The Promise
Page 77
“Right. Talk to you later.”
“Absolutely. ’Bye, Ben.”
“’Bye, baby.”
We disconnected and I gave myself the pleasure of feeling the goodness of all of that, including coming to my epiphany. The goodness of the last part wasn’t coming to understand I’d never had anyone who gave that kind of shit about me. It was coming to that understanding when I had someone who did.
That goodness ended when my attention was taken by Travis Berger walking into the Director of Research and Development’s office.
Travis was the Executive Vice President of Operations. I liked him. He was driven and aggressive and built like a pit bull. But he’d also taken me out to lunch on my first day at work, took his time to get to know me, told me in a way that felt genuine they were happy to have me on their team, and shared how brave he thought I was about the whole kidnapping/getting shot thing. In other words, generally folding me in the arms of Wyler Pharmaceuticals.
But now he looked ticked as in ticked.
I couldn’t say I knew him very well. He was around but I was not, and he was five steps above me—me as Manager of Eastern Sales, reporting to the Assistant Director of US Sales, who reported to the Director of Sales who, in turn, reported to the Assistant VP of Sales and Marketing, who reported to the Vice President, who reported to Travis Berger.
I did know he was young. I’d never known a man in his position at his age. Our company was massive and multinational, employees numbering in the thousands, and he was in his late forties.
I did know that when I wasn’t on the road, I burned the night oil when I started because I had a lot to do, a lot to learn, and a lot to prove, and I never went home when he wasn’t sitting at his desk behind his own (much wider) wall of glass.
He was not always affable. From what I could tell, that just wasn’t his nature. But he seemed one of those quiet, watchful types who didn’t miss a trick, controlled his emotions, and would have no problem telling you that you’d f**ked up, but he’d do it quietly.
So him looking ticked surprised me.
My phone ringing in my hand took me out of those thoughts, and the name of my Chicago rep on my screen put me into less reflective ones and more annoyed ones.
But I made the big bucks; I had to take the shit along with it.
So I didn’t have time to think about how much I was falling in love with the process of falling in love with Benny Bianchi. I didn’t think about what it might mean that the Executive Vice President of our company was walking around ticked.
I took the call.
* * * * *
“Hey, baby.”
“Things got crazy, traffic primarily, not to mention a rental car agent who was way too freaking chatty to a woman who needed to catch a plane, and now the marshal on my flight is eyeing me like he’s gonna tackle me and force me to put my phone in flight mode. So it sucks, but I got on this plane by the seat of my pants and I gotta say ‘hey’ and ‘later.’ I’ll call you when I land,” I said to Benny after his greeting.
Over the past three weeks, this had become our gig. He worked when I was not working. I worked when he was. This meant brief snatches of conversation when I had time at work and phone calls on weekends, if we were lucky.
But Ben knew my travel schedule because he demanded to know it.
Of course, thus ensued me explaining to him that if he had email, I could easily email my schedule to him rather than reciting it over the phone while he wrote it down. He replied that he didn’t get to hear my voice through an email so he’d take the cramp in his hand so he could listen to me talk.
I quit giving him shit after that.
Now Benny expected me to phone when I boarded before takeoff and phone again when I landed. He didn’t mind me phoning again when I got home or to my hotel, but he didn’t have the schedule memorized to that point or his phone on him so he could take my call, even if he was making a pie. Which he always did when he knew I was hitting a flight and when he knew when the wheels would hit land.
I loved this.
I loved it because I loved connecting with Benny any way I could. I loved it because Benny wanted it. I loved it because when he demanded it, I knew he was demanding it because I’d opened the floodgates to him doing something like that when I told him I was glad he gave a shit that I was safe. I loved it that he had been holding it back to spring on me when we were more solid, and doing that with a mind to the woman he knew me to be.
Last, I loved the fact that I was falling in love from (mostly) afar with Benny Bianchi.
I was doing it so fast, from my previous experience after Ben took me home from the hospital, I knew if it wasn’t from afar, it would happen a lot quicker.
Maybe instantly.
“You’ve spotted the marshal?” Ben asked, taking me from my thoughts.
“Yep. He’s hot.” I felt unhappy vibes from Ben over the phone, which made me smile but they also made me say, “You’re hotter, obviously.”
“A save, but not a good one.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
“Call me when you get home,” he ordered.
“You got it, capo.”
“And call me before you leave in the morning.”
“You’re on my speed dial.”
“And bring that nightie, the purple one with the pink at the tits. I’m feeling nostalgic.”
That order caused a lovely ripple and me to hiss into my phone, “Ben, don’t turn me on when I’m fifteen minutes away from thirty thousand feet.”
He didn’t miss a beat as he replied, “First chance we got, vacation, plane ride, mile-high club.”
God!
Benny.
“Are you listening to me?” I snapped.
His voice was nothing but sweet when he whispered, “Get home safe, Frankie.”
I huffed out a breath, not enjoying his increasingly utilized tactic of quelling my attitude by bringing out all the awesomeness of Benny. Even so, I had not yet figured out recourse other than to have my attitude quelled.
Falling in love with Benny was knocking me off my game.
Whatever.
“I will, honey,” I told him. “And I’ll call.”
“Right. Later, cara.”
“Later, Benny.”
He disconnected.
I eyed the hot guy, who perhaps only in my fertile imagination was the air marshal, and put my phone into flight mode.
* * * * *
I parked my Z in the space off the alley at the back of Benny’s place.
I grabbed my big suitcase out of the back, dropped it to its rollers, extended the handle, and barely cleared the back of my car before Ben was there.
