Outer Core (5 page)

“Please don't, Daniel. You have your business to run and your . . . Let's wait, okay?” she says, a plea in her voice. “I have to go now.” She ends the call.

I throw the phone on the desk and take a breath that doesn't reach all the way through.

Goddamnit
. Everything inside me darkens and withers, everything promising and joyful vanishes. I feel like smashing everything in my path. I grab the Veyron's keys and shove them in my pocket. I need to clear my head, and the sooner I get it done, the better. I can't do it here. I don't even tell Anne I'm leaving. I rush out to the only place I know I'll be able to take
this
out.

I text Anne later, before I put on my gloves and confront the inanimate punching bag, asking her to cancel my meetings for the next couple of hours.

I squeeze my eyes tight. Opening them, I give the suspended bag a hostile gaze and start pummeling as though possessed. Channeling my frustration through my frenetic blows. Sweat covers my temples and upper lip. I swipe my face with the back of the glove and continue taking out my frustration with forceful, fiery precision. As the bag bounces back my way, I grab it with both arms. Hugging it, I rest my forehead on the cold leather. The one thing I feared the most, the one thing that's always been at the back of my mind, lurking in my darkest thoughts, might become a new reality. A reality I'll never be ready to confront.

“Stop it. Shut up already, I'm dying here!” Tasha raises a hand Ian's way, her face flushed from excessive laughter. Looks like Missy's about to pop out a lung.

I shake my head fondly, enjoying Ian's bright grin. He is slouched on our living room sofa, sporting a new bedroom hairstyle, jeans ripped at the knees, and a black t-shirt with “#HIGHANDMIGHTY” plastered on the front. Ian fashion, he resumes his ridiculously hilarious tales of his last visit to the studio responsible for
Urban Heartbreak's
production. Ian's first feature film, something that still blows us away each time we mention it.

Tasha straightens in her seat, hugging one of the throw pillows to her chiffon blouse clad chest. A giggle leaves her mouth to Ian's impersonation of the head of the studio who's apparently a six foot bulky macho with a voice of a fairy princess overdosed on helium. Ian's words, not mine.

Ian brings his hand to his chest. “His shirt was so damn ugly. I felt for it. I really felt for it.” He stretches out a hand and pats the air. “It made me want to pat it and tell it everything would be okay,” he adds, sending Tasha into another wave of cackles.

My smile gradually fades as I turn to look out the garden doors. My eyes focus in on the glistening pool's water while my mind takes a walk down disquiet lane. The subject of my concern is my significant other who's been a perplexing bundle of contradictions the past week or so. Daniel's behavior has been even less predictable than his usual Jekyll and Hyde delightful self. He's been disappearing too often inside his own head, while other times, he's been too overprotective of me. To a disconcerting degree. Treating me as if I were too fragile to handle . . . life.
What's come over you, D?

Just as I'm about to rise to stand and check on Daniel, who's been burrowed in his office for the last couple of hours, I'm stopped by Tasha's high-pitched voice. “Hold up, you snorted bleach?” Her eyes wide, darting at Ian.

Ian shrugs in utter nonchalance.

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“What's wrong with you?” Tasha's nostrils flare.

“Hey, gorgeous, let's pump the brakes a little. Whatever happened to do whatever makes your oil well blow out?” Ian counters.

“What does that even mean?” I murmur.
Oh . . .
I purse my lips at the realization.

“Ian, this is not okay. It's beyond that. First, you talk about all the hot guys at these parties, and now, you're telling me you tried hardcore drugs?” Tasha winces in disapproval. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, Ian, time to put your thinking cap back on before it's too late.”

“Ian,” I say in a quiet, yet firm voice. “Please tell me you didn't.” Another shrug by Mr. Illegal Substance Experimenting extraordinaire. “Ian!” I glare at him. “Listen, this was the first and last time you will ever do this! You scare me. This is just the beginning, and you're already taking the ‘celebrity' lifestyle cliché to the extreme. You are better than this.” My voice weakens with concern.

