My Worst Enemy Is My Plus One

Episode 5

Chloe lasted four days before the first real crack appeared in her resolve.

The week after the loft negotiation moved in a strange double rhythm. Days were normal—emails, meetings, the usual low-grade stress of a marketing calendar that never quite slowed down. Nights were different. Nights were the quiet hum of her phone and the knowledge that Ryan Cole was on the other end of a text thread that had started as logistics and kept refusing to stay purely practical.

They had locked down the story. Three months of quiet dating. A work-adjacent run-in that turned into drinks that turned into something neither of them had labeled. Madison had been briefed and had responded with a string of skull emojis followed by *I’m charging both of you emotional hazard pay*. The driving arrangement was set. Friday morning, 8 a.m., Ryan would pick her up and they would head upstate together like a real couple who shared car rides and playlists and the occasional charged silence.

All of it should have felt like a clean plan.

Instead Chloe kept catching herself replaying the five minutes in his kitchen—the weight of his hand at her waist, the careful way he had asked *okay?*, the moment his eyes had dropped to her mouth and the air had gone thin. She told herself it was just proximity. She told herself any two people standing that close would have registered the same static. She almost believed it during daylight hours.

By Thursday the almost had worn thin.

Liv called in the late afternoon, voice bright with residual bridal adrenaline. “Shopping. Tomorrow night. You, me, Madison. I need one more pair of shoes that won’t murder me during the reception and you need something that isn’t black for once. Non-negotiable.”

Chloe stared at the ceiling of her cubicle. “I have clothes.”

“You have a uniform. There’s a difference. Come on. Madison’s already in. We’re doing dinner after. My treat. I need normal sister time before the final countdown turns me into a stress tornado.”

The word *sister* did what it always did. Chloe folded.

“Fine. But I’m not buying anything with sequins.”

“We’ll see.”

---

Friday evening the three of them met at a boutique Liv had been raving about for weeks—soft lighting, careful racks, the kind of place where the staff spoke in hushed tones and offered sparkling water without being asked. Madison arrived first, already holding a glass and wearing the expression of someone who had been waiting to say something all day.

“You’re actually doing it,” she said the second Chloe was in range. “The Ryan thing. You’re really doing it.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“There’s no one here except the woman who’s about to try to sell us four-hundred-dollar heels.” Madison stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

Chloe hung her bag on a nearby chair. “I’m fine. It’s a practical arrangement. Six weeks. One weekend. Then it’s over.”

Madison’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve said some version of that three times now. The more you repeat it the less I believe you.”

Before Chloe could answer, Liv swept in trailing the scent of expensive perfume and bridal purpose. She hugged them both, declared the mission statement for the evening—shoes for her, something soft and non-black for Chloe—and herded them toward the back of the store where the dresses lived.

Trying things on should have been simple. It was not.

Liv kept up a steady stream of chatter about seating charts and the cousin who had already RSVP’d with a plus-one no one recognized. Madison offered commentary on necklines and colors. Chloe stood in front of a three-way mirror in a deep green dress that fit better than she wanted to admit and felt the old, familiar weight settle across her shoulders.

She looked like someone who belonged at a wedding beside a partner. The thought arrived uninvited and stuck.

“That one,” Liv said from the doorway of the fitting room, voice suddenly softer. “You look beautiful, Chloe.”

“It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not.” Liv stepped inside and closed the door halfway, giving them a pocket of privacy. “You know Mom’s going to lose her mind in the best way when she sees you with someone. She’s been so worried.”

Chloe met her own eyes in the mirror. “She’s been worried for years. It’s not new.”

“I know. And I hate it. I hate how they talk about you like you’re incomplete.” Liv’s reflection appeared beside hers, earnest and a little tired. “You’re not. You’ve never been. But I also know how heavy it gets. If this thing with Ryan takes even a little of that weight off for the weekend, then I’m glad. Even if it’s complicated.”

Chloe’s throat tightened. “It’s not complicated. It’s temporary.”

Madison’s voice floated over the half-door. “Temporary is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.”

Liv smiled at Chloe’s reflection, the smile that had always been able to cut through her defenses. “Just… be careful, okay? Ryan’s been looking at you a certain way for a long time. I don’t think this is as simple for him as you’re telling yourself it is.”

Chloe stepped out of the dress with more force than necessary. “Everyone needs to stop reading into it. We’re adults. We made an agreement. That’s all.”

