Intimate Geography Page 9

  “Home safe.”

  It hurts my heart in a way I’ll never admit that I do feel at home here, a cold place where no one knows me and the people I’m going to meet are terrified of my reputation. It might be nice for that not to be true. But these people won’t fuck with my head. The demands they make, I’ll be able to satisfy, and no one expects me to have feelings.

  I nod and get my face on. Work-India is back.

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  “Hey, mili. Did I wake you?”

  “No. I only sleep late when I’m with you.”

  As I say the words, I’m aware of the intimacy of them. I’d like to reach out, grab the syllables, shove them back into my mouth, and swallow. That not being an option, I press the heel of my hand into my forehead. There’s a beat before he asks, “How was your week?”

  “Mixed bag. Had to go to Chicago.”

  I say it casually on the off-chance he’s forgotten what that entails for me, but I can tell it brings him up short.

  “You went to Chicago?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But—”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you all right?” His concern is genuine, and a flush of pleasure spreads from my chest.

  “Yeah, I’m all right. Now. Getting there was quite a production. Took two people to get me on that plane. I almost hyperventilated when we were landing.”

  “Jesus, India, why didn’t you call me?”

  “It’s okay. Rey took care of it.” With an assist from Evans, but no need to bring him into this.

  There’s silence from the other end of the line. Maybe we’ve been disconnected. “Crispin?”

  “Is there ever going to be a day when you call me and not him?”

  My face pinches in puzzlement. “Are you jealous?”

  “Why’d you call Rey?”

  “Because—”

  “Because he’s always been there for you. Because you trust him. And I get that. I do. I’m glad he has been. But what I need to know is if I’ll be that person someday. If my name will ever be the first to come into your head when you need help. If you’re ever going to trust me to take care of you.”

  “I didn’t know that was something you wanted.”

  Why anyone would want to deal with more of my crazy than absolutely necessary is beyond me. Rey signed that contract not knowing the depth of the insanity, but Crispin’s got an escape hatch and I’m not sure why he hasn’t used it.

  “When my mom called you—”

  “Yeah.” I cut him off. My chest still gets tight when I remember Mary telling me he’d been in an accident.

  “Don’t you think I would’ve gotten on a plane for you? I know it wasn’t life-threatening, but…” No, not life-threatening, just livelihood-threatening. “You must’ve been hurting. You must’ve been afraid. You act all tough, India, but I know what they did to you. You were there for me when I needed you, and you didn’t even give me a chance to step up and be there for you. How am I ever supposed to compete with Rey when you won’t give me a chance?”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a competition.” Crispin and Rey fulfill different needs for me. They’re not pitted against each other in my head, and I wasn’t aware they were in Crispin’s.

  “Apparently there’s not.”

  Oh, Crispin. You’re a moody, jealous little boy sometimes. I take a deep breath so I don’t snap at him and try to see it from his perspective. I suit up in my Wonder Woman outfit because this isn’t going to be easy.

  “I thought about calling you. I knew you’d come. It’s not that I doubted you. But…” Gird your golden loins, India, you can say this. “This is something about myself I don’t like. I worry someday my neuroses are going to be too much for you and you’re going to decide I’m not worth it. I wouldn’t blame you. Rey already knows everything. I don’t risk anything by telling him this shit. Don’t you wonder how much of the crazy-iceberg is still under the surface?”

  “You know what else I wonder? How much of the rest of you is still under water, too. I want the iceberg.”

  My breath catches. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll call you next time. But remember you asked for it when I call you at three o’clock in the morning because there’s a spider in my kitchen.”

  “Are you afraid of spiders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh. You learn something new every day. And you see how I haven’t dropped the phone and run screaming?”

  “Yeah, but everyone’s afraid of spiders. It’s not like having a phobia of an entire half of the country.”

  He teases me about my arachnophobia, and then says he’ll let me go. But I don’t want to stop talking. I miss him. I like hearing his voice, his playful tone when I squeal about tarantulas and their terrifying furred legs.

