by Angel Payne
On the other hand…neither was this. Not really.
What the hell had happened to my life?
And why couldn’t I bounce back from the fall?
It had taken no time after Gavin. My heart had sealed shut before I’d yanked off the real bandages, ready to refocus, reconstruct, regenerate.
I’d kissed Fletcher goodbye three weeks ago. It still felt like yesterday. Still hurt even deeper.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife…
I sang even louder. The pictures shook on the walls. His call to management would be next. I didn’t even care.
My mother, father and the Association put me on notice, so I’m terminating the lease. Where am I going to live? I’m thinking Tahiti. You can always come visit…or not.
That would certainly give them something fun to focus on. Katrina would owe me, too. She’d be off the hot seat, not having to answer for why she’d enrolled Anya in—gasp—hip-hop instead of ballet.
How about love?
Yeah, how about it?
Because at the moment, love thoroughly sucked. Penny Positive had left the building—and hanged herself.
When I actually got to the office, I couldn’t string more than two thoughts together without them intruding—and tossing me back into the basket of heartache.
They were everywhere.
In the scarves they’d left behind one day, hanging side-by-side on hooks behind my door. In the way those damn things taunted me with their scents, earthy spice and expensive cologne in one erotic collision, every time I stepped near.
In their empty coffee cups at the sideboard station, their initials embossed just below the SGC logo, crossed out with Sharpie in favor of the nicknames they’d scribbled for each other instead.
Ninja Newland
Fancy Boy Ford
In the phone screen now empty of their faces, once pinging at me at least once an hour, constantly flowing with silliness, smiles and love.
In the email inbox now empty of their messages, even professional ones. I’d even opened the minutes from the recent monthly telephone meeting of the board, just to see their names on the roster. Just to know they were still alive.
When had they become my everything?
And did the answer really matter?
They were encamped in the middle of me. Had driven in stakes, erected their flags, marked their claim. Had drawn their rivers of blood in the doing.
Blood I didn’t want to—couldn’t—shed again.
Not yet.
Not yet.
I trudged into the office, forcing my brain into work mode. I’d once loved this job, even without them as part of it. Surely, one day, that passion would return. Maybe today would be that day.
I breathed deeply, clinging to that shred of hope, though waking up my computer just brought the lists that awaited, proving my original point. It was going to be all business, all day. Nothing to make me smile or laugh…or even giggle a little, as aroused tingles invaded my body. I’d worn a gray suit and it seemed appropriate. Gray threads, gray hours ahead. Even the sky was gray. It was never gray in San Diego.
Thank God for the daily bustle—hitting already in the form of an inter-office message.
To: Talia Perizkova
From: Claire Stone
We have a situation.
“Oh, boy.” I muttered it while tapping a fast reply.
To: Claire Stone
From: Talia Perizkova
What kind? How bad?
To: Talia Perizkova
From: Claire Stone
Supply chain. Broken link. Minor last week, major this week. We need leadership on the ground right now—in Chicago.
To: Claire Stone
From: Talia Perizkova
I’ll call Liam. He can be on the next plane out.
To: Talia Perizkova
From: Claire Stone
This requires you. Kil has cleared the private jet. Can you make it happen?
I pulled in a sharp breath.
Me. In Chicago.
Which didn’t have to mean anything. At all. Was I going to avoid the corporate offices for the rest of my damn life?
“Of course not.” I forced the answer out loud, just as I compelled my fingers over the computer keys again.
To: Claire Stone
From: Talia Perizkova
Of course.
To: Talia Perizkova
From: Claire Stone
Come up to the office so we can brief.
* * * *
The nerves were easier to deal with once I got my body in motion. I grabbed my smart pad and opted for the stairs to the next floor up. When I stepped through the door next to the elevator landing, the woman I called boss and friend was waiting, resting a hand on one heck of a cute baby bump. Officially in her second trimester, Claire had traded her normal crisp work suit for an equally stylish maternity dress, color blocked in navy and cream, matched by new Louboutin pumps on her feet—like anyone could notice the accessories beyond the rock on her left hand.
