Page 14 of Vitamin Sea

S mall beads of wax dripped down the side of a white pillar candle; its flame flickered intermittently.

Tea lights dotted various surfaces in the condo—the kitchen counter, the media stand, the coffee table, but they had burned out long ago.

The pillar candle perched on the dining room table was the only thing still burning—a bright flame flickering in the dim light.

The remainder of the room was lit ever so slightly by the living room light’s dimmer switch.

On the dining room table there were also two wine glasses, a decanter, two dinner plates, two cloth napkins, two forks, and two knives.

In front of one place setting, Chloe sat slumped at the table.

The chair in front of the other setting sat empty.

An expensive bottle of wine was down to its last five ounces and the crystal decanter sat there, untouched.

Soft Jazz , Chloe’s carefully curated playlist for relaxing evenings that involved charcuterie and wine, contradicted the slow rage that was burning inside her.

Soft Jazz had just started its second run-through.

She knew this because Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald’s Stars Fell on Alabama was on its second play.

She had a feeling that her favourite playlist for relaxation was soon going to turn into her most hated one.

Unless, of course, Liam had some damn good reason for being two-and-a-half hours late for dinner.

So far at least.

The way her evening was going it might turn out to be a much longer wait. She knew he was working hard on his latest deal, which he hoped would clinch him a big promotion. But he also knew how important dinner this evening was.

At least she thought he did.

Today was their five-year anniversary and Chloe had pulled out all the stops.

She had never been a Barefoot Contessa in the kitchen, but she had secretly been taking cooking lessons at St. Lawrence Market for the past few weeks.

It was all in an effort to perfect the meal she had wanted to make this evening.

Steak au poivre, fingerling potatoes with rosemary and thyme, vegetables just the way Liam liked, and for dessert a special kind of French cheesecake called ‘basque’.

Last week she had mentioned to him that she was looking forward to their anniversary this evening and hinted she had something special planned.

He had been up and out the door this morning before she had woken up, like most mornings.

And while she hadn’t expected him to do anything elaborate, especially with his workload lately, his lack of acknowledgement of the special date had stung.

Forget flowers—which had been an annual staple—today there hadn’t been a card, a call, or even a text.

Their anniversaries weren’t typically cause for over-the-top celebrations and were usually marked by a bouquet, cards, and going out for dinner.

This year, however, for many reasons, Chloe had been fixated on their anniversary date.

One, it was a milestone—five years together was nothing to sneeze at.

And two, she was hoping they could spend the evening celebrating and, if things went well, sparking some romance back into their relationship.

Hell—at this point she would even settle for a kiss.

Liam’s physical and emotional absence over the past several months had been eating at her.

He was rarely home, spending evenings and weekends at work, and when he was, he seemed distant and distracted.

Even more worrying was that they hadn’t been intimate in several months.

Liam kept brushing it off as stress-related disinterest. She wanted to take him at his word, but there were lingering doubts.

Albeit ones she tried very hard to push to the back of her mind.

He had worked on big deals before, she reasoned. And stress seemed to be a built-in part of his job. But in the entirety of their relationship, they had never had a dry spell that had lasted more than a month.

The unease gnawed at her and was made worse because she kept the state of their relationship to herself.

Where her friends and family were concerned, Chloe and Liam’s relationship was great.

Status quo. And any thoughts that popped into her head of what might actually be going on with Liam were pushed to the deep recesses of her brain.

Which wasn’t doing her any favours—her mounting concerns and inability to voice them had sent her stress level skyrocketing.

She did her best not to dwell on any thoughts that crept into her head, but there was something lurking in the back of her mind that was setting off alarm bells.

Still, she chose to ignore it. If nothing was going on and Liam really was just working hard to secure a promotion, she would feel terrible if she voiced her feelings to her friends and family.

If word somehow got back to him, it would put a nasty wrench in any celebrations.

She would look like an ungrateful and gossipy spouse—unable to just be supportive of her partner when he was working so hard to secure their future.

That wouldn’t be a good way to start off their sixth year together.

