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“We’re worse than teenagers,” I mumble against his lips.
“I wanted to say goodbye properly.”
“Bye.” I get on the tips of my toes and kiss him again.
And again.
And again until he mumbles, “You’re going to have to leave unless you want a scandal on your doorstep.”
We pull apart and I run into my building before I ask him to come up with me. He’s like chocolate cake for a person who can only eat green vegetables. In fact, I have an entire week of a greens-only diet ahead of me.
45
GABRIEL
It’s a long week. Blake is mostly a ghost. We exchange a few texts daily, but that’s about it.
I go to work every day. I deal with tedious finance meetings and boring important people, and even more boring, decidedly unimportant people. And it’s a sham of a life.
Is this really how I lived before Blake?
Work. Home. A few meaningless events. Yet more meaningless trysts. Work. Home. Rinse and repeat?
Yes.
How could I ever have believed myself happy is a mystery.
By the time Monday morning arrives, I’m equally excited for Blake and relieved today will be my last day without her.
I’d thought of making some grand plan for tonight, but I’m not sure how exhausted she’s going to be. If she wants to hit the town celebrating, get drunk for the first time, try her first serious hangover, I’m game. If all she wants to do is lie on the couch and get a foot rub, I’m okay with that, too.
At 9.28a.m., I’m positioned at my desk, monitors open on the stock exchange page.
The figurative bell rings at nine-thirty and a tiny green arrow appears next to Blake’s stock, BLH.
Her initial offering is at eleven dollars per share, by ten the share price is already at twelve.
I get back to my work, while still throwing fleeting glances at the screen. The stock keeps going up all morning and by noon, it’s flirting with a twenty-dollar-per-share value.
I frown. Even being overly optimistic, that seems odd. With a nine-dollar-per-share capital gain, some investors should’ve started selling by now.
I press the interphone button. “Mila, can you get me my contact at Goldman on the phone?”
Instead of her usual, yes, boss, right away, boss, I get total silence. I can hear the tumbleweed floating in the desert.
“Err.” She finally clears her throat. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your girlfriend taking her company public today?”
“Mila, get me Haltman on the phone, now.”
“Yes, Mr. Mercer.”
Mila is notorious for taking the kill-them-with-kindness attitude to a whole different level.
“I have Haltman on line one,” she says equally glacial two minutes later.
I’ll deal with my EA’s hurt feelings later.
“Robert,” I pick up.