I pounded a smile onto my lips. Ordered it to stay there. I refused to dampen Claire’s glow with the sudden and strange ache of my heart at observing her swollen belly. Having children had never been anything to even doubt in my life. I adored them, I wanted them, I’d always expected that the man brought to me by fate would be equally excited about the idea of a big family and lots of love around.
In truths that she learned…
And wasn’t fate getting in the last giggle on that one?
Except…not.
All I could think about was one truth—like how lucky any child would be to have two amazing fathers in its life.
Never to be. Aren’t you getting that part yet?
I swallowed back the agony while leaning over the bump to hug Claire. “Hey. Long time no see, apparently.”
“Hey,” she said cheerfully. “Actually, the explosion just started. Literally in the last week, I went from the stretchy spring sweaters to—” Her voice clutched short. Her rich gold eyes tightened, taking me in from head to toe. “Whoa, baby. What the hell, T?”
I yanked back, tossing off a dismissive pffft. “What the hell…what? You called for this party, woman—remember?”
She didn’t buy it. Cocked her head, astute and attentive. “Try that tack again and I’ll call for reinforcements from the E suite.” When she referenced the executive level, she only meant one person. Sometimes it sucked to be friends with the CEO’s wife. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? Don’t answer that. Not out here.” Still stacked in four-inch heels, she started down the short hall toward her office. Once I followed her into the modern but feminine space, she closed the door then wheeled back around. “Okay, now you spill.”
I huffed. Plopped into a big, curved chair next to her desk, flinging a dismissive hand. “Nothing to spill. Please, let’s just move on.”
She folded her arms. “Uh-uh.”
“The supply chain? The situation? Remember?”
“Not yet.” She stepped in, hitching a hip to the desk. “Girl, it’s me. What the hell?” She cupped my shoulder with one mama-Claire-bear hand. “Has nobody in your office said a word? You…you look like you’re about to fall apart.”
The hand. Her protectiveness. Her kind words. They were all it took.
The cork on the tears was yanked.
I felt them tumble free, swiftly cascading off my cheeks, splashing onto the lapel of my suit. “Oh, God,” I rasped. “Claire. Dammit.”
She lowered into another chair. Though wordless, her tension was palpable. I sensed it almost as strongly as one of Fletcher’s moods, which either meant he and Claire had picked up where our telepathic thing left off, or she was really miffed. As soon as she spoke, I knew it was the latter.
“Okay, what have they done?”
I tried to laugh, but it was a watery sound at best. “They who?”
“Don’t play coy, missy. Tell me, dammit. Those two won’t be getting homemade l
emon bars the next time they come for a barbecue at the house, and I need to know the reason why.”
I laughed again, feeling wicked for it. Fletch and Drake went orgasmic just talking about Claire’s lemon bars. Denying them shouldn’t feel so good. “Easy, mama bear. Your husband’s really rubbing off on you. So pushy.” The last word was more a hiccup. I was trying so hard to stay chipper, but ached everywhere. Even the roots of my hair hurt these days.
Claire’s lips curved up, full of sexy mischief—her default response to any and all things Killian Stone. Their legendary love affair made her glow under normal circumstances. She could probably be seen from space with their new child growing inside her.
“All right.” Just like that, she was back to serious and focused. “No more slacking, woman. Out with it. Something’s wrong and you’re not going to tell me otherwise.”
I tried to laugh again. I really needed to stop doing that. “How?’ I blurted. “How do you just…know?”
She smiled softly. “You’re not bubbling.”
My eyes widened. “Bubbling?”
“Yeah…you know…”
“No. I don’t think I do.”
“Normally you remind me of Alka-Seltzer. Bubbling up and over the top of life’s glass—she tossed up wiggling jazz hands— “sparkling up into the air.”
“And tickling your nose?”
