Gina took a deep breath and tried to control her trembling fingers as she ripped open the envelope. She shouldn’t be doing this here. Should’ve waited until she was upstairs in the privacy of her apartment. Instead, here she was, standing at the bank of mailboxes, tearing open her fall grade report. She unfolded the paper, her eyes skimming past the two A grades, the 4.0 average, to rest on the detail she dreaded.
Yes, there it was. Three credits—one class to go—and she was done. Possessor of a Master’s in Business Administration. And if she didn’t have her own business up and running and most importantly successful before graduation day, she was going to have to go back to Boston.
The glass door of her condo complex opened and Gina glanced up, suppressing a groan when she saw who it was. She kept her voice neutral as she said, “Hi, Chad.”
The grin on Chad’s ruddy face was broad and confident. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy if a big, Irish former pride of the University of Maryland football defensive end was your thing.
Yeah. Most decidedly not Gina’s thing.
“What’cha got there?” he asked, nodding at the paper in her hand.
“My grad school grades,” she said, folding the paper and putting it back in its envelope.
Chad made a face. “Always dreaded that when I was in college. Had to keep my grades up or no more football.” His eyebrows drew together sympathetically. “Bad news?”
Yes, but not the kind you mean. Gina shook her head, a welling of pride warring with the latent panic. “No. I’m still four-point-oh.”
Chad’s eyes widened. “Really?” She nodded. “I didn’t think that was even possible. You must be really super-smart.”
“Not really.” Gina shook her head. Organized, yep. Diligent, check. Hardworking, hell yeah. But she’d never classify herself as exceptionally smart.
“Anyway…” Chad shifted from foot to foot, his face getting redder. Oh, no. He was going to ask her out. Again. She should never have gone out with him, not even once. That had to have been the most boring night of her life. If he wasn’t so nice she might be able to give him the Hell no, not on your life, not even in this lifetime speech his persistence needed. But while she could be brash and bold and sarcastic this far from home, she could never be mean.
Her phone rang in her bag. Thank God. Literally saved by the bell. She grabbed it and glanced at the screen.
Mom.
Maybe she’d picked the wrong cliché. More like out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“I have to take this,” she said as she swiped to answer. Her spine automatically straightened as if her mother could see her slouching, her guarded, proper, home-Gina armor settling around her. Go ahead she mouthed at Chad, nodding to the elevator. An all-too familiar pang of guilt shot through her as his hopeful expression collapsed into chagrin and he turned to go.
“Hi Ma.”
“Gina, sweetheart. What’s this I hear about you not coming home for Christmas until the twenty-second?” Boom, right out of the gate. If she thought she’d felt guilty about Chad, now she was really in for it.
“I have things to do down here,” she said, rubbing her forehead, the beginning of a headache stirring behind her eyes.
“What’s more important than coming home to your family?”
My independence. My ability to be myself. She didn’t dare say that. “I have some projects to finish up.” Client presentations for her fledgling business, but she hoped her mother would assume incorrectly that she had additional schoolwork to do. The lie of omission stuck in her throat as her mother sighed.
“I’m not mad, Gina, I’m…” Gina silently mouthed her mother’s next words, “…just very disappointed.” The Catholic mother’s version of a sniper-shot. Another pang of guilt spiked through Gina, making her headache pulse.
“Maybe you don’t really need that degree after all,” her mother said. “We want you back home so much. We miss you.”
Panic combined with the guilt, and Gina’s pulse accelerated. “No, Ma. I’m so close to graduating. It would be ridiculous to quit now.”
“How close?”
Gina closed her eyes. Damn. Backed into a corner. “One more class.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The warmth in her mother’s voice caused the pang to double in size, the pain in her head a steady drumbeat now. “Your father will be thrilled to have you home. He’s told me he’s going to create a very special job for you. At least until you get married…”
Now Gina just wanted to curl up and cry. After all her planning and scheming, she was running out of time.
“Oh, and you know who your father ran into at Knights of Columbus last week?” her mother went on as Gina pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “Tony DiSchino.” Of course. Dad just happened to run into him. Only the last guy in the world Gina wanted to see. Smooth, suave Tony DiSchino, ruiner of lives and her parents’ dream son-in-law.
