WHEN DEENA WENT to work for Daichi Tanaka as an intern four years ago, she was shoved into a cubicle with the breadth and gloss of a sterilized broom closet. Her desk back then was a flimsy white contraption, held steady by the half dozen texts she memorized as per Daichi Tanaka’s request.
Of the twenty interns Daichi took on each year, Deena had been the first he’d ever offered employment. With the offer, Deena’s workspace moved from a broom closet cubicle to an office on the third floor. It had a single window, bare white walls and a drab gray carpet. But it was hers.
Her desk as an intern and the one she had now had both been adorned with a single potted plant—a bonsai named Hope.
Hope was a forgiving bloom, hacked in inexperience, frustration and anger. Ever lending a patient ear, she listened as Deena prattled on about her apprehensions and fears, and forgave her for skipped feedings and sunlight. Hope flourished no matter her treatment, almost as if aware of how much Deena needed her to.
Deena’s reliance on Hope was beginning to wane. These days, she found it much more rewarding to seek out a certain guy with an easy smile and a tender touch when she wanted to talk. She hoped the bonsai didn’t mind.
Despite the shimmering sunlight of an early spring day, Deena was behind her desk. Her workspace was a streamlined one because a cluttered mind led to cluttered work. She had only her MIT degree on the wall hung with a single nail. A drafting table, L-shaped desk and charcoal gray swivel chair sat in the center of the room. On one side was a bookshelf crammed with must-have references, on another side a high-backed guest chair, and in the center of it all was Hope.
It was the sort of day when the sky was a silky seamless blue, when the ocean shimmered as if buffed to a high gloss, and sunshine glistened like melting honey. It was the kind of day that emptied out the Tanaka firm like a fire drill. Daichi’s employees found countless ways to get out of the office—lunch with a client, site evaluations, scouting potential construction locations—anything, really. But not Deena: Deena was business as usual.
She spent the morning working on the plans to remodel a preparatory school, all the while loathing the subsequent phone call with the school’s chancellor. She was a nasty old woman with a penchant for drama who preferred to choke rather than hold the school’s purse strings. The woman salivated over haggling, and when the time came, Deena knew she wouldn’t disappoint.
“Is it really necessary to raise the toilets?” croaked the disciplinarian. “It seems to me that if we left the toilets as they were we could save a thousand dollars.”
Deena stared at her fingernails, already annoyed. “It’s a matter of safety, Miss Gleason. It’s the same way with the grab rails. These are small alterations with big benefits.”
“Big benefits? Benefits to your firm. I’ve heard that you guys mark up the price on everything anyway.”
She hated this part. The haggling, the selling of a vision, the educating of the ignorant.
“Miss Gleason, I can assure you that you’re being charged the customary 8% of construction cost and not a penny more. I’ve slashed every possible expenditure to make this affordable—there’s nothing left to cut.”
“That’s what you say. But why is it that when St. Charles was renovated it cost half of what you’re quoting me?”
Deena sighed. “I don’t know, Miss Gleason. It could be anything. Your building might be older, or larger, or any number of things. Or, or—”
“Or it could be you. You trying to rip us off.”
“If I wanted to rip you off I wouldn’t suggest cost-saving measures, would I?”
“I don’t know what you’d do. But I’ll tell you this. I don’t like your tone. And quite frankly, I never have. I think you’re a snob.”
Deena froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘you’re a snob.’ Right from the beginning you’ve been rude and impatient and—and—”
“Miss Gleason, hold on a moment. I don’t think—”
“Don’t tell me to hold! I’m paying you. Now all you’ve tried to do, right from the beginning, is rip me off. We need this, and we need that—way more than what we asked for!”
“Your building wasn’t up to code!”
“Says you. Look, I don’t have to tolerate this,” Miss Gleason said. “I refuse to work with you one more moment. Not one more!”
“Miss Gleason, please. Let’s gather our bearings and—”
She hung up.
With a sob, Deena heaved her phone across the room and buried her face in her hands. All that work, all that fighting, only to be fired.
The woman was impossible. Life, it seemed, was impossible. She wished herself away from this plain-faced office, and on a beach with Tak and his guitar.
The first time she heard him play was the same day that she had to clean out Anthony’s room. The hour grew late as they sat on the beach, nothing but the gentle strumming of his guitar between them, and, on occasion, a few melodic verses he’d conjure on the spot.
She’d been stunned by the quality of his voice and the feelings it stirred in her. Smooth and sultry, his tenor was lulling and seductive, and on that night, made exquisite by melancholy. She’d closed her eyes and let his sound wash over her, her pain lessening with the notion that he somehow shared it.
Deena closed her eyes with the memory, in an attempt to recall the melodic notes which had soothed her once before.
“That bad, huh?”
Startled, Deena lifted her head to find Tak standing in the doorway of her office. She smiled.
“How long have you been standing there?”
He shrugged. “Long enough to know you need a raise.”
Deena grinned. “Try getting that one by your dad.”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
“School marm?” he said with a sympathetic smile.
Deena sighed. “School marm. Not to worry though. She fired me this time.”