  “You know what else I’m afraid of?”

  “What?”

  I don’t actually have other irrational fears so I make something up. “Lobsters.”

  He laughs, and I melt. “So pretty much anything with eight legs?”

  “Yeah. Ticks, scorpions, octopi, the lot of them. Eight is by far the scariest number of legs.”

  We stay on the phone for another half an hour, an epic phone conversation for us, taking turns confessing increasingly ridiculous phobias. After Crispin’s revealed a terror of croissants because he never knows how to pronounce it without sounding like an asshat, I have to excuse myself. “I really do have work to do. But I’ll see you Friday?”

  “Yeah. And don’t forget. You can call if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  *

  “India!”

  Uh-oh. Jack hasn’t bothered to use the intercom for once, and I can hear him like he was sitting next to me.

  I take up my tablet, scramble to his office, and nearly get run down by him as he paces. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s yanking at the tie around his neck like it’s strangling him. Why hasn’t he taken it off? Right, he’s got a flight in a few hours.

  “Are you okay?”

  He wheels on me, and his brows are raised in surprise, like he forgot I was here.

  “No, I’m not okay. And you’re going to be less than okay in a minute.”

  My stomach sinks. Unless he’s rescinding my promotion—made official on Monday with an email to the entire office and a new box of business cards on my desk, not to mention a roll of Rainbow Brite stickers in my desk drawer that made me cackle—I’m not sure what could make me less than okay.

  “Chow and Rodriguez left.”

  Okay, that would do it.

  “What do you mean, they left?” Chow was this close to getting promoted to senior associate, and Rodriguez wasn’t far behind her. Why on earth would they leave?

  “Fucking Donovan stole them. I hate that fucker.” Will Donovan is Jack’s biggest competitor in Southern California. On the surface, he’s nicer than Jack, but he can be a weasel. And the quality of the work that comes out of his firm is nowhere near what we produce at JVA. I’d know. I interviewed with him, too. “Snot-nosed, snake-tongued, limp-dicked asshole!”

  Whoa. Jack sweeps a pile of papers off his desk, and they explode in the air before floating down to the ground. His pacing is undeterred, and I grimace as he crunches the papers underfoot. I hope those aren’t important.

  It’s inconvenient that Chow and Rodriguez have left. It leaves holes on several big projects including…

  “Chicago.”

  “Yeah. If your last trip didn’t cure you of your deep dish phobia, the next month of exposure therapy will. You’re on a plane tomorrow. I know you hate company, but this is too big for you to handle on your own. Patterson’s booked, Leo can’t travel, Singh isn’t ready—”

  “I’ll take Evans. If you don’t need him on something else.”

  My comment is like a sharp tug on Jack’s reins, and he stops short.

  “Are you requesting Evans?”

  My shoulders slump, and I r
oll my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Oh, good, you’ve learned how to play nice in the sandbox.” Jack’s eyes light up like a parent who’s been told his bully of a child didn’t steal anyone’s lunch money today. But honestly, during our last trip, Evans impressed me. If he keeps it up, I’ll recommend Jack think about giving him more responsibility. I think he’d do well managing people. He certainly handled me.

  “Only with Evans. You send that waste of space O’Halloran with me on anything, and he’ll end up with Legos up his nose and Matchbox cars you don’t want to know where.”

  “No, he was a bad hire. That’s what I get for doing favors. Evans it is and don’t forget your coat. It’s supposed to be freezing in Chicago. Or do you coldbloodeds not mind the chill?”

  I throw Jack the finger as I stalk out of his office and back to mine.

  *

  The next few months are crazy. I spend half my life on planes going to Chicago, Phoenix, and LA; making the barest of pit stops in San Diego; and then going west to Kona. I have to cancel more than one trip to see Crispin, and though he pretends to be understanding, I know it bothers him. I’m trying my best to be everything to everyone, but it’s exhausting and I’m more foul-tempered than usual.

