Page 130 of Crazy In Love
“If he doesn’t offer you the job you want,” Amedeo leans closer, chuckling under his breath, “I will.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You want a job in marketing, Ms. Tatum, and you’ve convinced me to pay younotto work for me. You’ve a natural talent.”
“Stop talking to each other!” Booker snaps, then back to his call. “Push my nine-thirty out, and tell Chauncy I’ll call him when I’m done in here. I can’t step out right now.” He stops and listens, then nods. “Yes. I’m aware.I’m willing to risk it. Thanks.” He drops the phone back into the cradle and glares straight between my eyes.
So I flash a bright smile and pray it simmers his fiery mood. “Willing to risk what?”
“None of your damn business! If you no longer work for Gable, Gains, and Hemingway, then such information will no longer be shared with you.”
“But… Idostill work for Gable, Gains, and Hemingway.” I bring my hands up again. “Please?”
“I’ve offered her a position in Rome,” Amedeo counters smugly. “Remotely, of course. Full time. Full salary. Starting immediately.”
“This is not a bidding war! She’smystaff member, and I’ll make my decision without a trojan horse from mynowcompetitor. That’s not what we’re doing today.” He swings angry eyes back to me. “One week remote, one week in the office. But you don’t start remote until six months from now, when I can be assured you’ve got a handle on your new position.”
“One week a month in the office, the rest remote, starting one week from now.”
His eyes sizzle and burn. “This is not a negotiation.”
“No. But it kinda feels like a game of chess, and this move is what I call the Queen-whoop-de-do. The fact I’m willing to walk away without a job at all means I can be as ridiculous as I want. It’s up to you to decide where you’ll draw your battle lines.” I snag my purse and stand, and setting my contract back on his desk, I tilt closer. “You know my terms, and I welcome your written counteroffer. Also, fun fact: the trojans were not Italian. I read about that war from the side of a condom packet.”
“I intend to make a written offer too, Ms. Tatum.” Amedeo turns in his chair, grinning. “May the better country win.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.” I cast one last look to Booker, my friend, my safe place to land for the last ten years, and know I’ll accept damn nearanyoffer he makes. So long as it includes keeping my jobandPlainview.
Finally, I slide my purse onto the crook of my arm and circle my chair. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. You each have my contact details.” Turning on my heels and digging my hand into my bag, I scoop my phone out, desperate to see what else Chris has texted. Hungry for whatever words he’s sent.
Cazzo means fuck. I’m already rolling that one into my vocabulary. And vaffanculo means to fuck off.
I expect to say that one to Tommy pretty often.
Ti amo means I love you. I don’t know if you know that. But I looked it up online and that’s what it says.
Snickering, I tap at the screen and start my reply, and with my free hand, I tug the office door open and stride through.
“Ti amo. It’s kinda smooth, huh?”
Startled, I swing my head around and risk my life when my neck clicks and my stomach somersaults. Then I lock eyes with Christianfreakin’Watkins, standing right where I stood before I came into the office. His back pressed to the wall, and his phone in his hands.
“Chris?” I spin back to face Booker, still at his desk, then around again to make sure Chris is still where I left him.I think.“What are you… what…” I toss my phone into my bag and let my hands dangle by my sides. “You’re in New York?”
“I’m wherever you are.” He moves off the wall, dragging a carry-on suitcase and stopping it beside his thigh. “Lucky for me, there’s still this tiny window where I can make a cheesy declaration of love and you’ll know it was because I wanted to, and not because you told me to.”
Fat tears well up in my eyes, blinding me to the beautiful, handsome, mildly panicked man in front of me.
“YouknowI hate speaking in front of a crowd. And dammit, Fox, you know my hands are shaking, even if I do a decent job of hiding it.”
“Do… do you want to come to my office? So you can speak in privacy?”
“NO!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, drawing eyes from every person on this floor… and possibly security, too. “No, I don’t want privacy, Fox Tatum. I want to declare that I LOVE YOU.”
“Shh! Jesus.” I stumble forward and press my hand to his mouth. “You’re making a scene.”
“I KNOW I’M MAKING A SCENE!” He pushes my hand off, then throws his in the air, and with exaggerated movements, he stomps in a circle. “MY NAME IS CHRISTIAN WATKINS, AND I’M IN LOVE WITH FOX TATUM.”
“Chris!”
