Page 123 of Crazy In Love
Empty.
“Well…” Iwee-woo-wee-wooall the way to the door, slipping a key into the lock and opening it to reveal five-week-old air that tastes nothing like the rich, fresh breeze coming off the lake in a little town in Hillbilly Nowhere.
I wasted five weeks hating that place, when all along, it was me I hated the most.
I drag my case over the threshold and toss my keys into the bowl by the door. Then, switching my lights on, I allow my hand to linger a little longer.
There will be no flash coming from my apartment tonight.
You can leave now, Eugene. Show’s over.
FINAL ROUND
FOX
New day. New week. New me.
Kumbaya and all that shit.
And because I’m all about riding waves of enthusiasm, I spent my entire commute to the office calling moving companies and emailing my landlord to let him know I would no longer need my apartment after this week.
I’ve come to a decision. For me.
Thanks to Taylor Swift, Chinese food delivery, and a clawfoot tub.
Now, I slide out of my cab—not Eugene’s—and stand tall on the sidewalk outside Gable, Gains, and Hemingway. Shaking my hair back, I smooth my jacket and fix my purse on the crook of my arm. Finally, I draw a deep breath until smoggy city air fills my lungs, then release it again and start toward the front doors.
New week. New me. It’s time to be intentional.
“Fox! Hey.” Brenna bounds from her chair behind the tall receptionist’s desk, waving her arms until her entire body sways with the movement. “Welcome back! And congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thanks.”Hell yeah.I forgot how it feels to be a badass bitch inside a workplace where everyone adores me. Like Superman donning his cape, I need only to wear heels and a skirt suit to feel confident again. I stride to the elevator and tap the call button, but while I have a moment, I spin back and meet Brenna’s eyes. “Is Booker already in?”
She touches her ear and accepts a call, but she shows me two thumbs up—affirmative—so I turn on my heels and head into the elevator.
My phone chirps with a text, and other GGH employees file in, so I back up until my shoulders touch the steel wall, and taking out my phone, I spy Alana’s name on my screen.
Though, my spidey senses tell me she’s not who sent the text.
I have to go to school in a minute, but Mom said I could play a game of chess with you. She said you’d feel guilty about leaving Plainview early, so you would for sure play.
My phone vibrates again, but with a picture of a freshly set chessboard. Already, the first white pawn has been moved.
Snorting, I tap at the screen, knowing I have time before we reach the fifty-first floor.
Emotional manipulation is cold, classless, and an entirely unkind war tactic that violates the Geneva Convention. But since you were upfront about it, I figure I’ll allow it.
Clear communication is, after all, the cornerstone of healthy relationships. Move my pawn to E4. I’m walking into work now, so we’ll continue our game this afternoon.
The elevator door opens and closes a half dozen times, allowing new people in and others off. A myriad of perfumes mingle in the air, though thankfully, the nausea I felt last night is gone, replaced with a steely determination for what I know is coming next.
While I wait, I hit reply again, but my message is intended for Alana.
Your son is a meanie. However, I’ve gotten especially good at chess in the last month, so prepare him for his inevitable loss. When I’m done, I intend to point and laugh, lording my power over a defenseless ten-year-old.
I’m heading into my boss’ office in a sec to set some shit on fire. Wish me luck. And Franklin, if you’re reading this, don’t tell your mom I said shit. But do prepare for your humiliation. You’re toast.
Swiping out of that chat, I slide over to Chris’s next. Though, unlike Alana’s, the conversation I’ve had with him is… sparse. Even when things were good and six weeks felt like an eternity. If I invited him to the bookstore apartment, all I ever received were one-or-two-word responses.
