Chapter 8

• "How bad are things at the paper?"
• After a long, tense tour of the paper and printing press, we're having an early dinner. Miguel has been staring at me with sizzling eyes at every turn.
• I reply, "Will you please stop smirking at me?"
• "I think you're misreading my facial expressions, my dear."
• "Don't belittle me," I say as I move into the firm wooden chair. Miki has asked me that question about five different ways, and I'm starting to think he just wants to see how uncomfortable I get. He gives me a detached stare.
• Sighing in exasperation, I respond to his initial query. "We're about a month, maybe two, from bankruptcy."
• I cursed silently that I went with the dark Spanish tapas restaurant. I ought to have brought him to Salty Pelican, my favorite beach pub. If we had listened to some terrible covers of great rock songs, the mood would have been phony and dazzling. However, we are in a sensual outdoor Mediterranean courtyard with tall, flickering candelabras, a fountain, and white orchids. My heartbeat rhythmically corresponds with the soft flamenco music playing in the background.
• Miki's intense gaze and the buzz of sex in the opulent restaurant setting have my body feeling taut. Does his voice have to be so heated and low? Is it necessary for him to pose the challenging, melancholic business questions just before we place our order? Does his mouth need to be so attractive?
• With a flourish, Miki picks up the napkin from the table and places it precisely on his lap. "And what have you done to try to save money?"
• I use my fingertips to mark things off. "I've cut pay ten percent, mandated a week of furloughs, and eliminated the editorial page on Saturdays."
• "That's all?" Despite having cold eyes, he has a slight smirk on the corners of his mouth. Is there no way he can be sympathetic or care about my predicament? He seems pleased to see me squirm.
• I wonder if he wants me to fail, despite what he stated earlier.
• "You know I'm not a businesswoman. I didn't take finance classes in school. I'm a journalist. I never wanted this job. My brother was supposed to be a publisher. You know that's what my father had planned for him before...before the car crash." My mouth is dry and the words creak out. I never discuss the car accident that destroyed my family and claimed the lives of my brother and mother. I never talked about it with my dad, and I didn't open up to Steven about it either. Amelia was well aware of everything, having experienced it alongside me.
• Miki was the only person I'd ever discussed my background with outside her.
• "When's the waiter coming to take our order?" I ask. I'm ready for this evening to end. It feels like my past and his might are working together to sap my vitality and render me helpless.
• He answers sternly. "Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned."
• I give him a glaring gaze, and something bright flashes in my brain—a no-shit sign.
• My existence would have been different, in the gentle, sunny nooks of my memory. When I was younger, I had imagined that I would become a multi-award-winning reporter. I would be Miguel's wife. The mother of his offspring.
• I thought I would have it all.
• Similar to the media industry, those ambitions had also taken an express train to Nowheresville.
• Me as the population.
• "I'm painfully aware of life's curveballs, thank you. I inherited a dying business in a dying industry. What more can I do? I've tried to align expenses with revenues."
• As I murmur the last few sentences, my hands make miniature quotation marks. I speak even more quickly as Miki's face stays expressionless.
• "I can't lay anyone off because we don't have anyone to lay off. I haven't hired anyone since becoming a publisher. I considered asking reporters and editors to deliver the paper on weekends, but that would be kind of humiliating for everyone involved, don't you think?"
• "Desperation is a powerful motivator."
• I swallow a fast sip of water to hold back from spitting out the hundred caustic comebacks that are constantly running through my head.
• "I know you're only thinking about profits, Miki, but the paper has won awards. Big, investigative rewards. Even though we're small, we're scrappy. We've uncovered local corruption, been competitive on big, breaking news, and written sharp feature stories. I'm not a failure as a leader."
• "I'm not saying you've failed. I know you're an excellent journalist. But all of the awards and articles are meaningless if the paper isn't making money. And the Times is making nada, engrade nada."
• My neck's artery is throbbing. Does he need to appear at that grave? Thank goodness, a waitress comes to the table.
• Miki snaps the menu closed and says, "We'll have the manchego y jamon Serrano, the gambas, the patatas bravas, and the chorizo al vino." "Oh, and she'll have the olives and the salted almonds."
• One of my favorite foods is almonds. How does he recall such a small detail? Miki removes the menu from my hands and gives it to the waiter as I open my mouth to place an order.
• "And more bread, please. That's all for now, thank you. But I'm certain we'll have dessert. Flan, if you have it."
• The waiter leaves as I tighten my eyes.
• "You didn't ask what tapas dishes I wanted."
• He dismisses it. "Why would I ask? I know what you want. I know what you like."
• "Perhaps my tastes could've changed?"
• His laugh is deep and raspy. "I highly doubt it."
• "Typical. Bossy. You haven't changed."
• "Oh, I've changed. I've come a long way from that guy you knew in college."