  I try to open up as Crispin’s asked—talking about my stress instead of asking him to beat it out of me—but he can’t extinguish all of it. Not the bits that have to do with him. The more muddled things get with Crispin, the more uncomfortable I become. And the more in love I fall.

  He’s started talking about going out on his board, and I stifle the desire to stuff him in a closet and toss away the key. Fuck no are you going back out there, you crazy person. I might lose him through my own stupidity and damage, but there’s no way I’m surrendering him to the ocean.

  Rey’s flown down to have dinner with me in LA, and I meet him at a new Moroccan place, all tiles and dim lighting. We’re escorted to a back corner banquette, as private as the space will allow. After the maître d’ seats us, Rey nudges my ankle under the table with the buttery soft leather of his shoe.

  “Talk to me, little one. You’ve been impossible to get on the phone, and you don’t look like you’ve slept in a week.”

  I press my lips between my teeth and don’t respond. There’s a waiter a few steps away with what I’m guessing are our drinks. I’m proven right when he steps up to our table and deposits the finely crafted cocktails.

  “A Cuban number two for the gentleman and a Juliet and Romeo for the lady.”

  I deliver a kick to Rey’s shin under the table that would do a ninja proud, but he doesn’t flinch, just thanks our waiter. When the guy’s left, Rey slides closer to me and grips above my knee, fingers digging into my flesh. It doesn’t hurt, per se—he’s not trying to mark me—but it’s like he’s found a secret release hatch. “Now.”

  “Work is so out of control. Things are going okay here and Chicago is going well, but it’s still a lot to deal with. Phoenix…” A vision of Greg Wu the last time I saw him flashes in my mind. I’d had to give him more bad news, and while I know he was angry with the situation and not at me, I’d hated the look on his face and the frustrated spin of his desk chair. I like Greg, feel a certain kinship with him, an equality I don’t experience with a lot of my clients. Seeing him uncertain undermines my usual rock-solid confidence in my ability to do my job. “Phoenix is hard.”

  “Why don’t you take some time?”

  “You know I can’t. Jack’s as overwhelmed as I am, and I don’t trust anyone else. Would you let someone else handle your client list while you took a breather?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Well, if Moses can’t go the mountain—”

  “No.”

  “He’d do it, India. In a heartbeat. You just have to ask. Hell, you don’t even have to. I’ll do it for you.”

  “I know, but the idea of him being here…” It’s twisted, candy cane stripes of pure white terror and bright red bliss. “I can’t. Not right now. And besides, I think maybe…maybe I need to cool things off with him.”

  Rey leans back into the taupe tufted velvet of the curved seat and sips his drink. “Oh?”

  I scowl. An “oh” is never just an “oh” with Rey Walter. That “oh” contains multitudes.

  “It’s too much pressure. I can’t deal with it coming from all sides. I need something to be easy. Cris is a lot of things, a lot of really wonderful things, but easy is not one of them.”

  “Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to hold him at arm’s length, it wouldn’t be so exhausting.”

  I take a swig of my cocktail. While Rey’s joke has irked me, the drink is quite tasty. I shake my head, and the gin sloshes around my mouth before I let it slip down my throat. It’s possible. Then again, it’s also possible I’d end up with my throat slashed from the metaphorical knife Hunter conveniently left stashed between my ribs or the literal kitchen scissors I can still feel carving the flesh of my lower back. No, thank you.

  “Shut up and get me plastered.”

  “Easy’s my middle name,” he says, offering me a clink of his glass and an arm to slide under.

  Chapter Nine

  ‡

  “Hi.” It’s Saturday morning, our usual time for a phone call if I can’t make it to Kona for the weekend. I’m lounging in bed, wearing a T-shirt of Crispin’s I’d stolen last time I was there. I’ve never seen him wear it and it was in the bottom of a drawer, so I don’t think it’ll be missed. I needed to take a piece of him home with me, even if I can’t bear to ask the whole physical Crispin to come be with me. Because I need him more than ever.

