No Two Are Alike

01 | go away mariah carey

Admittedly, when Chloe pictured making an entrance, this wasn't what she had in mind.

She huffed, balancing on her left foot as she rang the doorbell. Bloody hell, it was freezing. Was London always this cold in December? She wiggled her bare toes. Damn that grate in South Kensington. Her high heel was probably still there, smugly wedged between two iron bars. It wasn't her fault that it chose to abandon her.

Chloe stumbled slightly.

Ah, bollocks.

This part was her fault.

She hadn't meant to get pissed, exactly; it was really Rosie's fault for buying her shot after shot at the pub, and also the client's fault for making her boss do it. Working in marketing, Chloe reflected morosely, was the quickest path to liver failure.

But they had managed to close the deal, and Chloe was now £500 richer.

Admittedly, she was also monumentally pissed and shoe-less.

But she would deal with that later.

The door swung open. A tall, young blond man stood in the threshold, blinking at her. His face was shadowed, but Chloe could make out a reindeer jumper.

"Jack," she croaked.

She knew it was Jack. He might look identical to his twin brother, Logan, but she could always tell which Winters boy it was. Jack slouched more. And this boy smelled like orange hot chocolate, which was a dead giveaway; Jack was addicted to the stuff.

"Oh, for god's sake," Jack sighed. "You're pissed, aren't you?"

"No."

"Chloe Cartwright." He looked at her sternly. "Don't lie to me."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, are you going to let me in or not?"

Mariah Carey spilled into the street, filling the frozen air with sleigh bells and melodious crescendos. Chloe scowled. Stupid Mariah Carey and her stupid song. Forget men — all Chloe wanted for Christmas was a new liver.

And about twenty mince pies.

"Jack," she whined, clutching her bare foot. "It's freezing."

Jack cast his eyes to the heavens. Then he ushered her inside, half-carrying her up the stairs and into the toilet. Chloe knew better than to protest as he thrust a bottle of mouth wash towards her, along with a pair of wool socks.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Jack eyed her dirty bare foot. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." Chloe pulled a face. "Are my parents here?"

"They just arrived."

Chloe groaned, trailing Jack back downstairs. Oh, god. This just got worse and worse. She usually looked forward to the Winters' annual tree-trimming, but in recent years, her parents had turned it into a game that Chloe liked to call "Nothing Much." It was their favourite game post-divorce.

It usually went like this.

"Amanda, darling!" her father would say. "What have you been up to lately?"

"Oh, nothing much, John; I've just been in Cannes. Yourself?"

"How lovely! Oh, nothing much; I just bought a new yacht."

"A new yacht?"

"Oh, but it's small; nothing much, really."

And on and on it went until her parents ran out of oxygen or Chloe had sufficiently drank enough to forget that the game was even going on.