• It surprises me that he could be insecure about his history despite all of his money. Added to my own miserable life, this awareness makes my shoulders droop.
• We weren't meant to be like this.
• Sitting glumly, I look at my half-empty water glass.
• His gaze grows softer. Miki sets his full glass next to my empty one and says, "You're hungry, Tori. I can tell. You have that unfocused look in your eyes. Have you been drinking enough water?" "Drink."
• He was always able to read my physique and thoughts. I'm thirsty and starving. I had three cups of coffee instead of my regular iced tea for lunch, and now my limbs are twitchy.
• Miki folds his fingers together and places his hands on the table. It's a Rolex, of course, on his wrist. He had desired one forever. I'm grossed out just thinking about it and wonder how much it cost.
• "Why did the other private equity groups turn you down?"
• I respond, "They thought we were too big of a risk. Too much debt. Not enough revenue." I want to cry, but I control my voice.
• "Why didn't you call me directly and ask for my help? You knew I had enough money to help you. It would have taken one phone call and a few kind words."
• "You think that I'd call you out of the blue after all these years and beg for money? I have some pride. Or did."
• He dismisses it. "Who else do you know who could afford to help you?"
• "No one," I mutter. I steal glimpses at his face as I sip my wine. I wonder what became of the lovely, young man I fell in love with. His movements had become more precise and harder over the years.
• His eyes dart over my face and say, "What are you thinking about, Tori?"
• I shrug. His focused stare causes words, entire phrases, to go missing from my head. "Work. Some emails. How the news industry has gone to hell."
• He laughs a little and snorts. "Right. You were thinking about us."
• "I don't think so."
• I picture him running his index finger down the arc of his wine glass and tracing my skin. as he once did. I turn to look at a potted palm tree as memories start to flood back.
• The warm, salted almonds and toast are brought by the waiter, much to one's relief. Just as I'm about to sigh, Miguel looks at me. I can't help but taunt him because of the intensity in his eyes. To see if I still drive him mad is too alluring. I remove an almond from the grating.
• I give him a modest smile, keeping my eyes on him while I open my mouth and use my thumb and forefinger to put the nut on my tongue. I swallow after patiently chewing.
• He tinkers with the collar of his shirt. "Have you thought about selling the Times building? You seem to have a lot of unused space."
• I pretended to examine the almonds as if I had to choose one that was precisely shaped. "I'd rather not. I'm sentimental. It's where I grew up, it's my spiritual home."
• "Too bad. It would make a beautiful condo building."
• I curl my lips, squint my eyes, and wrinkle my nose all at once in distaste. "Figures you would say that."
• He reaches for the nuts, and I recline in my seat. Our table is too small. I'm pressed up against a wall, so his huge, sensual presence is unavoidable.
• He leans forward and offers the almond to me rather than eating it. In the past, we fed one another.
• He says, "Open."
• I close my eyes and shake my head. "Open," he says again, a little more subdued.
• My lips open too, as if they follow his orders rather than my good sense. He places the nut on my tongue, his thumb resting on my lower lip before bending down to rest against my chin. a delicate touch. I look down at the table, unable to suppress the surge of liquid heat that is coursing through my body.
• Miki takes his hand out of my lips and says, "You're still gorgeous. I like your longer hair and the dark brown color. It goes well with your blue eyes." He sounds really angry about this. He tilts his head back in his chair and fixes his gaze on me. I despise myself for wanting more of his contact right away.
• "Don't flatter me. Save your breath."
• When Miki's phone buzzes, he turns it over so that the screen is hidden. It must be one of his numerous women. or a famous friend. I've kept up with both his quick rise to fame and his tabloid-worthy antics in Miami's social scene. He's become the type of man who gets snapped at bars with models, rappers, and basketball guys. It amazes me because Miki used to be a recluse in school.
• "I have no desire to flatter you. A desire for other things, yes, but flattery isn't why I'm here."
• I raise an eyebrow. Is he making out with me? Given that he has access to a city full of attractive women, why would he want me? When he didn't desire me before, why would he now?
• "I'm sure you have plenty to desire in Miami."
• With a scowl, Miki rubs his hand twice through his hair. His knee jiggles constantly, moving the tablecloth slightly next to my leg. He feels uneasy. has been throughout the day. I give a slight smile, remembering how he stumbled and fell onto the paper after stepping on my arm.
• He yells, "What's so funny?"
• "You," I retort.
• Does he still have silky hair? It's trimmed close now and significantly shorter. A few gray hairs grow in the area around his temples. He is one year older than me, at thirty-five. I'm surprised by the gray, though, mostly because it indicates how much time has gone by. Still, it somehow makes him more attractive. more macho.
• Miki pours more wine into my glass and says, "I'm surprised you've taken me to such a romantic restaurant. Maybe you're trying to flatter me. Or seduce me."