“Absolutely. ’Bye, Ben.”
“’Bye, baby.”
We disconnected and I gave myself the pleasure of feeling the goodness of all of that, including coming to my epiphany. The goodness of the last part wasn’t coming to understand I’d never had anyone who gave that kind of shit about me. It was coming to that understanding when I had someone who did.
That goodness ended when my attention was taken by Travis Berger walking into the Director of Research and Development’s office.
Travis was the Executive Vice President of Operations. I liked him. He was driven and aggressive and built like a pit bull. But he’d also taken me out to lunch on my first day at work, took his time to get to know me, told me in a way that felt genuine they were happy to have me on their team, and shared how brave he thought I was about the whole kidnapping/getting shot thing. In other words, generally folding me in the arms of Wyler Pharmaceuticals.
But now he looked ticked as in ticked.
I couldn’t say I knew him very well. He was around but I was not, and he was five steps above me—me as Manager of Eastern Sales, reporting to the Assistant Director of US Sales, who reported to the Director of Sales who, in turn, reported to the Assistant VP of Sales and Marketing, who reported to the Vice President, who reported to Travis Berger.
I did know he was young. I’d never known a man in his position at his age. Our company was massive and multinational, employees numbering in the thousands, and he was in his late forties.
I did know that when I wasn’t on the road, I burned the night oil when I started because I had a lot to do, a lot to learn, and a lot to prove, and I never went home when he wasn’t sitting at his desk behind his own (much wider) wall of glass.
He was not always affable. From what I could tell, that just wasn’t his nature. But he seemed one of those quiet, watchful types who didn’t miss a trick, controlled his emotions, and would have no problem telling you that you’d f**ked up, but he’d do it quietly.
So him looking ticked surprised me.
My phone ringing in my hand took me out of those thoughts, and the name of my Chicago rep on my screen put me into less reflective ones and more annoyed ones.
But I made the big bucks; I had to take the shit along with it.
So I didn’t have time to think about how much I was falling in love with the process of falling in love with Benny Bianchi. I didn’t think about what it might mean that the Executive Vice President of our company was walking around ticked.
I took the call.
* * * * *
“Hey, baby.”
“Things got crazy, traffic primarily, not to mention a rental car agent who was way too freaking chatty to a woman who needed to catch a plane, and now the marshal on my flight is eyeing me like he’s gonna tackle me and force me to put my phone in flight mode. So it sucks, but I got on this plane by the seat of my pants and I gotta say ‘hey’ and ‘later.’ I’ll call you when I land,” I said to Benny after his greeting.
Over the past three weeks, this had become our gig. He worked when I was not working. I worked when he was. This meant brief snatches of conversation when I had time at work and phone calls on weekends, if we were lucky.
But Ben knew my travel schedule because he demanded to know it.
Of course, thus ensued me explaining to him that if he had email, I could easily email my schedule to him rather than reciting it over the phone while he wrote it down. He replied that he didn’t get to hear my voice through an email so he’d take the cramp in his hand so he could listen to me talk.
I quit giving him shit after that.
Now Benny expected me to phone when I boarded before takeoff and phone again when I landed. He didn’t mind me phoning again when I got home or to my hotel, but he didn’t have the schedule memorized to that point or his phone on him so he could take my call, even if he was making a pie. Which he always did when he knew I was hitting a flight and when he knew when the wheels would hit land.
I loved this.
I loved it because I loved connecting with Benny any way I could. I loved it because Benny wanted it. I loved it because when he demanded it, I knew he was demanding it because I’d opened the floodgates to him doing something like that when I told him I was glad he gave a shit that I was safe. I loved it that he had been holding it back to spring on me when we were more solid, and doing that with a mind to the woman he knew me to be.
Last, I loved the fact that I was falling in love from (mostly) afar with Benny Bianchi.
I was doing it so fast, from my previous experience after Ben took me home from the hospital, I knew if it wasn’t from afar, it would happen a lot quicker.
Maybe instantly.
“You’ve spotted the marshal?” Ben asked, taking me from my thoughts.
“Yep. He’s hot.” I felt unhappy vibes from Ben over the phone, which made me smile but they also made me say, “You’re hotter, obviously.”
“A save, but not a good one.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
“Call me when you get home,” he ordered.
“You got it, capo.”
“And call me before you leave in the morning.”
“You’re on my speed dial.”
“And bring that nightie, the purple one with the pink at the tits. I’m feeling nostalgic.”
That order caused a lovely ripple and me to hiss into my phone, “Ben, don’t turn me on when I’m fifteen minutes away from thirty thousand feet.”
He didn’t miss a beat as he replied, “First chance we got, vacation, plane ride, mile-high club.”
God!
Benny.
“Are you listening to me?” I snapped.
His voice was nothing but sweet when he whispered, “Get home safe, Frankie.”
I huffed out a breath, not enjoying his increasingly utilized tactic of quelling my attitude by bringing out all the awesomeness of Benny. Even so, I had not yet figured out recourse other than to have my attitude quelled.
Falling in love with Benny was knocking me off my game.
Whatever.
“I will, honey,” I told him. “And I’ll call.”
“Right. Later, cara.”
“Later, Benny.”
He disconnected.
I eyed the hot guy, who perhaps only in my fertile imagination was the air marshal, and put my phone into flight mode.
* * * * *
I parked my Z in the space off the alley at the back of Benny’s place.
I grabbed my big suitcase out of the back, dropped it to its rollers, extended the handle, and barely cleared the back of my car before Ben was there.
