Chloe rushed and looped her arm lightly through mine like we were still whatever we used to be.
"God, it's been what... weeks?" she said, tilting her head as she looked at me properly now. "You look... the same. But that aside, girl, you just disappeared."
She looked radiant in a way that only people who live off the labour of others can manage.
"I mean, I get it," she continued quickly, smiling. "You were upset. Anyone would be. But still, disappearing like that? Over a relationship?"
I didn't answer.
She didn't need one.
"I told Paul you were being dramatic," she said, lowering her voice like she was sharing something intimate. "But you know how you are. You feel things too much."
I gripped the strap of my bag, my knuckles turning white against the leather.
"Like I said before, I could put in a word for you. I know how hard it is for girls... with limited options."
"I'm doing fine, Chloe," I said, my voice gaining a bit of steel. "I don't need a word put in for me."
"Oh, Bri, there's no shame in admitting you're struggling. You know, Paul and I are so happy. I actually met his parents last week. They're such lovely people. Paul was so insistent that I meet them right away."
The words felt like a physical blow to my stomach.
"Not yet, Bri. My parents are very traditional. Just give it time." Paul had said.
Another time. "Let's wait a little longer."
Paul laughing. "It's not the right moment."
I had given him seven years of being not quite right for a dinner at his parent's table. And Chloe had done it in less than a month.
"That's nice," I said, my throat feeling like it was closing up.
"I think you pressured him too much. I don't even have to work, not like I ever did. Paul says a woman like me shouldn't have to stress herself with a nine-to-five. He takes care of everything."
She continued:
"I just stay home, keep things pretty, and have the food ready for him. It's so much better than the life you lived, always coming home exhausted and cranky."
Scene after scene flashed behind my eyes.
I remembered coming home at 8:00 PM, my feet swollen from standing on the train, my head throbbing and feet aching from doing two shifts at the café.
I'd walk in to find Paul slumped on the couch, the blue light of the TV dancing on his face as he played games.
"You're finally here?" he'd ask without looking up. "I'm starving. Make something quick, yeah? And don't forget the extra spice."
I'd spend another hour over a hot stove while he relaxed, only to have him complain that the house wasn't clean enough.
I was the provider, the cook, and the maid, while he waited for a big break that never came.
"I'm glad he's finally stepped up for someone," I said quietly.
I pulled my arm out of her hold and stepped back.
"Move, Chloe."
Her brows lifted. "Excuse me?"
"I said move." I looked her in the eye this time. "You've said what you wanted. Get out of my way."
Instead of stepping aside, she shifted with me, still standing directly in front of me like she was determined to force me to stay there and listen.
"You always do this," she said, shaking her head. "You act like walking away makes you the bigger person."
"No," I said, my voice quieter now. "I'm walking away because I finally learned not every conversation deserves me."
For a second, something sharp flickered across her face.
Then she smiled again.
"You didn't have to do that," she said. "Paul doesn't even like people touching me like that."
I didn't know why every mention of that godforsaken son of a bitch's name drove me closer to tears.
"And I don't like being touched by people who don't know when to draw a line."
"You're just angry," she said. "It's not like I stole your husband. He was just your boyfriend."
My hands curled slightly.
"You should be careful, Chameleon. Because I'm very close to forgetting we used to be friends, and when I forget, I won't hold back like the last time."
Chloe's expression soured for a split second, her mask slipping. "You're just bitter because you couldn't keep him happy. You were always too busy with work and goals. Men don't want a competitor, Brielle. They want a prize. But I guess you're still chasing that coffee job, aren't you? Is that why you're lingering in the lobby? Hoping someone notices you?"
I didn't answer her. I just watched her, wondering how I had ever called this person a friend.
She was looking at me with so much pity it made me want to scream, her hand reached out to mockingly pat my shoulder.
"You really should learn when to let go. Acting like the world owes you something because you're hardworking. It's pathetic."
"Excuse me? Brielle?"
The voice was soft, hesitant, and entirely familiar. I turned to see Toby, a junior analyst from the fourth floor who always gave me a shy, respectful nod when we passed in the breakroom. He was clutching a tablet to his chest, looking between me and Chloe with wide, nervous eyes.
"Um, is everything okay here? I didn't mean to interrupt, but... well, Mr. Crowne is in the car, and he sent me to find you. He's... well, he's getting impatient. He said to tell you that you signed."
Chloe froze, her hand still hovering near my shoulder. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes darting between me and Toby as the weight of his words started to sink in.
"Mr. Crowne?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Darius Crowne sent a messenger for you?"
"Yes," I said, turning back to her with a calmness I didn't truly feel. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting. And Toby? Tell him I'm coming right now."
"Of course, Brielle," Toby stammered, giving me a quick, awkward bow before scurrying back toward the glass doors.
Chloe's face went from pale to a bright, ugly red as she processed the change in the atmosphere. The pity was gone, replaced by a raw jealousy that made her look older.
"Wow, Brielle," she spat, her voice trembling. "I see you've latched onto this one too. I guess some things never change. You always did know how to find someone to hide behind when things got tough. Is this the new strategy? And here I was thinking that you were still heartbroken."
"Believe whatever makes you feel better, Chloe," I said, stepping past her without a second glance, holding back the tears threatening to fall. "Good luck with the marketing head."
I didn't look back to see her expression but her whinny voice followed.
"Try not to be dramatic this time, okay?"