  Ugh. He’s turning me into a sentimental sap. Could I be less cool? But the truth is, I’m not cool. I’ve been wound tight all week and the only thing that kept me from cracking the heads of the dumbasses I’ve been dealing with in Chicago were thoughts of this conversation. Seeing his number come up on my screen lowers my blood pressure and lets me breathe.

  “Hey.” His tone sounds a little off, but maybe I’m imagining it. “Are you still coming next weekend?”

  “Oh yes.” I’ve had to cancel my last couple trips, but I’ve put my foot down on next weekend. I am going to Kona no matter what.

  “I wanted to ask… Holo and Lani are having a party on Saturday. Will you come with me?”

  There’s no hesitation. “No.”

  “You’re not even going to consider it?”

  Apparently two seconds of stubborn silence are all the answer he needs.

  “For Christ’s sake, India. What do you think is going to happen if we go out in public together? Are you going to melt? Does sunlight burn?”

  “I don’t go there to be awkward with strangers. You know I hate that stuff. I go there to be with you. Don’t mock me.”

  “I’m not trying to make fun. I’m frustrated by this irrational refusal of yours to be a person.”

  Ouch. Bait me with a poke and then hit me with a punch. I don’t respond. I don’t want him to know how much he’s hurt me. It’s un-fucking-fair he won’t give me credit where credit is due. I can slip between India and Kit with him at the drop of a hat, be whoever he wants me to be whenever he needs me to be it. I drag myself halfway around the world to be with him whenever I can no matter how exhausted I am, no matter the toll it takes. I should get a gold fucking star and a medal for Most Improved, but instead he’s telling me I’m not good enough. Thanks for the news alert, Crispin. Couldn’t have lived without that.

  “Is that it?” I ask, hoping we can move this along. He couldn’t have thought there were better than even odds of me actually saying yes. Maybe something else is bothering him. “Is your dad okay?”

  “He had a thing on Sunday, but it turned out to be nothing major.”

  “So you’re mad because I won’t go to some party with you?”

  “No, not just that.”

  Not just that? “Are you angry at me?”

  “I’m not angry, just tired. I’m tired of this being so one-sided.”

&nbs
p; “How can you say that? I dropped everything to be with you when you got hurt. I fly halfway across an ocean to be with you whenever I have the chance. I had dinner with your parents. Your parents. You’ve never come here, not once. How can you say this is one-sided?”

  “I’ve never been invited. I’d buy a plane ticket right now if you asked me to. And would have any time in the past year. I’d show up at your door unannounced if I thought there was a chance in hell you wouldn’t completely flip your shit and if I knew your fucking address. Would you let me come there? Introduce me to your coworkers? Maybe even the mythical Rey? I’m not sure the guy is real.”

  Tendrils of nausea snake down my throat, and I can’t respond.

  “That’s what I thought. When you came to be with me, I thought things would be different, and they were for a while. But they’re back to how they were before. Worse because I know what I’m missing. It’s not a theory anymore. You like to keep everything in these neat little boxes. Work over here, sex over here, friends over here—”

  “I don’t have any friends.” Except Rey. I guess Matty and Constance and Glory, too. But that’s it. And I haven’t seen or talked to any of them except Rey in months except for the briefest of business-related exchanges with Constance as I’m hightailing it through some airport or in the back of yet another cab. I have to look outside a window when I wake up in the morning to know what city I’m in these days.

  And of course I like to keep things separated. I learned a long time ago that all of me makes people uncomfortable. I don’t fit in any of the boxes they’ve laid out and labeled. The men I’m with who like Kit wouldn’t know what the hell to do with India. And if the people I work with had any idea of how I prefer to spend my free time, I’d either get laughed out of the business or men would try to use my inclinations against me. I can’t afford to be a submissive woman in my line of work, nor would I want to be. I need control in that aspect of my life as much as I need to relinquish it in the other.

  I’ve survived by keeping my worlds separate. Now he wants me to throw them all in a bowl and toss them like salad? See how it shakes out? Hell no. That old skulking terror comes over me because I know what happens when worlds collide. Crispin’s heavy sigh does nothing to put me at ease.