Page 14 of Crazy In Love
“She plans team bonding experiences,” Alana explains. “She decorates the office to prioritize peaceful flow and good energy.”
“You’re shitting me?”
“Her job is to reduce stress within the workplace. Ergonomic furniture, clearer computer monitors, blue lens glasses. Office flow, maximizing break times, catering with healthy, clean food, since junk food is often the first a stressed person will go for, which actually makes stress worse.”
“My job is to assess my company and find ways to make it better. Relaxed staff members perform more efficiently. It’s statistically proven.”
“That’s just… that’s…” I look at Tommy and search for sense. For confirmation that this is all a joke. “That’s not even a real job!”
Alana scowls. “Chris!”
“My paycheck says otherwise,” Fox counters. “And the plaque on my office door.”
“And your ergonomic chair,” Franky helpfully adds. “And your coworkers are always smiling. I saw it every time I visited.”
Fox hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “See? It’s real.”
I turn on my heels and stride awaybecause the irony isn’t lost on me that when I’m around her, my stress levels rise. I have nothing to say that won’t get me in trouble with Alana and no fucking way to end this conversation with anything remotely kind. So I stalk across the kitchen, echoing laughter hitting my back like an obnoxious slap from a drunken friend.
Flipping the locks, I yank the door open and move onto the porch. I can’t deal with her. I can’t deal with fake ass people or ulterior motives. I can’t deal with the woman who so clearly wants Alana to choose her over Plainview and the one who will, no doubt, lay claim over the sweet little baby I get to call my niece.
“She’s not even related to them!” I slam the door and stomp down the stairs. “And that’snota real job.”
ROUND FIVE
FOX
I wake the next morning before anyone else, with the sun slowly creeping toward the horizon and the chirp of birds outside invading my dreams.
It’s not that I mind a noisy world—New York City traffic is a constant hum I’m not sure I’ll ever stop hearing—but a robin’s call is pretty enough, and loud enough, to drag me toward consciousness and remind me where I am.
In Satan’s asshole.
Though, the room Tommy and Alana have set me up in is luxurious enough to make the rest tolerable.
Crawling off my bed and into a pair of buttery soft yoga pants, I tiptoe acrosss my room with eager anticipation bubbling in my veins. The memory of the lake from last night playing in my mind, and the reality that I’ll get to enjoy it all alone for a few moments, means I move quickly. Too quickly. Because in my rush, I slam my toe against the corner of a heavy set of drawers. Pain radiates up through my leg and into my belly, forcing me to grit my teeth and swallow my hiss before I wake the rest of the household. Instead, I pause right where I am, squeezing my fists and slowly opening my lips to allow fresh air into my lungs.
When the sharpest blades of pain subside, I limp toward the door, carefully pulling it open to reveal a still-dark house and out the windows on both sides, trees and water as far as the eye can see. Most magical of all is the dock that stretches halfway across the water, disappearing into the fog of an early morning.
From the moment we drove in last night, and Chris’ headlights played off the water, I knew what I wanted to explore. More than that, I knew I wanted to do it all alone, before the rest of the world woke. And since New York is a couple of hours ahead of Plainview, that means I get a head start on everyone else.
Eagerness is like electricity in my blood, pulsing in my veins as I head downstairs in silence. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee leads me to the kitchen and, mercifully, to a coffee pot that clearly works on a timer. I snag a mug and fill it to the brim with steaming black liquid, then whipping my hair into a ponytail to keep it off my face, I skip creamer altogether and move toward the door.
Already, the pain of a stubbed toe is a long-gone memory.
Carefully, as quietly as I can, I flip the locks and peek back to ensure no one stirs upstairs, and when the coast is clear, I step outside into the glorious morning chill.
Fresh air never tasted so good. The smell of moss in my nostrils and the soft movement of the lake, just fifty feet from Tommy’s back door, is better than whatever Heaven is likely to offer.
Being born and raised in New York City means the stench of traffic and subway grates is in my blood. It’s not even a smell I dislike. The glitz and glamor of Broadway makes my heart swell, and the constant lights in Times Square leaves me with a happy sense of belonging.
Harmony.
We’re all in this together-ness.
None of which Plainview could ever hope to have. But this lake… this view…
I traverse the porch steps and tiptoe from dirt to grass, soft dew-coated blades tickling the soles of my bare feet. Goosebumps track along my exposed arms, just cold enough to remind me that it’s early, but not so bad that I’m tempted to trade this for the comfort of inside.