As Ian opens his mouth to speak, a restless sigh surprises us, drawing our attention to the back of the room. Daniel shakes his head, seeming as far from pleased as possible as he pushes himself off the wall. “For fuck's sake,” he murmurs unfolding his arms from his chest. He gives Ian a look that makes the three of us flinch in unison. “Let's go grab a beer.”

Both Tasha's and my eyes grow while Ian's lips twitch. “Daniel Stark, did you just ask me out?” Ian says, his voice tinged with mischief and a smear of sleaze. “O . . . M . . . G, I just died all dies!”

I swear Daniel looks like he is about to deprive Ian of dear life.
Yeah, rattle that cage why don't you, gorgeous? Life's overrated anyhow.

Daniel expels a rush of air. “Just grab your shit and let's go.”

Ian's joking pretense wanes once he sends me a hesitant glance. I nod, signaling I'm not sure what it's all about, but what I'm sure of is that he means well, always.

As Ian collects his phone and wallet from the low table, and Daniel takes a few silent steps to reach me. He leans in to leave a soft kiss on my lips, “I won't be late.”

Tasha and I watch the odd duo as they make their way to the indoor garage. Tasha wrinkles her brows, and I shrug in response.

“What in the heavens was that all about?” She puts our mutual thoughts into words. “Though, if there's anyone who can get some sense into Ian's head,” she murmurs

I shake my head in bewilderment. “He never ceases to surprise me.”

“Well, I must say that lately your fiancé hasn't failed to surprise me either.”

“What do you mean?” My head snaps her way.

“In a good way.” Tasha spreads her arms to the sides in feigned defense. “The last interview he gave . . . I don't think that there are any females at Stark Software that don't have a major crush on your soon-to-be Mr. Hayley Grace. More now than ever.”

Noticing my perplexed expression, Tasha says, “About only investing in companies that have women founders?”

I shake my head, inwardly frowning over Daniel's severe condition of never-dishing-the-ever-loving-love-out.

Tasha reaches for her phone, manicured fingers working the screen. “Here, read this.” She hands me her cell.

Daniel Stark, a San Francisco-based tycoon and the CEO of Stark Software Inc., made a gallant announcement last week at the FP&A for Hi-tech Summit that he'd only consider investing in startups with at least one female founder.

Stark explained his brave decision. “It is often that female entrepreneurs find it more challenging to secure funding or get their concepts across. They don't fit the typical mold of the business/ hi-tech world entrepreneurs.” Stark added, “They are not men.”

Stark distinguishes that diversity in business is a good thing and pointed out that that's exactly what women bring to the game. “Women entrepreneurs are more likely to work toward measured, profitable growth with fairly little interest in just positioning themselves for the beneficial exit,” Stark said, referring to the latest study by the
Organization of Entrepreneurs
suggesting women make better entrepreneurs than men.

D, you are simply beyond . . .

Tasha observes me for a beat and smirks. “Exactly!”

I place my sketching pad face down on the bed to the sound of the en suite door opening. Folding my legs under me, I gaze up at Daniel toweling his hair dry. He is in a pair of boxer briefs, his wide, tanned chest is still damp from the shower. Daniel came back about an hour after Tasha left. I was on the phone with my parents when he kissed my cheek and mouthed that he was going to take a quick shower.

“What?” he says with a light chuckle to my more than overt ogling as he continues to towel his hair. He drops the towel to his neck, his hair sticking out in a sexy mess.

“Did you have a nice evening?” I shamelessly run my eyes over him. “Y'all got some mani-pedi action? Matching tattoos after?” I tease and get an adorable eye roll in response. “So, um, what did you talk to Ian about?”

“Just told him that he'll be on the fast track to send everything he's got to hell if he continues to act like a reckless adolescent.” Daniel sends the towel flying into the bathroom and drops to the bed beside me.

I look at him prone, his head rested on his folded arms. “You were worried about him,” I say softly.

“You're important to me. He is important to you.” Simple. Very simple.
It's that thing you do, D. You just blow me away, time after time.

Daniel shifts to his side, resting his head on his elbow. His eyes follow me as I mirror him.

“Do you think he listened to you?” I take his free hand in mine and bring it to my lips.

