Crazy Heart

 

I suppose whenever you go through periods of transition, or in a way, it's a very definite closing of a certain chapter of your life - I suppose those times are always going to be both very upsetting and also very exciting by the very nature because things are changing and you don't know what's going to happen. 

- Daniel Radcliffe

 

 

RISKE

 

My knuckles were raw. The blood across my fingers was dried and they hurt to the touch, the cuts and bruises blending in with the navy of the suit on my shoulders.

My early gym sessions weren’t helping. Beating a body bag wasn’t going to knock Kat out of my system, and still I tried, waking at the crack of dawn to take another crack at my trainer’s padded punching blocks.

Six days.

Six agonizing days since I’d last seen her, and every other second, she was running across my mind, seeping me in misery. Add to that the fact that I’d lost my second client of the week, and I was a walking representation of depression, sullen and sulking around the new office.

I almost made it through day seven before Griff and Chris burst into my office, shortly before the close of business.

Griff motioned. “Alright, lovesick Romeo. Get your ass up.”

I barely glanced up from my brief. “I’m busy.”

“Busy, my ass. Stop burying yourself in work. That’s what employees are for—to take on that shit.”

Chris balked, squinting at my other best friend. “To lighten up the load, not to dump all over.”

“Horse shit. You pay the fuckers to handle all the shit you won’t.” Chris crossed his arms at him. “Including us. I’m no fool. Let us share the bullshit, Foxx.”

“No thanks.” I put the pen back to the paper.

“Come on,” Chris piggybacked. “Come out with us.”

I didn’t look up. “Have fun…”

I heard my two best friends shift on their feet. “It’s a client’s event.” I froze. “Remember those?” Griff continued. I inhaled deeply, daring to meet their eyes.

Chris’s stare was soft compared to Griff’s, which was as hard as stone. Their expressions read “Pull yourself together” and the mixed looks of pity and disgust dug under my skin, making me madder than I’d been all day. I hated the reflection of myself I saw in their gazes.

I stood, closing the binder I was writing in. I brushed imaginary lint off the sleeves of my suit, mentally gathering myself. Raising my chin, I reeled my emotion back in, straightening my shoulders. I leveled my glare.

“A client, you say?”

Forty minutes later, we stood at the wooden bar of some upscale bar, drinking dark liquor behind a velvet-lined rope. My mood was darker than the lighting, and I drank in a mouthful of whiskey, swirling the brown liquid in my glass as I glanced through the dark red hues of the room at the schmoozing taking place in all corners.

I had no desire to rub elbows with the publishing juggernauts in the room, not since I had Chris handle the Harrison Kennedy situation, but I knew better than to not make an appearance. Not when I had writers walking out of the door, citing a need for a more “intimate” press, more suited to their specific needs.

A load of “touchy-feely” bullshit, if I’d ever heard it—undoubtedly fed to them by some silent competitor, sneaking in the backdoor to steal away my best and brightest. The thought had been putting me in an already bad mood, but I was determined to drink through it. Maybe until I stopped wanting to curse out half the fucking crowd.

The music, mellow and full of bass, set the mood for my fading sobriety, and I wandered away from my two busy best friends, who chatted up a fake-titted literary agent and her partner in publicity. I loosened my collar, letting my tie hang when a familiar face emerged on the dance floor.

My client. The star of the evening.

Serena Woods… in the company of the star of my last five evenings. A beautifully built, black dress-clad Kat.

I nearly crushed the glass beneath my fingers. Nearly a week of radio-silence from her had made my wits weak, and I scrambled to collect my shattered thoughts at the seductive sight of her, standing there, laughing… in a backless, glittery number I knew I would never forget as long as I lived.

She kissed the cheeks of those around her, the lush lay of her beautiful brown hair falling and bouncing across her shimmering shoulders. How many times had her hair bounced like that between my fingers as we both found ecstasy in that abandoned field? The one I’d taken her to that fateful night—well, that second fateful night. The night before I left… for good.

She’d been fearless that evening, opening up to me in a way she hadn’t before—in more ways than one. Feeling her beneath me, I knew I would never be the man she deserved, and when I walked away just thirty-six hours later, I knew I’d proven myself right. I hadn’t been man enough to tell her the truth, to reveal everything and let the chips fall where they may.

I’d gambled. And I’d lost…

As fate would have it, my would-be winnings were on the other side of the room, looking like the lotto, and maybe, just maybe… I was hardheaded—and drunk enough, to gamble again. I set my drink down, wiping the condensation from my fingers, enfolding them within my pants pockets.

My nostrils burned from the stench of alcohol in the air, and I felt my chest tightening, knowing that soon the irritating aroma would be replaced with Kat’s scent—a smell reminiscent of summertime, a combo of sugar, spice… and everything naughty.

I stalked towards her, noting that the tomboy I’d known had grown full woman overnight. Even at seventeen, under that thawing icy gaze, there was a subtle femininity in the way she spoke and walked, a silent grace that now, nine years later, had blossomed into an unbelievable sexiness, the sway of her burgeoning hips belying the fire that lay within.

