Deceived - Part 3 Chloe's Revenge Read Online Free
of me. “Well, okay then, baby. That sounds good to me. The last thing I want is to rush you into anything. I’m just happy that you are here now,” Patrick said, and cupping my face in both of his hands, he planted a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Me too, baby,” I said, the tenderness of his kiss melted my rational thinking mind into a puddle of raw desire. Luckily, we had to get out of here fast, because a few more minutes of that kind of behavior might have made me change my mind about moving in.
Patrick helped me collect all of my suitcases and bags that I hadn’t even taken home to my apartment yet. We had come straight to Patrick’s place from the airport, wanting the magic of our time together in Paris to be extended one more day. Slinging my large shiny Coach bag over my shoulder, we headed to the elevator. We would share a cab, and swing by my apartment first, before he continued to his job. He was always taking care of me, always doing the gentlemanly thing. That was his nature. That was my Patrick.
Chapter 3
As Patrick and I exited the cab in front of my apartment building, I stood there momentarily waiting for the cab driver to hoist my luggage out of the trunk and onto the curb. I wondered in what condition I would find my apartment. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Andrea, my roommate, was a notorious slob, which annoyed me endlessly. She was always creating a monumental clutter, which I constantly had to remind her to clean up. The minute I cleared the counter space, she would find something of hers to put there, filling every available open space. It was like she had a narcissistic need to fill the room with her presence. Since I had never left her alone in the apartment for this long, I feared the worst, as we entered the elevator and punched the button for my floor. She had better not embarrass me in front of Patrick.
Despite having to put up with Andrea and her mess, finding the place was a godsend. Back when I had first arrived in Manhattan, almost a year ago, I didn’t know anyone yet and not able to afford a place to myself, I diligently searched Craigslist for a suitable roommate to share an apartment. I came upon an ad from Andrea, who was looking to share her two-bedroom. After seeing the place, I was excited and knew it would be perfect for me. I loved the large, wood floor living room and the two bedrooms were a decent size, which is hard to find in the upper east side of Manhattan. The best part about my find was that the rent was only $1,200 each, almost unheard of in this part of town. What I never expected was the crazy behavior, elaborate lifestyle and the extreme messiness of my new roommate. She was from a rich family, a “daddy’s girl”, and had always gotten exactly what she wanted, a true “princess” in every sense of the word, dropping out of college, as if it were the fashionable thing to do, in order to pursue a career as a model. Despite ruffling daddy’s feathers, he didn’t cut her off completely and she still managed to secure a small allowance from him, most of which was spent on parties and clothes. Lord knows how she managed to pay her part of the rent with all of the social-activity information buzzing around in her head, like a constant Twitter feed, but thankfully, she did.
Secretly, I held my breath as we approached the apartment door, Patrick struggling to get my two suitcases out of the elevator and as I opened the door to my apartment, a noxious odor rose up to invade my nostrils, sending me reeling back with a wince.
“Geez, did something die in here?” Patrick asked, as he hurdled the two big suitcases over the threshold. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was this really my apartment? Strewn about the living room were clothes, open magazines, shoes lying where they had been kicked off, a crumpled blanket half fallen off the chair and one black stiletto high heel, precariously dangling from the top of the window, with the heel hooked over the curtain
“Me too, baby,” I said, the tenderness of his kiss melted my rational thinking mind into a puddle of raw desire. Luckily, we had to get out of here fast, because a few more minutes of that kind of behavior might have made me change my mind about moving in.
Patrick helped me collect all of my suitcases and bags that I hadn’t even taken home to my apartment yet. We had come straight to Patrick’s place from the airport, wanting the magic of our time together in Paris to be extended one more day. Slinging my large shiny Coach bag over my shoulder, we headed to the elevator. We would share a cab, and swing by my apartment first, before he continued to his job. He was always taking care of me, always doing the gentlemanly thing. That was his nature. That was my Patrick.
Chapter 3
As Patrick and I exited the cab in front of my apartment building, I stood there momentarily waiting for the cab driver to hoist my luggage out of the trunk and onto the curb. I wondered in what condition I would find my apartment. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Andrea, my roommate, was a notorious slob, which annoyed me endlessly. She was always creating a monumental clutter, which I constantly had to remind her to clean up. The minute I cleared the counter space, she would find something of hers to put there, filling every available open space. It was like she had a narcissistic need to fill the room with her presence. Since I had never left her alone in the apartment for this long, I feared the worst, as we entered the elevator and punched the button for my floor. She had better not embarrass me in front of Patrick.
Despite having to put up with Andrea and her mess, finding the place was a godsend. Back when I had first arrived in Manhattan, almost a year ago, I didn’t know anyone yet and not able to afford a place to myself, I diligently searched Craigslist for a suitable roommate to share an apartment. I came upon an ad from Andrea, who was looking to share her two-bedroom. After seeing the place, I was excited and knew it would be perfect for me. I loved the large, wood floor living room and the two bedrooms were a decent size, which is hard to find in the upper east side of Manhattan. The best part about my find was that the rent was only $1,200 each, almost unheard of in this part of town. What I never expected was the crazy behavior, elaborate lifestyle and the extreme messiness of my new roommate. She was from a rich family, a “daddy’s girl”, and had always gotten exactly what she wanted, a true “princess” in every sense of the word, dropping out of college, as if it were the fashionable thing to do, in order to pursue a career as a model. Despite ruffling daddy’s feathers, he didn’t cut her off completely and she still managed to secure a small allowance from him, most of which was spent on parties and clothes. Lord knows how she managed to pay her part of the rent with all of the social-activity information buzzing around in her head, like a constant Twitter feed, but thankfully, she did.
Secretly, I held my breath as we approached the apartment door, Patrick struggling to get my two suitcases out of the elevator and as I opened the door to my apartment, a noxious odor rose up to invade my nostrils, sending me reeling back with a wince.
“Geez, did something die in here?” Patrick asked, as he hurdled the two big suitcases over the threshold. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was this really my apartment? Strewn about the living room were clothes, open magazines, shoes lying where they had been kicked off, a crumpled blanket half fallen off the chair and one black stiletto high heel, precariously dangling from the top of the window, with the heel hooked over the curtain
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