“I hope he did.”

I tip my head up, looking at his handsome face. “Thank you for doing this. I love you.”

He sends his hand to my waist, pulling me closer to him. We lie facing each other, a sliver of air between us. Daniel leans in to kiss my lips, and not long after, he shows me with indulging, gentle, and passionate gestures just how much he loves me too.

Before switching the light off, I give Daniel's pensive expression another quick glance. He's done it again; shortly after making the sweetest love to me, he disappeared inside his own head. The graveness that veils his face leaves me restless. It doesn't seem like his usual introspections about work, or whatever usually occupies his mind. There's something new, something that seems to torment him. I place a soft kiss on his chest, snuggling deeper under his embrace.

“Good night, Hales.” He kisses my hair.

“D, are you okay?” I whisper. Really meaning, please talk to me. Whatever it is, I'm here for you.

“I have you in my arms, baby. I'm okay.”

The bright side about drowning in work is it takes your mind off things. Off the niggling feeling at the back of your mind that something is coming over the man you love. Off the fact that over four weeks have passed since your last period. Off stopping you from marching to the nearest pharmacy and buying a truckload of home pregnancy tests. Off freaking the hell out about what life has in store for you. Off one of your besties playing with lethal fire.

“Knock, knock.” Josh's ocular hazard smile illuminates my cubicle before the rest of his preppy being materializes.

I take a drink of my half-drunk, lukewarm coffee, wince, and put the cup back on the desk. “Is this a ‘who's there' thing?”

Josh shakes his head with a rather toned down grin. “More along the lines of have coffee with me at the Starbucks around the corner?”

Coffee in a neutral, non-business-esque territory, boss?
My crystal ball predicts a girl talk in my near future. The short walk to the coffee shop strikes me odd, given Josh's line of topics that vary from the weather to domesticated cats. Seems like he's having a hard time calibrating what's really on his mind. I collaborate, discussing the bland topics, giving him the time he needs to open up.

I take another drink of my oh-so-welcomed double shot, extra hot, Grande cappuccino listening to Josh as he tells me about my Ian's recent controversial, to be putting it mildly, behavior. No matter how long they've been dating, each time I think about it, it still takes me a moment and a half to make sense of the whole Josh and Ian legitimate couple thing. The classic tale of Ken doll and Cruella de Vil playing house.

Josh sighs, his shoulders collapsing in perfect harmony with his sinking features. I perk up to the change in his casual demeanor. “Thing is,” he says. “I knew full well what I was getting myself into when we started seeing each other. I never expected it to be . . . easy.”

So it's an Ian issue he wanted to talk to me about.

“But I think . . .” He sighs again. “I-I think I'm way over my head here.” My features furrow. He shakes his head solemnly. “I'm afraid he doesn't know how to cope with everything that's happening to him lately and he's taking it out on our relationship. Especially after that talk he had with his mom.”

“Hold on, what talk with his mom?”

Josh appears genuinely surprised by my question. “Didn't he tell you? I thought he told you and Tasha everything.”

I shake my head, somewhat offended.

“His mom called him when he came back from New York right after the movie's cast was announced. She totally disparaged him, Hayley. Told him he should be ashamed of himself for linking his family's name to such degrading public exposure.” Josh's cheeks flush with anger. “Their son is about to fulfill his lifelong dream and what do they do? Tarnish it! And I guess you know how he gets whenever they manage to belittle him just a little more.”

I push my coffee mug aside; there's already too much bitterness inside me. I'm not a hater, but I have nothing even remotely amicable in my heart for Ian's parents. His father especially. He's the mastermind behind making Ian feel like shit grand mission. His mother is usually the one taking orders. Unfortunately, she tends to execute them fairly well too.

“Don't give up on him so quickly. I know just how important you are to him.” My eyes challenge Josh, asking him to prove Ian is better than that.

“I'm not. I won't,” he says somberly. “But I can only take so much, Hayley. Some things I won't be able to overlook.” We both know exactly what he means. And frankly, I'd never expect him to. There are lines one should never cross when in a serious relationship.