“You know how highly your father thinks of Tony, so we’re going to have him over for dinner while you’re home…” Again. Gina swallowed a scream of frustration.
Of course Dad loved Tony. Born into wealth—in a complementary industry to her father’s own property development business, even. Handsome. The guy who had everything handed to him on a silver platter while Gina worked like a dog. Everybody just loved Tony.
Everybody but Gina.
#
Tony hitched his shoulder, trying to shrug up the leather briefcase strap that threatened to slide down his arm, and broke into a run.
This is the final boarding call for flight one-twelve to Washington’s Reagan National Airport, the PA system announced.
“Shit. Shitshitshitshit.” He gripped the briefcase strap with one hand, tightened his hold on his wheelie bag, and sprinted for the gate. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple, gaining speed with every footfall until it slithered under his collar. When he reached the gate agent, breathing hard and aware of his sweaty brow and the unpleasant dampness in his armpits, he did his best to summon up his usual outward calm as he dug in his pocket for his phone. “One second,” he huffed, pulling up his boarding pass. Yeah. Totally failing on that calm thing. What an auspicious beginning to one of the most important trips of his entire life.
“Take your time,” the agent responded, a cute little smirk on her face that Tony might have appreciated had he not been so flustered. He held the phone under the red light to scan it, the authenticating beep soothing his hammering pulse. He strode down the jetway, gathering his usual calm around him and smiling automatically at the flight attendant as he stowed his wheelie over seat 2C, then settling into the wide leather seat and shoving his briefcase under the seat in front of him. He ran a hand over his brow, then wiped his fingers on his pants.
He’d made it.
Well, he’d made it this far. The rest of what he had to accomplish? A whole hell of a lot more work.
The flight crew sealed up the plane and they were pulling away from the gate and rolling down the runway so soon, his pulse kicked a little.
He’d cut it close this time, even for him.
Keeping Tony time. His mother’s fondly amused voice rang in his head. You were even born two weeks past your due date.
And his dad’s habitual rejoinder. Late and disrespectful.
Tony shrugged his shoulders, trying to settle the ache in the one that had supported the briefcase strap. He was uncharacteristically tense and tight all over, but the shoulder was particularly tweaked. He massaged the muscle, stretching his neck away from the tightness, teeth clamping at the shooting pain.
“Can I get you anything?” The flight attendant, impeccable in her uniform, addressed the older white businessman type in a wrinkled suit in the window seat next to Tony. The guy ordered a Scotch. Going by the stale smell wafting off the guy, it wasn’t his first of the day.
“And for you?” The woman transferred her attention to Tony, a purely professional smile on her face.
On a short flight, Tony would normally order water. Or, if he was feeling daring, a Bloody Mary mix. Not with actual vodka. No. Just something with flavor.
“Gin and tonic,” he said, his smile as reflexive as the one on the flight attendant’s face. What the hell. It was after four in the afternoon. Maybe it would take the edge off this unfamiliar off-kilter feeling. He could nurse the watered-down drink for the brief flight, wait for his luggage, pick up his rental, and be right as rain to drive into D.C. and take up his temporary new life.
Tony nodded, his jaw set, and pulled his briefcase from under the seat in front of him. Drawing out the dossier his father’s staff had pulled together, he settled back, accepting the drink the flight attendant handed him with absent thanks.
“Gina Romano, we meet again,” he mouthed to himself.
Come on. He might feel like a secret agent with this assignment, but there was no way he was going to make Business Drone in 2D think he was crazy by talking to a woman who wasn’t there.
Even though he had to be crazy to be setting himself up for a year of unrelieved boredom. For what had to be the hundredth time in the last few months, he barely kept himself from cursing out his grandfather, the author of this whole screwed-up situation. But there was no point in that. Better to be bored than lose control of the company to his walking disaster of a cousin. And for his plan to work, proper Gina Romano was absolutely perfect.
He just had to convince her of that.
#
“You know I’m right.” Gina shot her best toothy smile at Laura.
It wasn’t fair, she knew it. She knew she could eventually get camera-shy, introverted Laura into agreeing with her by sheer confidence and force of will. Laura knew nothing about marketing or public relations. Nothing about a business plan.
