Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
Tagger
I lick my lips, wishing I could still taste her.
The moonlight shone over us as if we had all night. We didn’t, but we sure made the most of it. When she rode me, a halo of stars hung over her head. My angel with a little devil inside. I grin, looking down in a failed attempt to rub it away before anyone notices.
“Tagger?”
I look up at Keith, free of any remaining grin. “Yes?” I ask, searching my boss’s face for any clue as to what was asked of me. Nothing tips me off in the right direction, so I look across the table at the client. She smiles politely, but the tapping of her fingers gives away her impatience.
Kendra clears her throat, and whispers, “Risk.”
“Critical separations of long- and short-term investments are partnered with your company’s risk tolerance levels. The strategies I’ve developed under Keith’s expertise have produced outstanding and trackable results . . .” I spout out the pitch I’ve been giving for years. “Our two-pronged approach to investor relations will cultivate a broader understanding of where you want to be in the market—seen, as well as driving innovations. This is my specialty. Putting your trust in managing your assets will grow the profitability of your financial sector, keeping your employees and your board of directors happy.”
The client leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, and clasps her hands together. I’ve piqued her interest. I’ll have her and the entire team she brought with her signing on the dotted line within the hour. She asks, “You can guarantee that?”
“It’s investments,” I reply with a wry grin. “There are no guarantees. Only reputations and I’ve built a formidable and client-first career that shows my track record in commercial asset management.”
“He gives me too much credit,” Keith adds. “I can tell you that Tagger is your guy. He’s developed a tactic that’s based on consistency, which we value, as well as profitable results.” His faith in me early on allowed me to build my career to top-tier portfolio management. “He’s the best we have, besides me.” He chuckles. As if cued, so does everyone else.
The deal is signed thirty minutes later, and a celebration is planned in Midtown. After a quick discussion with the team, the room clears, and we disperse to our offices.
Kendra shuts the door just before I yell, “Fuck.” Working my way to my desk, I drop the folio on top and move around to sit.
Crossing the room, she eases into a chair as if I might bite her head off. I wouldn’t. I only have myself to blame for that shit show performance. “You did fine, Tagger.”
“Fine? That’s the goalpost now? Fine?” I take a breath. Losing my shit isn’t something I’ve done in a while. I briefly close my eyes and rub my temple.
“This meeting shouldn’t have been added to your calendar. You’ve been up since what to be here?” Tapping her pen on a pad, she continues, “Two o’clock to catch the flight out of Austin? You’re exhausted, boss.”
As if it changes anything, I justify, “I stayed in bed until two thirty.” I don’t tell her that I was fucking Pris in a truck bed I parked just inside the entrance to the ranch. Our little plan to see each other one last time before I left had us sneaking around like horny teenagers.
“No wonder you’re tired and short-fused.” She smiles, though sympathy is shaping the corners. “On the bright side, the clients signed. So you may not be happy with your performance, but Keith is thrilled.” She leans forward. “You should be proud, Tagger. You closed the deal.”
“I closed it, but I wasn’t on my A game. My mind was left in Texas.”
“Is Texas something you’re considering?”
I rock back in the chair and stare at the window. The view is so different from the one at the ridge. Buildings of chrome and mirrored windows, a slice of the avenue just down the right side of my office, and a touch of sky if I stand closer and look up—it all pales compared to the miles of trees and rivers, the endless skies, rock formations, and my girl next to me.
I exhale and think about Beckett. “No. Just visiting.” My mood isn’t going to improve. She’s right. I’m tired and don’t have the right mindset to play the part this evening. And still thinking about my girl back in the Pass . . . Pris in the back of a Chevy beats cocktails with wealthy clients any day or night. “Cancel the cocktails at The Polo Bar. Tell them whatever you need to get me out of it.”
Surprise straightens her spine, and she moves to sit on the edge of the chair. “Are you sure? Keith will be there.”
“Keith can handle it. We have a signed contract. If it falls apart because I didn’t have a beer with them, then I lose the deal. I’m okay with that.” I glance at my watch. Since it’s just past six, I grab my phone and stand to go. “Don’t stay long.”
“I’m wrapping up.” She stands to follow me out.
I head for the exit but call back, “Enjoy your night.”
With a salute, she replies, “Yes, sir.”
