The Vibe Manager

Chapter 17

Jade shuddered with chills. Her head ached and her gut had been burning since the moment Rafael had shot a diamond egg-sized hole in it....

The first thing she saw when woke up the next morning was the Amsterdam travel guide on her bedside table, alongside Tool-Making in Wild Chimpanzees and the illustrated Primate Families of the World. She fell back on her pillow miserably.

Until that horrible party, she had been hoping to visit Rafael at his research facility in the Netherlands. She wanted to see and learn about all the things he was immersed in....

Pulling the covers over her head, she realized how much personal development she'd accomplished since college as a byproduct of dating attempts. None of the relationships had panned out, but in the process she'd learned elementary Spanish and basic bookkeeping, scuba diving, computer coding, poker...

At least it wasn't a total waste, she thought as she finally rolled out of bed and got dressed.

An hour later, she was standing in Madre's office, still wearing her coat, with her arms wrapped around herself for warmth.

Of course, Madre wasn't there, but I was — I'd been there all night secretly working on the agency's brand transformation.

"Try this," I suggested, offering Jade my coat.

She turned around and glanced at the thick down jacket I held out. "That's so nice of you, thanks."

I draped it over her shoulders, like a cape. "Madre's cheap about the heat," I admitted. "But, it is Saturday...."

"You call her Madre?"

"Old habit."

"Oh. Did you reach her?"

"Yeah, she's on her way.... "

I stood with Jade at the window, watching the traffic down on the street, my hands in the pockets of a sick new thrift-store find: a narrowly cut suit topped with a short leather trench coat.

If the sainted Rafael could wear sharp threads, so could I...

As upset as she was, I could see that Jade was noticing me out of the corner of her eye. It helped that I was standing still this time.

"I really wasn't sure if anyone would be here on the weekend," she admitted. "I didn't even try to call her. I think I just needed to walk somewhere—"

"No, no." I reassured her. "It's all good...."

She took a seat.

I stayed on my feet and assumed a gangster-lean at the window, wondering how I looked to her. A certain underweight impression was something I worked to maintain, along with a sunless pallor. It had been good enough for the poet Ovid, who'd deemed it the gold standard for male lovers in his classic, The Art of Love.

As a teenager, I'd read every handbook by every ancient love-guru in Madre's bookcase. Even if the classical poet was being sarcastic with his seduction guidelines — and who could ever be sure? — the Latin Lover's tips and moves had come in handy over the years. Especially flattery.

"I came here because I didn't know what else to do..." Jade was saying, relaxing into the coziness of my down coat.

I gave her a sympathetic nod. " 'Love may be soft, but serving him is hard...' "

In my mind, I high-fived ol' Ovid — another solid-gold hit!

"I just went through a horrible night," Jade went on. "I heard something wrong, maybe.... Or the guy I was with actually meant it, which is worse —"