• "Don't get your hopes up for seduction. I chose it because I know you love Spanish food, because of your grandparents and all."
• His eyes open in a mock surprise. "So thoughtful of my needs, Victoria. Such a change from our final few weeks together all those years ago."
• I prepare to respond sharply, saying something like, "This wouldn't be happening now if he hadn't rejected me years ago." But I say nothing. I brush off his comment and run my fingertips across the glass to get him to stop pouring. Being intoxicated and near Miki is the last thing I need. I shall collapse into his arms at the first glimpse, at the first touch. as well as his bed.
• I regret saying that right away. "I'm surprised you don't have paparazzi following you around." Now he'll know that I've read the tabloids about him. I had browsed through a magazine two months prior at the grocery store checkout when I saw a picture of Miki at a charity fundraiser with a Spanish TV personality. The thought of him had made my stomach turn, so I left my grocery basket and ran inside my car. I had sat there crying over what I had lost. And the possibility that I might not see him again.
• And look at him now, seated across from me.
• "So you've been keeping up with my life in the society pages?"
• I stretch my legs and knock on his foot. Miki firmly presses his ankles into mine, causing electric sensations to travel throughout my body. Taking off my shoes, I run my big toe down his calf and across the plush, pricey material of his pants.
• "Pfft. No. I happened to see you in some magazine somewhere."
• It seems like my brain wants to fight and my body wants to entice him. He was the one who injured me initially, and I have to keep that in mind. not in reverse order.
• He chuckles. "Ocean Life Magazine, perhaps? Or People in Español? I'm surprised, Tori. You always liked more serious reportage."
• His eyebrows arched suggestively, which made me more irritated and turned me hot. I feel like he's turned off both my body and intellect, leaving me in a state of emotional disarray.
• "I did see the Ocean Life article, the one where you posed for a photo in the gazillion-dollar penthouse," I said. I can't control my behavior tonight, and I'm finding it difficult to regulate my emotions. I kind of want him. I kind of want him to go.
• A part of me longs to continue seeing him look directly into my eyes while stroking the sides of his mouth with his thumb and fingertip.
• "Oh? The one where I wore the Tom Ford suit? And yes, that is my home. I've come a long way from that shitty apartment we shared."
• I swallow and try not to think about that horrible apartment with the air conditioner in the window, the one where we'd passed many a night on our futon bed, eating each other until we were just pools of sweated flesh. I wonder whether he ever considers that futon or how, in the dead of night, we would reach out to each other, frantic and yet oddly innocent.
• It's common to consider your childhood to be the best time of your life, but in my experience, that's the case. I was most content in our one-bedroom apartment with Miki, complete with our Ikea kitchen starter box and the iron floor lamp I had painted white during my brief period of shabby-chic décor, which we had dragged in from the curb on trash day.
• "Yeah. That article. And details about your philanthropic work. You and that actress looked great together. Maybe you should bring her to St. Augustine? I'm sure she'll be charmed by the romance here."
• He swirls his wine and snorts. "I'm not dating her. She has a boyfriend, and we attended the event as friends. I started a charity because of my childhood. And in case you didn't read the latest tabloid story, I'm single. Have always been single, since you left."
• The emotional tension in the air is momentarily relieved when the waiter arrives bearing the bread and a plate of olive oil. Miki takes a slice and uses his hands to tear it apart. Half of his sets are on my plate.
• "Suck it down," he orders.
• I move around in my chair and break off a tiny piece of bread. Into the olive oil, I did it. A drop of golden liquid falls on the tip of my middle finger as I lift it to my mouth. I place the piece of bread on my plate, rubbing the oil into my lower lip while observing his blank expression.
• Proud to proclaim myself "Miami's most eligible bachelor," I sang along.
• His jaw muscles tense and pulse as he clenches his teeth, "Yes. A bachelor for years and I like it that way." I run my toe under the table down his shin, and he catches my foot between his calves. We've been in the restaurant for about thirty minutes, and already, I've driven him to the brink. I know it thrills me a little to know that I'm still having an impact on him, but I won't tell him.
• "You were probably ecstatic to get rid of me so you could screw your way through Miami. You achieved your goal. Bravo."
• Miki gives me a sardonic grin. "That's interesting. I could have sworn it was your choice to leave me. For someone who prints the truth every day in the newspaper, you seem very willing to embrace alternative facts. And you have a loose grasp on how we ended, my dear."
• I can't help but attempt to keep my nostrils from flaring up in rage. I stand up straight and move my foot away from his legs.
• "I'm not going to rehash our past, Miki. I've put it behind us. I'm not discussing anything more than our impending business deal." I put an almond in my mouth.
• "Our potential business deal. I have yet to make an offer."
• He gives me a languid, seductive smile, and all I can do is try not to feel the fear that has crept into my gut.