I trek to the street and take the subway. No train delays or waiting to find a car to squeeze into should put me in a better mood. Surprisingly, it doesn’t. I reach the apartment building, and the doorman already has my suitcase beside the desk. I didn’t want to drag it into the office, so I had it delivered here instead.
“Good trip?” Jeff asks, rolling the case around the counter to me.
“Too quick of a trip.”
“I hear that. What dragged you back? I had you down for a Wednesday return.”
Dragged is right. There might have been some mental kicking and screaming as well. “Work.”
“Aw, man. No days off climbing that corporate ladder.” There sure the fuck isn’t. He tips his hat. “Have a good night, Mr. Grange.”
“Thanks.” I drag the suitcase into the elevator and up to the twentieth floor. Down the hall, I loosen my tie before I reach the door and enter my apartment. My clothes are usually a source of pride, but today, they feel like they’re strangling me for some reason.
Dropping my keys on the counter, I let the jacket slide from my shoulders and toss it on the arm of the couch as I cross the living room to the windows. Like the office, this is the view I used to aspire to have. Now, it’s gray, flat, and has lost the shine it once had.
Besides the added suitcase, there’s a ritual to my return each night. Predictable . . . I’m not sure when I became that guy, but it’s not exactly how I imagined my life.
I walk to the fridge, open the door, and consider grabbing a beer. I need a reset, though, not to sink deeper into comparisons. That’s what this is—Texas versus New York. Wide-open ranges versus a city that never sleeps. Pris versus . . . I close the fridge door. Unless I’m going to change the situation, it’s best I don’t continue down this path.
I should probably go for a run to burn off what I should be doing and get back to reality. Fifteen minutes later, I’m hitting the pavement. I don’t miss the Texas heat and humidity. Huh . A con is found among all the pros on the list.
Hitting the High Line, I run faster, wanting to feel the burn, needing to clear my head of what is and what isn’t my current situation. Wallowing was never in my blood. There wasn’t time for it. If I failed, I moved on. I came back stronger, faster, better, and succeeded the second time.
So why’d I set myself up for failure in this relationship?
Why’d I do it to her when I know I can’t be as present as she deserves?
Self-fucking-serving. She’s captivated me.
I scratch the back of my neck, trying to figure out the exact moment I traded my balls in and decided to sound like an idiot from a Shakespearean play. I cut down a street heading west until I’m bent over, trying to catch my breath in front of my building.
Jeff stands with the door to the building open. “Do you want to come in or for me to call an ambulance?”
Sweat drops from my chin when I look up. I stand, staggering toward the door. “The man’s got jokes,” I say, entering the air-conditioned lobby and soaking in the cool air as it envelops my body.
“I try.”
I punch the button in the elevator.
I crash on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. It’s no rusted tin roof with rain splattering down to the sounds of our breathing, but I guess this one will do.
Glancing at the time, I grab my phone, hoping to catch Pris before she heads inside the house. Once there, her father will be hanging around, and she’ll have to speak in code not to be busted.
Three rings and no answer have me doubting myself, but then there’s a click. “Hey there, cowboy.”
The tension in my shoulders subsides simply from hearing her voice over the speakerphone, peace finally finding me after the long day. “Hey there.” I grin and try to wipe it away, failing this time, unlike earlier in the conference room. “Bad time?”
“Perfect timing. I was just wrapping up in the barn. How was your flight? Did you make your meeting?”
“Flight was fine. Meeting was made, but I don’t want to discuss that.”
“What do you want to talk about, Tagger?” I catch the rise in her tone. Worrying her was not my intention.
“I regret leaving you.”
“I do too, but all day, I kept reminding myself that whether it was today or Wednesday, it was inevitable,” she says, which has me picturing her raising her chin. Protecting herself? The thought that she’s protecting herself from heartbreak guts me, though she’s not unwise for doing so. “You’re a busy guy with a whole life up there that I don’t even know anything about.”
Holding the phone on my chest, I lie there. What do I say to that? I’m not sure there’s a follow-up that feels right. “Pris?” I talk anyway, needing to get to what’s wrong.
“Yes?” Her response comes reluctantly and softer in tone.
“I miss the barn,” I confess. “I miss you.”
“Tagger . . .” Her voice stumbles, and then she lowers it. “I’ve been trying to keep busy so as not to think about you being gone, but my mind was always on you and the barn and the truck . . . I miss you, too.”
“I need you to know that just because I’m here doesn’t mean my heart is. I left it in your care.”