Tak waved a dismissive hand. “Screw her. She was beneath you anyway.”
“No one’s beneath you when you’re as poor as me.”
But he wasn’t moved. “Deena, listen. Sometimes the slammed door is just a distraction. You know, to the opportunity on the horizon. Every week that woman took a hacksaw to your work, stifling your talents. She had no vision and no appreciation for you. Now trust me when I say that better things are in store for you. Soon.” He pinched her cheek. “All right?”
“All right.” Again, she smiled.
“How long has that woman been badgering you, anyway?”
“Too long. And I rushed through two other projects—small ones true, but still rushes—because she said that I wasn’t giving her enough attention.”
“And this is how she thanks you.” Tak frowned. “And the Fellowship Hall? Are those beggars still being choosy?”
Deena sighed. “Yeah. Draft number five was finally approved. All it cost was my sanity.”
Tak leaned against her desk. “You need a vacation, Dee.”
“Dee.” She still churned at the nickname. Never had she known how sweet endearments could be on the right lips.
Is that what she thought of him? Of his lips? That they were somehow right for her? Deena blushed.
“Let’s do it.” Tak slammed a hand on her desk and Deena blinked.
“Do what?”
“Vacation.” He rounded her desk, warming to the idea. “Let’s hit the road. You, me, and the top down on the Ferrari.” His hand sliced through the air. “Just open air and speed.”
Deena frowned. “But when? Where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere. The going is what’s important.” He leaned against her desk. “Now the way I figure it, my dad gives two weeks of vacation for every year of employment. Now, considering what I know about you, that you’ve been here three years and that you’ve probably never used a day, that gives us eight weeks of vacation time to play with. Who knows where we could go with that?”
Deena lowered her gaze. She was considering it. She could hardly believe it, but she was considering it. The woman whose life was charted out on an Excel Spreadsheet under a file titled ‘Expectations’, the woman who at twenty-four rose, jogged, showered, dressed, and ate the same bowl of Raisin Bran each morning before going to work, was considering it. The woman whose Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of each week had been nearly identical for the last three years, was considering it.
How had he done that to her? How had he penetrated her life so thoroughly that she would consider throwing her hands in the air and following him round the country? But the thought of it made her shiver. She wanted to. God knows she wanted to.
“But—what about Skylife?” Deena said. “I can’t skip out on that. I mean, we haven’t started yet but…”
His father had given an opportunity, singled her out among the hundred or so architects that worked for him, and pegged her to work on a project with him. She was the youngest at the firm, and after that day, the most loathed.
Tak waved a hand. “Dad’s in Prague. He left yesterday. From there it’s Tokyo for two weeks, then London for another two. Gives you at least a month until he comes looking for you, probably more.” He paused. “I could get an estimated start date if it’ll make you feel better.”
“But I’ve got other stuff…” Deena said, glancing at her desk.
Tak sighed. “You’ve got a wheelchair ramp for K-Mart. I know you, Deena. You can have the concrete specs out for that in fifteen minutes.”
Deena smiled. It was her misfortune to find a man whose mind didn’t wander when she yammered about her work. “Well, there are channels. It takes forever to get approved for time off here. If I put in now I might get cleared in about six months.”
“Let me worry about that. After all, being the boss’s son must come with some perks. You just make plans to leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
He gave her a sly smile. “Tomorrow, Deena Hammond. Handle the concrete specs today. And tomorrow,” he winked, “belongs to me.”
He left with a bounce in his step, oblivious to her breathlessness.
TAK BOUNDED THE stairs two at a time as he ascended to the top floor, his father’s floor. The staircase at the Tanaka firm was broad and winding, with gleaming white marble and wrought iron banisters. At each landing was the Tanaka logo, his father’s pompously grand signature etched in gold, with a transparent globe of the same color in the background. The earth signified his global approach to architecture and the signature, which omitted his first name, stemmed from his conviction that a Tanaka would always be at the helm of his firm.
The thirteenth floor belonged to Daichi and his secretary of fifteen years, Angela. Heavy glass doors etched with the company logo glided open to meet Tak when he reached the floor. He conjured up his most charming grin and crossed the bright white lobby to Angela’s desk.
She looked up and smiled at the sight of the boy she’d watched become a man over the years. “You must want something, Takumi. That smile is far too big.”
Tak leaned on her desk, a hand on several of his father’s files. “You’ve done something new with your hair, Angela. Looks great. Glamorous, even.”
Angela Martinez grinned. “Now I know you want something. Out with it, por favor.” Though she’d worked for Daichi Tanaka for so long, and knew that he and his sons were fluent in Spanish, she wouldn’t have dared use it with her boss.
Tak shook his head. “I’m so disappointed, Angie. I came to see you. I just…needed a little sunshine in my day.” Casually, he picked up a manila folder, only to have it snatched away.
“¿Que? You want me on the unemployment line?”
Tak rolled his eyes. “Right, Angela. My dad would sooner get rid of me.” He watched her as she organized the files he’d skewed. “Listen, in all seriousness, I need a favor.”
She didn’t bother to look up. “A favor?”
