Page 4 of Vitamin Sea

D asha Kulakova was a blonde-haired boss bitch with a penchant for cutting-edge fashion and an aversion to moving her face.

The jury was still out as to whether it was a deep-seated hatred of wrinkles or an over-abundance of Botox that left Dasha’s face expression-free, but either way, the end result was the same—a powerful woman who was made all the more intimidating because you could never quite tell what she was thinking.

As the formidable president and editor in chief of Strut —a one-stop-shop print and online magazine that catered to the ‘ladies who lunch’ clientele—Dasha had been at the helm of the publication for the past fifteen years.

Chloe had worked her way up from intern to lifestyle editor before obtaining the coveted position of in-house travel editor.

When she had first started at Strut , Dasha had scared the living daylights out of her.

But in the several years since, she had grown close with her boss.

She didn’t quite consider her to be a friend, but she did consider her to be a mentor.

And, in that vein, when it came to Chloe’s breakup, Dasha had been the only person at the office who she had told.

For the rest of her colleagues, Chloe’s relationship status remained a secret.

Not that the disclosure to Dasha happened immediately.

After finding herself single, Chloe had emailed her boss asking for a couple of days off.

Dasha, who trusted her staff implicitly, had been very understanding.

In Chloe’s email she hadn’t gone into detail about what had occurred, but in a subsequent Zoom meeting her boss had set up to check in on her, Chloe had tearfully revealed it all.

It hadn’t been her finest moment and the contrast between her and Dasha’s demeanors was like night and day. After she had stopped sobbing, she thought it was entirely possible that her boss would relieve her of her duties. Dasha’s sympathy, therefore, had come as a surprise.

“You can work from home,” she had said, her features unmoving. “Take as long as you need and keep me updated.”

With that, HR signed off on Chloe’s modified working arrangement and she hadn’t set foot in the office since.

Which was why Chloe was so nervous this morning. That weekend she had sent Dasha an email letting her know she would be back in the office at the start of the work week. It would be the first time she would be seeing her colleagues in person in almost six months.

Morning came early for her that Monday; her alarm clock had been set for 7 a.m., but Chloe had found herself awake two ungodly hours before then. Despite that, she felt refreshed, recharged, and ready to get back to her office.

Letting out a big sigh she rolled over in bed, snuggled up under the covers, and stared off into the darkness.

It was deafening.

She wasn’t entirely over Liam. She didn’t know if she would ever manage to get over him or if he would be a permanent black cloud she carried around for the rest of her life.

Maybe she would turn into one of those jaded people who carried around the pieces of their last relationship and protected themselves from further harm with bitterness and avoidance.

Maybe.

But she hoped not.

Hot water cascaded down her body and the sweet smell of pomegranate filled the air as she scrubbed herself clean.

She took her time toweling off and, minutes later, had a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her hands.

A plush housecoat was wrapped around her body as she leaned her head against the living room window and took in the stillness of the city.

Jenga blocks towered into the sky and stood silent, belying the tens of thousands of people—office workers, support staff, maintenance crew, restauranteurs, and retailers—that bustled in the buildings during the day.

It was something she used to savour some mornings with Liam: waking up while the rest of the city was sleeping and slowly sipping her coffee while watching the sunrise.

Now she was doing it alone. One mug, one person. That was her new normal.

Chloe shook off the thought.

The dishwasher door creaked as she put the mug inside and clicked the door closed.

This was another one of her rituals. During what she referred to as her ‘period of mourning’, her living conditions would have offended a packrat.

Her place was clean now, but to avoid falling back into the hoarding trap, she followed a very carefully crafted routine.

Granted, she hadn’t cleaned up the multi-month mess that had accumulated on her own.

Lala’s encouragement had pushed her to get out of her home and out of her head, yes.

But what it didn’t do was give her the motivation to clean her condo, which more closely resembled a garbage dump than a home.

