Page 127 of Crazy In Love

Yeah, Alana told me last night.

But then Rome happened, and Rome is much, much farther away. Now you’re telling me, as of midnight last night, you’re no longer in love with me anyway?

I snicker.

It’s a different kind of love. Rooted in self-love first. Which, I’m led to believe, is a far superior option anyway.

“Fox?” Less patient now, Booker pulls his door open. “We have to start.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I wipe my nose and quickly type, despite Chris’ moving speech bubbles.

I have to go into a meeting right now. But I’ll call you later. Maybe. If you wanna talk.

I know we screwed up the first round. But a traditional fight has, like, three rounds, right?

Five, actually. If we screw up the next one, we’re still good for a few more.

Not sure how long-distance will work, seeing as how I hardly talk, and I really like touching you.

But I’m open to crappy hotel sheets if you’re willing to slum it with a dude who gets weird about forks.

I’m willing to learn Italian for you. I mean, I’ll complain about it, and I’ll focus mostly on the cuss words.

But this is how adults have relationships, right? It’s how they move from really great secret sex, into something a little more important.

I’m sorry I wasn’t at the airport to do the big declaration thing you wanted. And now, I can’t even do the declaration thing without you assuming I did it because you told me to. Which kinda sucks.

Anyway. You already said you were going into a meeting, so maybe I’m talking to myself. I do that more than you think.

Catch you when I catch you. Kinda wanna tell you I love you. But it feels weird.

So, ya know… I’m thinking it, even if typing it makes my hands shake.

“Fox?!”

“Yep!” I lock my screen and shove my phone into my bag, and tugging out a small white envelope from the depths of my purse, I push off the wall and follow Booker into his office.

Amedeo, our Italian GGH director, waits in one of two of Booker’s visitor chairs, a sharp Italian suit draped around a fit body, and dark brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he watches me stumble into the room.

I make a beeline for the only remaining chair, setting my purse on the floor by the leg, then I turn to Amedeo and offer my hand. “Mr. Conti. Welcome to New York. I was thrilled when I found out you’d be here.”

“Ciao.” He flashes a megawatt grin and stands, wrapping my hands in his much the same way Eugene did last night. “It’s good to be back, even if my visit will be short.”

“The contracts have been drawn up by legal.” Booker sets a stack of paperwork on his desk and unbuttons his suit jacket, before sitting down and gesturing for Amedeo and me to do the same. “You’ll want to read them over, Fox, but for expediency’s sake, I’ll tell you: your job remains the same as it is here in New York. However, the office over there is smaller, and the staff members are fewer. This makes for a perfect opportunity to continue and expand, what you’re already doing here and still have time to learn from Amedeo. We’ve discussed in detail your desire to explore the things we do, and Amedeo has been hinting at bringing you across to Rome for the last little while. So when we came to the conclusion you could do both jobs, an idea was born, and a position was created.”

“I feel you will be pleased with the accommodations we have in place for you.” Amedeo crosses one leg over the other, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his upturned hand. And because he’s notentirely old or ugly, he smiles that way men like him do. “I’d be happy to have you in my city.”

“Your contract stipulates five years,” Booker continues, “broken down into one-year intervals. At the end of each year, you’re welcome to renegotiate terms with Amedeo first, and then us, second. If at any point you decide you’re dissatisfied with the change, you would put that in writing and let us know. We would hate to lose you because you think you can’t return, so?—”

“I’m sorry. Could I stop you for a moment?” I pick up my contract, only to set my small envelope down in its place. I pass it to neither men, nor do I explain its contents. I merely settle back and leaf through the contract, searching for the words I hope desperately to locate. Words Iknowexist. I just have to find them. “I loathe to bethatperson, gentleman. Causing a fuss when no fuss is necessary.”

“Please.” Amedeo gestures my way. “Fuss, Ms. Tatum. What’s on your mind?”

“Well…” I cough out a nervous laugh. “Probably not what you’re expecting.”

In my peripherals, Booker’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits.

“Here.” I set the contract on my lap and point at the words that set me free.Sort of. They provide me a lifeline.Ish.“It’s stipulated here I have the option to work remotely three days a week, provided I attend the staff meeting on the first Monday of every month.”