“That, too.” She giggled but once more deepened the expression, studying me hard. “But right now…” her hands flattened, the jazz routine becoming two karate chops— “flat as a board.”
Like a sensei breaking apart wooden planks, her words cut in—too deep. I fell back on the safety of levity, threaded with healthy sarcasm. “Wow, Claire. That’s pretty—ummmm—deep.”
She gave me a knowing side-eye. “Now it sounds like your boys are rubbing off on you. That was a Drake Newland impersonation if ever I’ve heard one.”
An unthinking smile broke across my face—but was gone a second later. She was right. My bubbles were gone—because the men who fueled them were. And the flat boards? They blocked the sun, turning the world gray, making me wonder if I’d ever see daylight again. Or ever wanted to.
“Talia.”
I jerked my head up at what must’ve been her repeat effort to get through. “Huh? Sorry. What?”
Claire gathered my hands into hers. “Girlfriend…tell me what’s going on.”
I swallowed hard—as a disgusting decision weighed in. I wouldn’t heal from it if I couldn’t even say it.
“We broke up,” I sighed heavily. “Drake, Fletcher and me. It’s over.”
She jerked upward. “What? Are—are you sure? This isn’t just a case of mixed signals or something, is it?
A high sound burst out of me, like some annoying little dog. Served her right. “Mixed signals. You sure you want to reference Drake Newland and Fletcher Ford in the same conversation as that term?”
She acknowledged the truth with a grimace. “Well…when did this all go down?”
“Last time I was in Chicago.”
“Three weeks ago?” She pitched back into incredulity. “What the hell?”
“I’ve been trying to stay busy.” And invisible. And as close to dead as I can get.
She gazed out the window as if an answer would paint itself across the clouds. “Kil hasn’t said a word—which means neither Fletch nor Drake have, either.” She shook her head, brushing her light auburn waves against her high cheekbones. “He still thinks the guys are over the moon for you.”
“They have a crazy way of showing it.” I patted her hands before releasing them. Slumped back into the big, comfortable chair. “At least Drake does. He…started the snowball.” I rolled a lazy hand in the air. Damn, I was witty when I was despondent. “Fletcher was as caught off-guard as I was. He might have given it a try, with just the two of us, but…”
She leaned forward. “But what? He’s a beautiful man, sweetie—inside and out.”
I returned her stare…then sighed. Capturing fog. Riding a star. Explaining the magic of what we’d shared. Impossible feats always sounded great—if one was scripting a superhero movie. But I was no Wonder Woman. Today, I didn’t even bubble.
“It would never work,” I murmured. “In the end, Fletch probably knew that as clearly as I did. We can’t be together if we aren’t all together. It’s just…not right, Claire. Not in my head, and especially not in my heart.”
She scowled, clearly confused. I understood. I’d kept the hell of the last few weeks tucked away really well, locked against the world…scared of what I’d have to reveal if discovered. Terrified to relive the moment Fletch had read the letter from Drake, destroying the spell that had been us for those fleeting weeks. But I forced myself to do it, spending the next twenty minutes recounting what had happened before, during and after the big SGC gala. Claire had been there that night but had been so wrapped up in Killian, the pregnancy, and being ‘on’ as the CEO’s wife she hadn’t really been there—and now tripped over herself apologizing for being an unavailable friend.
“Oh, my God,” I rebuked, “don’t be ridiculous. You deserve to be happy, Claire. Take this time and savor it. These are the last few months you’ll ever be alone with your husband. You need to treasure every drop of the experience.”
I meant that. I wanted only happiness and love for my friends and family—and sometimes, even wondered if that had contributed to Drake’s bombshell break-off, too. The man wasn’t a stranger to family ties—he had tight bonds with his own—but my clan took the interpretation to another stratosphere of meaning. Maybe he’d thought about that—really considered it—and hadn’t been willing to drink the Perizkova Kool-Aid, after all.
“We are. We are,” Claire reassured me. “But right now, I’m more concerned about you.” She grabbed up one of my hands again. “Are you sure you can’t make Drake see what he walked away from? What’s his issue, anyway?”