But dammit, Gina was right. Just two weeks ago there’d been an article in the freaking New York Times about female rock climbers and instructors. The fact that Laura hadn’t been included in it made Gina want to kick herself, even though she only had the barest experience with media and had no advance knowledge the paper had been working on the piece.
You’re not a public relations expert, she reminded herself. But you can be an awesome small business consultant.
Look at how she’d helped build Laura’s climbing business. A website, a targeted advertising and marketing plan, a full roster of clients during the season. Gina’s initial plan had resulted in an A grade for her small business marketing class and her advisor was encouraging her to think about using it for the capstone project of her MBA. It was also the proof of concept she needed to actually build her dream business and live on her own terms instead of fretting over commercial leases or whatever other godawful tasks her father had planned for her.
Now it was December first, the regular climbing season was over, and other female climbers were getting play in the New York fucking Times. So, the opportunity for Laura to get more exposure was ripe. And Gina needed to get some media experience to flesh out her business offerings. Win-win. But only if she could get Laura to see things her way before the opportunity slipped away.
Laura glared at her, her dark blue eyes accusatory. “You want me to be on television?”
Gina waved a hand. “Local news. Just the D.C. market. It would be good for you!”
“How?” Laura rested her elbows on the kitchen table in the little house she shared with her fiancé, Simon, her fingers spearing into her brown hair. The sapphire on her left ring finger glinted through the strands.
“This will be good for the LTA,” Gina said. “You can help get the word out.” Laura’s new full-time job was as an advocate for the Land Trust Alliance, an environmental group focused on cleaning up natural areas. The organization had hired her largely because she was a rock-climbing instructor and could speak eloquently about the practical ramifications of protecting the environment.
Laura glared. “If you’re going to want me to bring the Land Trust into this, I need to clear it with them.”
Gina waved her hands. “No. This isn’t about them specifically. This is total local news puff piece. You take the reporter to a climbing area and talk about…” What was the term? “Climbing when it’s stupidly cold?”
“Ice climbing.”
“Really? That’s what I’m looking for? I was thinking there’d be a fancier word for it.”
Laura’s hands thudded back to the table. “No. Really. But it’s not usually cold enough around D.C. for ice climbing. And even if I wanted to do this—which I don’t—it wouldn’t be exciting television.”
“Why not?”
“It’s cold. Even without much ice around, there are some slick patches. You have to be even more patient than usual.” Laura gave her a pointed look and she made a face.
So Gina wasn’t known for her patience—at least not when she wasn’t performing for her parents? So what?
“You have to move slowly,” Laura said. “Not exciting stuff.”
“That’s okay,” Gina said. “The angle isn’t flash or excitement—I want to capitalize on that Times story. Show people around here that you don’t have to go all the way to Wyoming or Colorado or wherever to hire a female instructor. Maybe even encourage more women to think about not just climbing but becoming instructors.”
Laura gave her a sideways look, eyes slits. “Low blow.”
“But it’s true.” Gina knew that Laura couldn’t resist the idea of bringing more women into the sport. Far from wanting to remain one of the few female instructors in the area, she’d told Gina she’d welcomed the respite. She had spent the summer and fall booked solid with trips and clinics. “Just let me pitch it to a reporter. Or two. Maybe it won’t work.”
“Maybe it will.” Laura managed to make that sound like a fate worse than death.
If it did? A huge feather in her cap. Something to show potential clients. Another selling point that would help her build her business. Gina clasped her hands under her chin and let her eyes go wide. “Please? For me? For my business? And can you imagine how great it would be for my capstone project?” Her grade would be in the stratosphere. “Just imagine how pissed those two assholes at Altitude will be to see you get media attention.” Earlier in the year, the two owners of the climbing gym Laura had booked trips from had not only treated her like the sexist pieces of shit they were, but they’d basically tried to run her out of the business. Gina would relish the chance to rub their noses in Laura’s success.
Laura let out a burst of air and her elbows slid out until her forehead rested on her hands. “Okay, fine. Give it a try.”
“Yesss.” Gina shot a fist into the air. Step one in the journey to independence. If only she could get there in time.