Crazy in Love

Sitting back, I reply, “When I was on the treadmill this morning, the words level and match came up.”

“Out of thin air?”

“No, Elijah Morris, a former client, was chatting me up. Fiancée did the deed with the cousin, and he’s now single. Poor guy.” I give him a moment of silence and then add, “He asked me out, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“That’s terrible. Not the asking out part but the fiancée doing the deed with the cousin. Also, why is asking you out neither here nor there? If I remember correctly, he’s quite cute, great job down on Wall Street, and his dad is one of our top-tier clients.”

“I want to be a twelve. Not in looks or personality. In life. I believe in your dream, and it’s become mine without me realizing it. Until now.”

Looking pleased, she reflects the excitement I feel inside with her graceful expression. The same hope I feel lies in her eyes. “Do you have a plan, or is this the start of the conversation?”

“A little of both. What I was thinking is that I could reorganize the company.” I roll my hand in the air as a thrill zips up my spine. “We can have levels and reps. You and I could work exclusively with the top-tier clients. We have Phoebe training in the mid-range.”

“Which is?”

“The fifty to one-hundred-thousand budget range.”

“I think we’ll need to add to that range. It’s been popular this last year and a little easier, time-wise, for us to pull off.”

“Agreed. It’s more about the gift than the production in that range, making it less time-consuming and a quicker turnaround from the larger setups. I think we can even divide the under fifty budget into two levels, hiring maybe two or three people to train in that range. I want to go over the numbers once more to confirm, but those were the fastest growing areas of the business in the first quarter.”

“We turn away potential clients every day due to lack of time, so this would solve that issue to an extent. I just have one question.”

“Which is?”

She stands and holds out her hand. “When do you want to start?”

Shaking her hand, I stand as well. “Right now.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

6

Harrison

More flowers are needed, according to Natalie, so I’ve been sent to the shop around the corner to buy them.

Just as I step onto the stoop, a car door opens at the curb, and a tan, lean leg and red heel lands on the sidewalk. My attention is fully captivated, and I angle to get a better look.

The top of a blond head is seen first, and then Tatum and her curves follow. She tells the driver, “Thank you,” before noticing me.

After the other night, she’s not someone I can tango with any longer. I shove my hands in my pockets and lower my gaze to the steps beneath my feet as I travel from the stoop down to the sidewalk. I don’t bother with niceties. We’re long past that. I head in the direction of the shop I’ve been sent, putting my thoughts on the errand ahead instead of on the woman behind me.

“Harrison?”

I stop one brownstone down, debating if I should even try. I received her message loud and clear when she left me the other night.

Guilt tweaks in my bones. My mom raised me to have better manners. My dad told me to confront life head-on. Life. Tatum. Kind of the same thing right now.

“Please?” she adds. When I turn around, my eyes meet hers, and that plea is still wrangling her expression. “Can we talk?”

“About?” I ask, allowing my gaze to dip down. Dressed in a strapless, fitted black top and a full skirt that hits just at her calves to match, she looks so fucking gorgeous that it pisses me off for some reason.

She comes closer with a box in her hands and a small red bag dangling from her elbow. Her hair is pulled back in a sparkling clip on one side and falls in soft waves on the other side of her face. Her bold red lips don’t compete with the faintest of pink on her cheeks that could be mistaken for her blushing instead of makeup. But it’s her eyes.

Always those eyes that hide a million secrets locked inside. She’s hard to look away from, but I force myself to the trees lining the streets until she says, “The other night . . .”

On the end of an exasperated sigh, I say, “I don’t need to relive—”

“I know, and I’ll respect your wishes and won’t go over the details, but I need you to know that I came back.”

“You came back where? When?”

“When I left in the car, I had the driver stop the next block down. I came back for you, Harrison, but you were gone.”