Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,2

leaned over, glancing into the crib, and—helpless to stop myself—gasped at the body that lay there.

A dog’s body.

I stood at the side of the crib and fought to keep my expression normal as I took in the pink outfit that encased a body not weighing more than five pounds. It lay on its side, brown poufs of hair spilling out of each opening in the ensemble, a fur-lined hoodie loose across its back, and snored, little purrs as it stretched out across a duvet.

“She’s sleeping,” Mrs. Brantley whispered loudly.

Duh. I attempted a polite smile and looked back at the pup. This was a large part of my job? To dog sit? Everything turned more appealing, diapers and runny noses no longer part of the equation.

“When can I start?” I whispered, careful to give the proper respect to sleeping Chanel.

She glanced at her watch, a diamond-studded timepiece. “Can you work today ’til four?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled brightly.

Mrs. Brantley patted my arm in what seemed to be approval. “Tomorrow, I’ll go over my needs. Today, I’d rather you focus on getting to know Chanel and introducing yourself. I’ve got to hop on a call. If you have any questions, hunt down one of the help.”

The Help. A group I was now part of. I nodded politely, watched her exit, and performed a cursory sweep of the room. Decorated in three different shades of pink, the en suite included a miniature treadmill, a puppy closet that rivaled my own, and dressers stocked with supplies and toys. Unsure of what exactly Getting to Know Chanel meant, I settled into a leather chair and waited for her to wake up, the gentle snores from the crib creating a soothing lullaby.

I may or may not have fallen asleep. But we could pretend that I diligently watched over Chanel’s sleeping form without a single head droop. That was me. Best New Assistant EVER.

At 4:05 PM, I nodded a goodbye to the maid, pulled on my coat and stepped onto the street, the afternoon sun minimizing the chill as I pulled the door tightly shut behind me. Success. I wanted to dance—right there on the street, strangers brushing by—in celebration. I wanted to wave my arms and revel in the fact that I, Chloe Madison, was officially independent. I had my own job. Would not become homeless. Would not fail. It was liberating, exciting in a way that my privileged upbringing could never afford. Yes, a thousand a week would barely make a dent in my mountain of debt. Yes, I’d be eating Ramen noodles and taking the subway. But still! I was on my own and, for the first time, it didn’t feel scary; it felt manageable.

I moved down the street, swinging my purse from my shoulder and dug for my cell, the phone to my ear by the time I hit Park Avenue.

“Hey beautiful!” Cammie’s voice rang through the phone, her greeting seconded by Benta, and I could imagine the two girls, faces together over a pitcher of margaritas, the phone held between them.

“Hey you tan goddesses,” I teased. “Enjoying the Florida sun without me?”

“We’d be lying if we said we weren’t.” In the background, I heard music start. “How’d the interview go?”

I delivered the good news, the girls squealing with an excitement that rivaled my own, a laugh spilling from my mouth at their reaction. “I wish you guys were here to help me celebrate.”

“Woman, hop on a plane and get down here! We’ll save one of these beautiful men for you.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I warned. “I’m so sick of New York men I could scream.” A vision of Clarke Brantley appeared in my mind’s eye, his hand against the window, his masculinity screaming through every line in his body. I closed my eyes briefly and fought the urge to check my lower lip for drool. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. I’m going to check out apartments, try and find a place to live. I just wanted to let you guys know the good news.”

“That’s great news, babe,” Benta called out, her voice overshadowed by the background noise. “Go have fun tonight! Celebrate without us!”

I smiled at her order, said my goodbyes to both of them and ended the call before dropping my phone into my purse and jogging down the subway steps, the mild warmth of the afternoon sun fading as I stepped into the dark underground.

My phone rang as I hit the bottom step, the muted song chiming from my purse. I stepped out