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"Look, I'm sorry. I know how much you've been a pining puppy dog for her before you fucked it up. Do you want me to talk to her?"
I shake my head as hard and fast and as long as I can considering my brain feels like it’s been put in a vice. "Fuck, no."
She looks offended and that’s okay with me. "What? I'm a hoot. Five minutes after meeting me, she'll forget that I pretty much accused her of being a hooker."
"What?!?!?"
This time she does look scared. "Er, shit. Sorry, gotta go earn my money. Bye!"
She runs out of the office before I can stop her.
Now that I know what happened between Odette and Kiara, I have a better idea on how to make sure it doesn't happen again. The thought of Kiara releases a tickle in my ribcage that I have been holding in since I left the apartment, and I have to bite down a smile so that I get some work done.
Two meetings crawl by at the speed of a sloth after an aromatherapy massage and turkey dinner. It's almost midday by the time I emerge from our conference room, where I'm immediately flagged down by my administrative assistant, Julie.
"Mr. Yin is on the phone, sir, he said you weren't answering your cell."
"Thank you, Julie. You'd think the man would know what it was like to run a company. Put him through to my office, please."
I throw the portfolios from the last meeting on the desk and sink into my chair, glad to be in a quiet room, and press the flicking light when Julie transfers him. "What's up? You know if I don't answer my phone, it's usually because I'm busy right?"
"What would you be busy doing? Aren't you done for the day by noon on a Friday anyway?" my best friend shoots back. It's noisy in the background, he's calling from a car.
"It's called skillful time management."
He laughs. "It's called lazy. Anyway, I'm in the area, wanna grab a drink?"
I perk up, that actually sounds like a good way to start the afternoon, seeing him. He always is good for sharpening my brain. "Who's paying?"
"Me, the one who actually works."
I check my calendar and grimace. "Actually, I've got another meeting at 1:30. Can you just drop by here? I've got a bottle of 1989 Macallan."
He lets out a slow whistle. "Sold. See you in a bit. And, hey, this time actually buzz me up, alright? I'm still living it down that Nathan Yin was escorted out of the Baxter Building by security last month.”
He hangs up before he can hear me almost choke on my own laughter.
Ten minutes later he's strolling through my office carrying a bottle of 1972 Clynelish whisky under his arm. “Hey.”
I meet him halfway, and give him a tight hug. “Nice to see you, man.”
He hands me the bottle. "Here. I'm leaving this here so that the next time I drop by, I have something decent to drink."
I push him, good naturedly, and he pretends to almost drop the bottle before setting it down on my desk. We wander over to the couch and sit down where I've already poured two glasses.
"Fine. Not Macallan for you. More for me,” I sigh.
"Give me that glass before I knock you over the head with this bottle.”
We clink our glasses and sit back, just enjoying being in each other's company. Some weeks we see each other once or twice, and sometimes we’ll go months without being able to get our shit together. These spontaneous drop-ins are really what keep us updated on each other’s lives.
"So, how are things going with Kiara?" he asks as I reach over to fill up his drink.
I’m careful not to drop the bottle even though I’m surprised he’s asking without any other small talk. He must really be concerned with what’s going on with her. "Wow. No, how are you doing, Kylian? How's that bruise you got the last time we played racquetball?"
"Um, you got the bruise because you cheated and purposely blocked me from getting to the ball. Anyway, I know how you are. Everything you do is plastered all over the papers. I can't read a business section without that ugly ass mug on the front page. Half the time it's not even about business, it’s something like, ‘Kylian Baxter was spotted going to Magnus and Novus, what could he be needing a new suit for?’"
I grin and poke him with my elbow. "Hey, get some plastic surgery to fix that thing on your neck and maybe you'll end up in the papers, too.”
