Page 129 of Crazy In Love
Like a tennis match and a ball flying from one side of the court to the other, Amedeo’s eyes swing to Booker. “Kicking over?”
“You cannot base your happiness—and a whole cross-country move—on thehopethat some old biddy will up and die, Fox! That’s not howgrown-ups make decisions. But it sure as hell is one way to tempt karma to come down and whoop your ass.”
“It’s not like I’ll poison the old folks or anything.” I roll my eyes and ignore the buzz-buzz-buzz of my phone in my bag. “I just mean, the fact they’re pretty old already makes me feel better.”
“Fox!”
“Offer me a full-time remote position.” I look from one man to the other. “Either of you. I’m begging you. I don’t want to leave Gable, Gains, and Hemingway, and lord knows, I don’t want to work at Alana’s bookstore for the rest of my life. So I’m asking you to please, please consider finding me a position that satisfies us all.”
“You’re asking me to let you go,” Booker groans. “You’ll leave New York.”
“You were happy to send me to Rome!” I gesture toward Amedeo with both hands. “How is this different?”
“It’s different, because this is what you wanted. Rome was your dream, Fox, and I give a shit about you outside of this office. I want you to have everything you want.”
“I want Plainview. And I want my family. I want Chris and that stinky gym that smells like balls and all of those people who hardly even like me. I want the stubbed toes. And I want to continue to work with you.”
Poor Amedeo. The man speaks fluent English, but not everything makes sense. “Youwantto stub your toes?”
“I’ll fly out once a month, every single month, for the rest of my working life, to any office you want me in. I’ll even fly economy, if you insist.”
Booker scoffs.
“If you want me to be happy, thenthisis it.” And because he already wrote it into the contracts, I open them again and jump to the last page. “If at any point I change my mind, you’ll bring me back to New York. See? You already provided me an out if the hillbillies get to be too much.”
“You’re still calling them hillbillies!” he growls. “But now you wanna be one of them?”
“I just want a chance to figure out who I am. I know you don’thaveto. At no point are you required to tolerate me and this ridiculous conversation, so if you wish to end it, end it.”
“Then I’m ending it,” he quips. “Right now.”
“Fair,” I sigh, closing the contract again and placing my hands over top. “However, I’m moving this week. With or without your blessing.”
“Fox!”
“I would really, really like your blessing.” I reach across his desk and grab his hands. “Please, Booker. Don’t make me work at the bookstore. Don’t let me leave without a steady income and a reason to fly back to civilization once a month. If you send me away today and I become one ofthem, you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”
He firms his lips. “Emotional manipulation? You’re usually much better at it.”
“I know. But I was up until midnight hosting a Taylor Swift concert for the rats living in my walls. I’m tired.”
“You know Taylor Swift?” Amedeo questions. “Americans know all other Americans?”
“Please, Booker.” I set my elbows on his desk and press my palms together in prayer. “I’ll work really hard. I’ll learn fast and become your highest-grossing lackey yet. I’ll secure accounts you couldn’t even dream of, and I’ll make damn sure the yearly data shows I deserve my praise.”
“Fox—”
“And I won’t ask for my salary increase.”
He scoffs. “I should hope not.”
“I won’t need you to pay for accommodations either. Just agree to keep me on. Give me a year to show you I can do this.”
“What if I give you the year and you fail? Will you come back to New York?”
“No. But I’ll try the emotional manipulation thing again and buy myself another year.” I wiggle my hands. “Let me go home, Booker. Rome isn’t where I’ll be happy. Plainv—” My body rejects the words. My tongue stumbles on each syllable.Oh, God.“Plainview is where I need to be. At least for now.”
His desk phone trills, startling me where I sit and buying us both a moment to sit back. And though he stares into my eyes, ignoring the phone until it rings out, it starts again and draws his ire. He points at me, then points down—don’t move!—then snatching up the headset, he slams it to his ear and grits out, “Yes?”