Fortunately, her friends had come over one day, armed with an assortment of cleaning products, and taken charge.

After that, Chloe had been careful not to make a mess.

She realized it was harder to fall back into a pit of despair when your surroundings were pristine.

Not impossible, mind you. There had been a time or two where things started to accumulate, but she discovered that immediately forcing herself to pick it up and put it away was one part of the ‘back to feeling like Chloe’ equation.

She was hoping that going back into the office would be one of the final pieces.

In the bathroom mirror she caught a glimpse of her reflection; her blonde tresses just skimmed the top of her shoulders.

She’d gone to her hairstylist, Ricardo, that weekend, and had him take care of her three-inch roots.

Ricardo, who hadn’t seen her in six months, had gasped in horror when he saw her.

A look of revulsion crossed his face as he fingered the three inches of brown hair that protruded from the top of her head.

Chloe could understand why—he was a stylist who took his career very seriously.

Her natural colour scarily contrasted with the rest of her bottled blonde locks.

It gave her a look that Ricardo, deadpan, had referred to as ‘the reverse skunk’.

Ricardo, bless his heart, had worked his magic and, three hours later, she had walked out of his studio missing several months of split ends, and sporting a fully blonde, bouncy blow-out.

Her hair still kept its shape this morning and bobbed along as she trudged through the snowy sidewalks to Strut ’s fifteenth-floor offices.

They were situated in a tall building on Bay Street and Richmond Ave that housed a bank and a handful of other institutions.

As she walked past Hy’s, the restaurant where she had first met Liam, Chloe fought back a wave of nausea.

An upscale steakhouse situated on the ground level of the skyscraper, Hy’s catered to lawyers, bankers, and businessmen who conducted round-the-clock meetings along with round-the-clock drinks.

It was a last-minute decision to grab drinks there that had led to her meeting Liam Hollingsworth.

A decision they had laughed about afterwards, often joking about how lucky they both were that she hadn’t gone to the other side of the block and hit up The Chase instead.

Liam and some of his banking colleagues were seated at the table next to Chloe that evening, and the happy hour drinks were flowing.

Three of Chloe’s close friends had joined her, and it hadn’t taken long for Lala, her bold-as-brass best friend, to strike up a conversation with the tableful of suits sitting beside them.

Liam had first caught Chloe’s eye as she followed the hostess to her table.

His dirty-blond hair was flecked with premature gray, and his slanted blue eyes twinkled when he caught Chloe looking his way.

She had him pegged as early thirties, which was in stark contrast to the four other men sitting with him who all looked to be at least half-a-century old.

Her curiosity was piqued, but she minded her own business after she sat down and busied herself by studying the restaurant’s drink menu.

Despite Hy’s being situated in the same building Chloe worked in, she had never found herself patronizing the place.

Her job at Strut didn’t pay her enough to be dining out at expensive steakhouses.

Not to mention, while she shared the elevator with bankers, lawyers, and businessmen on the daily, she felt out of place when it came to mingling with them.

She didn’t dress up in fancy suits or discuss business deals while drinking old-fashioneds.

She wore casual clothing and gossiped about men while sipping seltzers.

Not that her dating life at that point had been anything to write home about.

The last three men she had been out with had been total duds.

One was still pining for his ex, another mentioned that he was into polyamory (she didn’t judge, it just wasn’t what she wanted, and she was less than pleased that he had neglected to mention that tidbit on his dating profile).

The third had spent the entirety of their date, which lasted sixty-seven minutes, boasting about himself.

It had been more than two years at that point since she had broken up with her ex-boyfriend and, not to be too pessimistic, she had resigned herself to singledom for the rest of her life.

A begrudging acceptance had settled into her heart and that night the last thing she had been looking for was a man.

As she scanned through the menu—beer, wines, cocktails, and mocktails—she had felt the blond man’s eyes on her again. She glanced at him through her lashes, and he had responded with a sexy smirk.