Cue the dramatic silence. Finally, I confessed. “My family.”
“Your family? How are they even an issue? They want you to be happy, right? Have they even met Drake and Fletcher? They’re amazing men and all someone has to do is spend ten minutes around the three of you to see how in love you are.”
“Claire…” I let her see my deep, determined breath. “We aren’t in love.”
She sputtered through her initial reaction like a cat with a hairball. “Are you blind, insane or just in denial?”
I inhaled hard again. “Look—”
“No way. You need to look, Talia—and hard.” She spread her hands out, palms up. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m the last person to be slinging shit about running from your feelings.” She pushed up, restlessly roaming across the office. “Honestly, T, don’t make my mistake.”
I sat up, twisting a confused gaze her way. “Your…mistake?” All I saw was a woman who gleamed so brightly she could light up the entire Gaslamp Quarter by herself.
“You weren’t there. You were still wrapping up the case down in New Orleans for Andrea. Fiona, the voodoo priestess movie star.”
I groaned. “Oh, yeah.” Yikes, that has been a weird couple of months.
“Well, I made Kil chase me around for months, while I kept denying the obvious magic we had… The gift destiny itself had given to us. I put him through hell, Talia.”
I lifted half a smile. “I think he’s probably forgotten by now, Claire.”
“But I haven’t. I won’t ever.” She slowly shook her head. “And you know what I feel, when looking back on that all now? A lot of regret, missy. So much wasted time that I could’ve—should’ve—been spending making our relationship stronger. All because I was scared—plain and simple. Stupid and frightened of confronting the way I felt.” She took a turn at the deep pull of breath. “So I get it, okay? I’ve been there before. God…I’m still scared about these enormous feelings, and am so thankful each and every day for them now…but at the beginning it was all so much, you know? So much, so soon.”
; “So think about that in double.” I laughed again, just a little, when her eyes bulged. “Then try explaining it—being in love with two men at the same time—to a family who hasn’t brought their thinking out of the old world.” I doodled the tip of a finger along the chair’s arm, to focus on something other than the daunting impact of finally saying that aloud. “I likely would’ve been excommunicated…or, at the very least, disowned.” I arced the same hand, as if tossing out trash. “But it’s not really an issue anymore.”
“So are you telling me you’re giving up?” It was an accusation good as any Mama would’ve doled out, making me flash up a glare at her. Claire flung back as good as she got, twisting her lips in perfect disapproval. Did that come with the hormones too?
“Dammit,” I muttered. “What do you want from me?” I was exhausted. Beyond even that. A wrung-out washcloth would have beaten me at arm wrestling.
“Awww, T-bird.” Her chastisement made a turn toward gentle. “I don’t want anything from you. I want it for you. I want you to be happy, Talia, and this certainly isn’t it. You’re not going to get it, either, by letting other people define it for you, or stand in its way. It’s your happiness. You have to make it. And you have to fight for it.”
I let it sink in. But I was still unable to let the truth drench me. I wanted to…dear God, how I wanted to…
I angled her a nonplussed glance. “Sheez, mama bear. When did you get so smart?”
“Must be the hormones.” Claire rubbed her belly and stretched. “And, hey…at least you’re physically bound in the right direction, yeah?”
I shot a we’ll-see scowl while powering up my smart pad. “On that note…how about the full scoop on this ‘situation’?”
She didn’t skip the opportunity for her own harsh groan. “Right. That.”
I opened a new doc. Labeled it Mama Bear’s Situation. “Let me have it.”
“It’s the packaging and sealing process on the blush and the illuminator—but worse, the new eye color collection. Because of that, nothing’s getting the final seal of approval to ship. Of course, everyone is pointing fingers and I can’t find the dropped ball from here.” She sighed. “It’s a mess and nobody wants to admit fault—yet until we rectify the situation, Nordstrom and Macy’s are threatening to pull the whole line.”