I was a fortunate fucker back then to even get a glimpse of it. And God help me, I was dying to know what I missed out on…

 

***

 

KAT

 

Shit!

He was here.

Avoiding him had been hard. Ignoring him—almost impossible. Ethan had found where I worked. From what I’d heard from my security, he’d walked right up to the front door of our floor before the receptionist and the extra guards I’d added since had shown him the way out, barring him from returning.

He had returned, alright… but this time he was attempting to open the door between us in other ways. Online, most of all. A masochist to the very core, I had read each message he’d left as the real him—Brendon Foxx, taking my time to process each note before ultimately discarding each one, deleting them and sending them to the depths of the Net’s seventh Hell.

In an attempt to avoid thinking about Ethan, I had decided to make an impromptu visit to Brendon Foxx’s new office, in hopes of expressing my condolences for the fire through which he suffered. I had suffered through my own. But never did I think I’d walk through the flames again, as I opened his heavy oak door to find Ethan—AKA CEO Brendon Foxx, in a position befitting of his title, gripping a pretty blonde woman in the throes of some passion that I preferred not to think about.

A position I’d caught him in once before… when he was just Riske. A small-town visitor with big city dreams… and a chip on his shoulder a mile long. There was a time I would have lived in that chip if he’d let me, but I was grown now, successful on my own.

The days of scraping for scraps to support my family were behind me, and so was Ethan—or so I’d thought. He’d become the success he once vowed he’d be, but at an expense to the boy he’d been. Alone with me, out in the fields of Dayton, Tennessee and under the stars, he painted for me a world in which he would publish talented writers, like myself, and push talent to the forefront of mainstream media.

Now, he was little more than a gratuitous scandal-peddling, publishing magnate, pushing true artists into writing pieces about taking pictures on the newest smartphone instead of discovering places they’d only dreamed about and leaving with better mental pictures instead.

Basically, he was Charlie… only with a Chief Economic Officer placard on his daunting-looking desk.

And I’d despised him. Not just for hurting me once, but twice. For laying with me and lying. For never giving a fuck about me in the first place.

I sipped the martini in my hand, slinking back into the depths of the crowd in hopes of losing Ethan, who I’d seen making his way towards me. I was headed to the back when someone grabbed me, gripping me by both shoulders.

Laney.

“What’s up?” she said, squinting. “You look you’ve seen a ghost.”

“More like a monster.” I lowered the drink. “Ethan is here.”

Her thinly sculpted eyebrows went sky-high. “Seriously. The fucking nerve.”

“Well, it only makes sense,” I sniffed, feeling the oncoming of a headache. “Serena Woods is his client. And he doesn’t know I’m trying to woo her.”

“And I’m sure he doesn’t know about his other two clients you decided to woo.” She smirked. “Or should I say ‘win’?”

I smiled back. “Wasn’t too hard. Ethan…” I shook my head. “Excuse me—Brendon… makes it easy. His position is too high in the clouds to really cater to his clientele. I just let writers know that we’re the real deal, that we won’t hamper their skills… just improve them.”

“And improve them, you have.” Laney reached out. “And right now, the only thing improving is your alcohol tolerance…” She swiped the drink I was draining from my hand. “Slow down a bit. You know you’re a lightweight. Well, at least compared to me.”

I exhaled, rubbing my fingers down my hips. “I know. I haven’t built up my liquor threshold in a while. Dick-of-the-Century, Mr. CEO over there, just makes me forget. I’ve had about three of those since he showed up.”

Laney gaped. “Three?”

I winced. “Yeah… How long will they take to kick in?”

“For me or Elena?” Laney bit her pink lip. “Half an hour to an hour, maybe. For you? I’m guessing… three and half seconds.”

I groaned. “Great.”

Laney led me into the bathroom. And as she guessed, the liquor got to me quickly and I grew drunker with each passing minute, stuck in a stall as I tried my best to sober up, opening the door only to allow Laney to pass me wet paper towels that I applied to my forehead and neck.

I had to get out of there.

I couldn’t allow Serena Woods to see me like this. Unfortunately, the front door was too far away, stuck on the other side of the sophisticated venue. There was no way I was going to get out of there unscathed. But my best friend and secretary was sure trying. One arm under mine to steady my stumbling, she attempted to usher me past the dance floor until a few other equally as drunk attendees made their way over, trying to catch us up in conversation.

Laney was unfortunately accosted by a couple of rowdy book designers and as two of them took all of her attention with their drunky antics and “Ginger” comments, I spun on my feet to find Serena Woods staring at me, a tiny smile on her pretty face.

She started walking towards me, and though I’d managed not to toss my cookies in the bathroom stall, I wasn’t sure I could hold out. The nerves and drinks were getting the best of me. I’d worked damned hard to build my success, only to watch it potentially crumble with a wave of nausea. My head was swimming, my stance was swaying and, to make matters worse, I snuck a peek out of the side of my eye to find Ethan on his way over.

Again.

My only hope was that when I did pass out, maybe I’d hit the floor—hard. I had a feeling I’d soon wish that this night had never happened. But until then, I threw my shoulders back, straightened my spine… and smiled.