And so, she kept her feelings and her doubts to herself.

With one curious exception. Her boss—Dasha.

While the stoic blonde rarely revealed any hint of emotion, she had an uncanny ability to detect bullshit.

She was like the human equivalent of a lie detector test, at least when it came to her employees; Chloe couldn’t speak to her abilities outside of Strut ’s staff.

Although given Dasha’s quick climb to the top of the magazine’s ladder and her success at expanding its readership in an era where print magazines were in steep decline, it stood to reason that her abilities likely extended to business dealings as well.

She had called Chloe into her office—literally called her on her cell despite being no more than twelve steps away from Chloe’s office—one Thursday morning.

Liam had been pulling away for three months at that point and Chloe’s stress level was at an all-time high.

She did her best to keep it under wraps, but cracks were beginning to show in her facade.

During their Tuesday-morning staff meeting, Chloe had snapped at her coworker Merrill.

She had also stumbled over her travel pitches.

After the meeting, she had taken Merrill aside and apologized.

She blamed her lapse in manners on a lack of sleep and work-related stress.

As for the travel pitch fiasco, she had returned to her desk and hoped that Dasha would write it off as a non-event.

By the end of the day, she thought she was out of the woods, but the second Dasha’s name popped up on her phone the next morning, Chloe knew what was coming.

Or so she thought.

One of the many things she appreciated about her boss was her ability to surprise.

Chloe thought it was actually one of Dasha’s business tactics.

In sports and business, the element of surprise is an advantage.

If an opponent isn’t sure of their adversary’s next move, it leaves the adversary with the opportunity to gain the upper hand.

Chloe had taken a deep breath, clicked out of Outlook, and headed to Dasha’s office. She gave a hesitant knock when she reached the door and a muffled “come in” came through the frosted glass.

Steeling herself for what she thought was coming and mentally preparing an apology, Chloe pushed open the heavy glass and walked inside.

Her heels clicked against the wooden floor of Dasha’s sparsely decorated office.

Like its nine-to-five inhabitant, it was all business.

Several Strut cover photos dotted her walls, and a shelf held various awards the magazine had won: Best Cover, Best Fashion Feature—accolades doled out by the fashion and beauty industry every year and typically voted on by industry insiders.

Chloe had some similar-looking trophies in her office, too, having been the recipient of some awards for her travel features.

Aside from that, there weren’t any personalized items that would identify the occupant of the office.

No family photos, no fancy degrees. A robot could have been helming their publication for all the lack of personality the room displayed.

Which was pure Dasha. No personals, no knick-knacks, and nothing unnecessary.

Dasha had given Chloe a slight smile and indicated, with a single nod of her head, for Chloe to take a seat in one of the chairs across from her. Which she did. They were simple, stylish, and pricey leather chairs from a well-known designer.

Over the top of her laptop, Dasha fixed Chloe with her ice-blue stare.

Unnerved, she squirmed a bit in her seat.

“Er, you wanted to see me?”

Dasha stared at Chloe for a few seconds before she closed her laptop and sat back in her chair.

“You’ve been snappy in meetings, unfocused when pitching your features, you’ve lost weight, and you have dark circles under your eyes that even Dior concealer can’t hide.”

Chloe was silent. She had no idea what was coming. She knew that Dasha was observant, but holy shit. Or, a thought went through her head, it was also possible that she, Chloe, wasn’t as good at masking her inner turmoil as she thought.

“You’re still doing a good job in terms of what you’re producing but I can tell you’re distracted.” Dasha kept her eyes trained on Chloe. “Stressed.”

Chloe winced.

“You haven’t mentioned Liam in a couple of months, and you haven’t pitched an international feature in that same amount of time,” she continued.

Chloe’s eyes widened at her boss’s keen sense of observation. And by “keen sense” she meant FBI-profiler level of perceptiveness.

“What’s going on, Chloe?” Dasha fixed her with a hard stare.

Chloe took a deep breath, not knowing how to begin, when suddenly she blurted it out.