“Yeah.” He glanced behind him, as if worried his father would show up.
“Su padres en Prague.”
“Yeah, I know.” He leaned forward. “There’s a girl who works here. I need you to clear her for vacation.”
Angela’s mouth dropped. “I knew it!”
Tak tried not to smile. “You knew what?”
“You and your ‘oh I just had to see you. You just brighten my day.’” She came around the desk and folded bronzed arms, a lock of auburn hair slipping into her eyes. “Who is it?”
Tak grinned. “Deena Hammond.”
“Deena Hammond. You say her name like that in front of your father?”
“You kidding me? He doesn’t even know I know her.”
Angela’s face grew somber. She returned to her desk, hands trembling as she sorted paperwork for filing.
Tak watched her. “What, Angela? What did I do?”
“Go away, Takumi.”
“Go away? Why?”
She shook her head. “Because I said so.”
Angela went to work filing her stacks. When she looked up, she found him still standing there. “I can’t get between you and your father. The job market isn’t good, and anyway, I’m too old to start over.”
“I’m just asking for a few days off—days that she’s already earned. Paid.”
“Paid!”
“Come on. You can do it. You can do anything. Dad says so all the time.”
She rolled her eyes. “You went too far, Takumi.”
“Sorry.”
Angela dashed the hair from her eyes and sighed at the hopeful expression on his young face. As a boy, he’d worn that same expression sitting outside his father’s office as he begged for pizza instead of sushi for lunch. As a teen, he wore it when he needed help getting a dent out of his new Mustang before his father was any the wiser. And now, as he needed her to bend company rules for a girl, he wore it one more time.
Angela sighed. “How many days?”
Tak lowered his gaze. “A month.”
“A month!”
“Angela, come on. She’s earned two months’ vacation. Go ahead and put it through.”
“No one’s ever been approved for a month at a time, Takumi. No one.”
“Please,” he clasped his hands together in desperation.
With a groan, Angela turned to her PC, usurping the human resources department as she went to Deena’s file.
“Well, she’s never taken a sick day. Just bereavement.”
Tak came around her desk for a closer look and Angela jabbed the monitor’s off button. “Jesus! ¿Estás loco?”
“Well, you’re sitting here reading it to me! What’s the difference?”
“I’m not reading it to you, Takumi, I’m thinking out loud.”
She scowled at him until he retreated, then turned the monitor back on.
“I’ll give you two days.”
“Two days! I need a month.”
This was why he didn’t belong in corporate America. He needed to be free to roam at will.
“Well, you’re in here at the last minute. There are people who have been waiting for months—”
“Angela, come on. It’s me. Why are you going on about a bunch of strangers, anyway?” Tak gave her his most doleful expression. “I’ll owe you,” he promised.
“You have nothing I want!”
“Well, when I get something it’s yours.” Tak leaned against a desk. “Please, Angela? I’m crazy about her.”
That was the other thing. She was a sucker for love. Married for thirty-two years, the mother of four children, and the daughter of parents who’d been happily married for sixty years were probably all to blame. She devoured romance novels and soap operas and thrived on the love affairs of celebrities. She was always, always disappointed when love didn’t work out.
Tak smiled, knowing he’d baited his fish.
“The first time I touched her there was this… this awareness that I’ve never felt. This sense of what she was to me, of what she was going to be to me.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “And you met her here? At the office?”
Tak shook his head. He knew this next part would send her over the top. He had to be careful, though, as the truth was sensational enough. Any embellishment would make it all seem implausible. “She saved my life. We were strangers and she saved my life.”
Angela gasped. “Someone tried to kill you?”
He nodded.
“Get a chair out of the conference room. Pull it up and tell me everything. I’ll put in for her vacation time.”
“WELL, I THINK you should go, Deena.” Rhonda shifted to adjust the slim black phone wedged between her shoulder and ear and waited for her niece’s protests.
“You can’t be serious. I’d be gone a month. I don’t even know where I’m going. What if Grandma needs me? What if Lizzie needs me?”
Rhonda thought about her niece Lizzie, the lost and promiscuous soul who would be unwilling to accept help from her sister even if she did need it.
“They’ll just have to manage.”
“Grandma doesn’t want me to go. She says she might need me for something.”
Rhonda sighed. “And what about what you need?”
She was met with a laugh. “I don’t even know what I need.”
“No? Well, I’d start with this vacation.” Rhonda gave a tired sigh. “Sweetheart, listen to me. You’re twenty-four and you live like a nun. You work, come home and spend all your free time trying to please everyone else. There’s got to be more to your life.”
Rhonda stood, folded her arms, and crossed the length of her spacious master bedroom. With a lean on the windowsill, she gave her lover, stretched out on the broad and accommodating platform bed, a wink. Black lace on soft curves made her irresistible.
She turned her attention back to Deena.
“You need a life of your own, sweetheart. An adventure. Wind in your hair and laughter in your heart. You need to feel alive, to do more than just be. And you have the right to happiness, but you have to take it and own it.”
“And what? You think I’ll find it? On this trip with him?”
Rhonda shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if I think you’ll find it with him. The question is, do you?”