office, I can’t help but think that they’d be really good for Kade, too.
Chapter Ten – Kade
After spending Friday night, Saturday night and all of Sunday getting properly reacquainted with Chance, returning to the daily grind of my day job is a shock to the system. Especially when my first meeting on Monday morning happens to be with Donald Baker – the CEO of the company, and also Chance’s father.
Donald has always been an ass. I knew it as a teenager, and I’ve known it for the twenty years I’ve been his corporate slave. But I’ve proven myself to be an asset to the company, which is why the guy has begrudgingly kept me around. I’m not an idiot: I know that Chance was right all those years ago. Don hired me to upset Chance. The fact that he lucked out and got an awesome salesman out of his scheme was unintentional.
Despite my spanking having rid me of the guilt of everything that happened, I can’t help but feel a bit dirty for having stuck with Don’s company this whole time. Even though I was climbing the corporate ladder for my own gain, I was also increasing his profits as I went.
This was something else Chance and I discussed over the weekend: the fact that I’m still employed by his father. Instead of being annoyed, or revolted, or even hurt, though, Chance said he understood. Apparently, he hasn’t spoken to his dad since we were eighteen, either, but it’s not eating him up inside. That knowledge is the only thing keeping me from screaming when I’m greeted by Don’s smug smirk when I enter his office for our scheduled meeting.
Thankfully, he looks nothing like Chance. Or, rather, Chance looks nothing like him. This man is short and stout, with ruddy cheeks and a hairline that receded before I ever met him when I was a child. His brow is marred with deep set frown lines, the wrinkles around his mouth set the same way. It’s as though he’s constantly scowling, even when those thin, cracked lips curl upwards into a sneer or smirk much as they are now.
“Kaden,” he greets me from his cushy office chair behind his desk, not bothering to get up or even offer his hand in greeting. He just nods curtly at the pair of less than comfortable chairs facing his desk and barks, “Sit.”
I comply and we launch into my weekly reporting. I give him information about our sales figures across the board, our intentions for the week ahead, whether we’re on track to meet our monthly sales and advertising targets, and my expectations for the end of the financial year. He asks probing questions, demands more of me -of my team, of the sales guys, and of the company in general- and I know that there’s no point in telling him that we are working to capacity. I make non-committal sounds which he interprets as agreement, and then he calls the meeting to an end. All in all, it’s relatively painless.
At least, it is until I reach the door. Just as I’m turning the knob, his grainy, aging voice says, “Oh, and Kaden?”
“Yeah, Don?” I turn my head, hoping my expression is blank. Giving away the frustration I feel would be detrimental to my career.
“I can’t tell you what to do with yourprivate life,” he spits those words with the same disdain my mother does, “but I can tell you that seeing my son again is a bad idea.”
I don’t know if he saw me with Chance on Sunday, or if he’s just giving me a general warning, but it has my hackles up. Playing it cool, I keep my reply vague. “It’s been twenty years, Don.”
His stare is a knowing one, even though he raises both palms in mock surrender. “I’m just saying you should think about your priorities. He’s bad news, and I won’t have him and his type implicated with my brand. Understood?”
His type. Those words bound around in my brain for the rest of the day. ‘His type.’ I’m guessing Don’s alluding to the kinky community Chance is a part of. The same one I am also a part of, though Don seems oblivious to my own involvement.
