Page 2 of Crazy In Love
“Because you consider yourself above them?” I push away from the door and catch my ball while it’s in the air, squishing the soft foam in my palm and striding around my desk to set it in my top drawer.
That ball was a gift from my best-little-buddy, Franklin Page. And Booker Hemingway has already been warned not to touch what’s not his.
Warned by Franky, that is. Not me.
“Six weeks is a long time.” Unruffled, he flops into my visitor chair, lazy and languid, which is everything he’snotallowed to be if anyone on the other side of my office door just happened to look in.
At thirty-one, he must prove himself in ways Gable and Gains never have to. Worse, because he’s neither middle-aged, nor white, he has to work harder than his business partnersandalways appear thrilled while doing it.
“Remind me again where you’re going?” He drops his legs open and rolls his head back.Not so thrilled.“For sixwholeweeks.”
“Plainview.”Ugh.Just saying the name out loud makes me pout. “Population: thirty-two… or so. They have one street running through town, one grocery store, four churches, and an uncountable number of old folks just begging for a scrap of gossip.”
“And the chicken poo,” he teases.I may have mentioned the plethora of poo in the past. “You’re scheduled for six weeks off, but I bet you’ll be back in one.”
“Can’t.” I grab my purse and set it on my desk, then I open the thick leather and toss my things in. Phone. Laptop. Keys. My lucky pen with chew marks on the lid, though, truly, it’s no different from the thirty other pens from the multi-box I took it from. “My best friend is having her baby, and her son needs me. This is a massive change, and change, for him, is upsetting.”
“He’s nine years old! Surely, he’s old enough to understand that things are gonna be different now. He’ll be fine.”
“He’s ten, actually. He’s more intelligent than anyone I’ve ever met and a genuinely sweet boy who would never begrudge his mom’s happiness or the little sister on the way. But he’s also autistic, thrives on routine and familiarity, and though Alana will do her best to cater to both of her children, having a baby is a major medical episode.” I open my top drawer and grab my notebook—just in case—and a packet of gum. “I’ve been in Franky’s life since the day he was born, and their move to Plainview is stillkinda fresh. Alana just bought a bookstore, and Tommy—her baby daddy—is busy with his own business. Everyone is already juggling, so I see no reason not to help my friends.” I drop everything into my purse and bring my eyes back to Booker’s. “That’s what kind people do.”
He snorts, perfect white teeth flashing behind a smile most others would gleefully pay for. “You’re trying to hurt my feelings, huh? Because you’re excited to see your friend, but you’re also gonna miss us.”
“I’ll miss Brenna.” Lie. I’ll miss them all. But saying so to confident men is how larger egos are created. “I’ll be back in six weeks, plus you’re heading to Rome while I’m gone, so you’ll hardly even notice my absence. Once I’m back, life will go on as it always has, and this will be just a memory. I’ll be available via email.” I repeat the words I’ve spoken a thousand times already today, flattening my voice into an unfeeling monotone. “You can call if you need something, and I’ll send updates anyway. Other than that,” I close my drawer with a satisfying snick, “I’m entitled to my time off, and complaining about it achieves nothing except to prove you’re a big baby.”
“Big baby.” Grunting like a jolly old man, he leans forward and sets his elbows on his knees, dangling his hands between his legs. “You speak to your superiors with such disrespect, Ms. Tatum. It’s hardly acceptable in the workplace.”
“Yeah, but we were friends before you got stupid-rich, so it hardly counts.” I quickly scan my computer screen and the emails that sit unread; countless, and all with similar subject lines:goodbye.Idismiss them and jump across to the dozen web tabs I’ve left open; newspaper articles about a certain fight sensation, coaching success, and prodigy maker—since it’s smart business to research your rival—then I switch the screen off and straighten my back. And finally, I release a deep breath and empty my lungs. “I’m leaving now. Don’t try to stop me.”
“You think awfully highly of yourself.” He pushes off my chair and tidies his suit jacket. Because once we leave this office, he must beMr. Hemingwayagain. The heat of his following eyes lingers on my back as I stroll to the closet built into my office wall and tug the door open. While he straightens his tie and clears his throat, I drag a ridiculously heavy suitcase out and miss running over my toes by a hair, then I grab my carry-on case and a pair of Nike high-tops to change into once I get to the airport.
“Would you like me to call up a car? Since you seem to think you’re king shit around here.”
“I don’tthinkI’m king shit.” I set my purse on top of my suitcase,draping the straps over the handle to keep it from tumbling right off. “I’m told how amazing I am every single day. It’s hardly conjecture at this point. Also,” I peek over my shoulder, “no need to call a car.”
“You’d rather catch a cab?”
“No. No need to call. Michael’s already downstairs waiting for me.”
He laughs. “Of course he is.”
“Walk me down?” My heart thuds with emotion, taking what is supposed to be an exciting adventure and adding a sheen of dread because of the work-family I know I’ll miss while I’m gone. Plainview is not justnot-Manhattan, which is a massiveconin the pros and cons list anyway, but it’s a small town in the middle of Hell, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, not a single restaurant operational past ten at night—for those late-night adventures I enjoy going on when the apartment is too lonely—and no one within its town limits for me to spend my time with—besides Alana and Franky.
Well, them and the Watkins twins.
Tommy will be Alana’s husband soon, and Chris is… strange, in the ‘don’t look at me’ and ‘don’t sit in my seat’ kind of way.
In the silence, Booker takes my large suitcase and rolls it across my office, spires of glittering light flaring from the sparkling exterior as he passes in front of my window. He opens the door, only to reveal more faces. More goodbyes. More teary smiles and emotional eyes.
“They’re attached to you,” he murmurs, waiting as I grab my smaller case and follow him out. He leads me over expensive tile and into his office, then into a private elevator gleaming with shiny steel and a boldly painted artwork on the back wall. Selecting the ground floor and folding his arms, he studies my coworkers who mingle and wave, his eyes warm on the side of my face as I step in beside him and bring my carry-on case closer.
“Six weeks can feel like a lifetime for those who rely on your presence.”
“Which is how I feel about Alana and Franky.” Mirroring his pose, I lean against the side wall and draw my bottom lip between my teeth. “I saw them every single day for ten years. Now they’re gone. Six weeks away from here will feel like a long time, but three-quarters of a year away from them feels like death by a thousand paper cuts. It feels like I can’t breathe half the time.”
“I know.” His dark eyes slide over my features, a million thoughts going unspoken. A decade of friendship sits over our heads. And because Iknowhe wants to say something, but doesn’t, my heart thrums just a little faster.
“What?”