She bought the green dress anyway.

---

Dinner was at a small Italian place two blocks over. Liv ordered for the table with the confidence of a woman who had already made too many decisions that week and needed one more. The conversation stayed light until the second glass of wine, when Madison set her glass down and looked at Chloe directly.

“You’re allowed to want this,” she said. “Not just the family relief. The rest of it.”

Chloe stabbed a piece of ravioli with unnecessary precision. “There is no rest of it.”

“There’s always been rest of it. You two have been circling each other since we were teenagers. The only difference is now you’re admitting you need him for something.”

“I don’t need him. I’m using him. There’s a difference.”

Liv reached across the table and covered Chloe’s hand. “Hey. No one’s judging. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or to hurt him. He’s my almost-brother and you’re my actual sister. The overlap is… a lot.”

Chloe stared at their joined hands. The restaurant noise faded into a dull roar. All the careful logic she had built around the arrangement suddenly felt thin. She thought of her mother’s face at the engagement party. Of Aunt Debra’s helpful suggestions. Of the way Ryan had looked at her in his kitchen when he said *I don’t do anything halfway where you’re concerned*.

She almost backed out right there at the table.

The words were on her tongue—*I’ll call it off, I’ll handle the wedding alone, it’s not worth the risk*—when her phone lit up with a text.

**Ryan:** *Madison says you’re dress shopping. Tell me you didn’t let them put you in anything with bows.*

The message was pure banter, light and familiar. Something in Chloe’s chest loosened against her will.

**Chloe:** *No bows. There may have been a green dress. I’m not discussing it.*

**Ryan:** *Green. Noted. I’ll try to match without looking like we coordinated too hard. Couples who match too hard are suspicious.*

**Chloe:** *You’re thinking about this a lot.*

**Ryan:** *I’m thorough. You knew that when you signed on.*

She stared at the screen. Across the table Madison and Liv had started a low conversation about flower arrangements, giving her the illusion of privacy. Chloe typed before she could stop herself.

**Chloe:** *What if this is a mistake?*

The reply took less than thirty seconds.

**Ryan:** *Then we’ll survive it. We’ve survived worse. Remember the summer you decided to prove you could beat me at every board game I owned?*

**Chloe:** *I did beat you.*

**Ryan:** *You cheated at Monopoly and we both know it. My point is, one weekend isn’t going to break either of us. And if it takes the target off your back for a while, it’s already worth it.*

Chloe’s eyes stung unexpectedly. She blinked hard and typed the only truth she could afford.

**Chloe:** *I’m still holding you to the rules.*

**Ryan:** *I know. Sleep. I’ll see you Friday morning. 8 a.m. Sharp. I’ll bring coffee the way you actually like it, not the way you tell people you like it.*

She locked the phone and set it facedown. When she looked up, both Liv and Madison were watching her with identical knowing expressions.

“Don’t,” Chloe said.

Madison held up both hands. “Didn’t say a word.”

Liv squeezed her hand once more and let go. “Just remember you’re allowed to change your mind about the rules if you want to. That’s all.”

Chloe didn’t answer. She finished her wine, paid her share against Liv’s protests, and drove home with the green dress hanging in the back seat like a promise she wasn’t sure she should keep.

---

Her apartment felt too quiet. She hung the dress, washed her face, and sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hands. The earlier text thread was still open. She scrolled back through the short exchange and felt the same dangerous warmth she had felt in Ryan’s kitchen.

She almost backed out again. She typed the beginning of a message—*I think we should reconsider*—and deleted it. Typed it again. Deleted it again.

In the end she sent something simpler.

**Chloe:** *Coffee the way I actually like it. Don’t get it wrong.*

**Ryan:** *Wouldn’t dream of it. Goodnight, Bennett.*

**Chloe:** *Goodnight.*

She set the phone on the nightstand, turned off the light, and stared at the ceiling until the residual adrenaline faded into exhausted acceptance. The plan was still in place. The rules were still the rules. Friday morning she would get into Ryan Cole’s car and start the performance that was supposed to fix everything.

She ignored the quiet voice that whispered the performance had already started the moment she let his hand settle on her waist and didn’t pull away. Six weeks, she told herself. She could survive six weeks. She had survived years of wanting nothing to do with him, after all. Wanting something else now was just a temporary complication. It had to be.