down to watch him.
“Heaven knows I need entertaining,” Delaney said.
“YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT it, aren’t you?” Erik asked.
Dom looked over at him. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re making that face.”
They sat in an open-sided beach bar near the ferry dock in Playa del Carmen. The thatch of the roof rustled in the light offshore breeze. At the back, a band was milling around on a low stage hung with blue, scarlet and orange batiked cloth. On the horizon, the lights of Cozumel twinkled in the darkness.
Dom picked up the glass of tequila that the bartender slid across to him. “You really need to talk to someone about this paranoia you’ve got.”
Eric put a pinch of salt on the web between his forefinger and thumb. “Yeah, well, you obviously—”
“Need to teach you how to drink quality tequila,” Dom interrupted.
“What’s wrong with the way I drink tequila?” Eric asked, lifting his shot glass.
Dom gave him a pitying look. “Tequila’s like whiskey. The cheap stuff will strip the enamel from your teeth, which is where the salt and lime come in. Añejo tequila like this, though…” He swirled a sip around in his mouth and swallowed. “Slides down like twenty-year-old bourbon.”
Eric eyed him. “This wouldn’t be your idea of a joke, right? Watch me take a drink and have steam come out my ears?”
Dom smiled. “You lawyers are too suspicious.”
“You start your career owing fifty grand in student loans and see how suspicious you are,” Eric invited.
“Your call, buddy. Stick with your lime and salt if you want, but you’ll be missing out.” Dom took another swallow and waited for the liquor to ease the tension that crouched in his shoulders.
Eric tipped the salt into an ashtray and took a cautious sip of his drink. His eyes brightened and he took another swallow. “Nice.”
“One good turn deserves another.”
“Good. Then tonight I’m going to take away your laptop when we get back to the hotel.”
“What?”
“You’ve been checking your e-mail again, haven’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Dom asked, his voice elaborately innocent. Behind them, there was a thump of bass as the drummer of the band took his seat for the second set. Around them, the bar was filling up.
“You’re going to scare all the chicks away with that weight-of-the-world-is-around-my-neck expression on your face. This is supposed to be party central, not a boardroom.”
“If I scare ’em away, it’ll leave more for you, won’t it?”
“But who’s going to entertain my overflow until I get to them? That’s a logistical problem.”
“I’ve got faith in you, Eric. You’ll figure something out.” Dom tipped back his barstool a little and fought a smile. “Me, I’m just kicking back.”
Eric signaled the bartender. “You’ll kick back better with another shot, my man. As your lawyer, I advise you to drink heavily.”
“Ripping off Hunter S. Thompson, now?”
“It’s not a rip-off, it’s an homage.”
“You lawyers do have a way with words.” Dom clinked his glass against Eric’s. “To hitting it big.”
“Hah!” Eric pounced. “I knew you were thinking about that damned IPO again. You had that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says you’re running through your road-show pitch. Dude, you’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be having a good time, not working.”
“Do I look like I’m working?”
“Yeah. Either that or thinking about what’s her name.”
Dom flicked his gaze to the ceiling and back. “Her name was Lynn, and trust me, I wasn’t thinking about her.” Their breakup a couple of months before had been a relief as much as anything. Lynn had been one more thing to manage, one more demand on his time, and as things got crunchier and crunchier between them, all pleasure had bled away.
“Well, you definitely don’t need to worry about the IPO,” Eric advised. “The numbers in the prospectus will sell the stock for us.”
Scowling, Dom took a swig of his tequila. “IPOs don’t happen by magic, you know. And if it doesn’t fly, I’m the one who’s on the hook.” Meaning, he should have been back in the room working the way he had every other night they’d been there, not blowing off the evening in a bar. Diving all day, sure, that was why he’d come. But there was a price for every pleasure, he’d learned that the hard way.
Eric, however, wasn’t buying it. “Number one, you’re on the hook to your mother and little brother and sister, who all worship the ground you walk on. Even if the IPO tanks, they’ll still walk away with more money than most of us have ever seen at one sitting, so you’re taking care of them. Number two,” he continued, warming to his topic, “we have a week of dead time anyway while the SEC combs over the draft of the prospectus. Then we go on the road to do the presentations, and I want you fresh for it. You’re supposed to relax. That’s the whole point of being here.”
Dom stared at Eric. “Really? It didn’t have anything to do with you wanting to dive the Colombia Deep and practice your Spanish on the señoritas?”
“Just looking out for your welfare,” he responded blandly.
“Because I could have relaxed at home.”
Eric snorted. “You wouldn’t have relaxed at home. Hell, you’re not even relaxing here.”
Dom thought of his e-mail inbox, piled high already with things he couldn’t handle long distance. “Too much going on right now for that.”
Eric sighed. “Look, Dom, there’s time. In a couple of days, you’ll be in the office. You can go back to being a workaholic then. But I’m telling you—”
“Give it a rest, Eric.” Even Dom could hear the edge in his voice. “Why are you busting on me about this?”
“Maybe it’s enlightened self-interest. You were a lot more fun in the old days.” The joking look disappeared for a moment. “And maybe because I’m your friend and I don’t like what I’m seeing. You’ve been doing this nose-to-the-grind-stone thing for five years now, ever since—”
“Got it,” Dom interrupted. “You don’t need to remind me.”
Eric hesitated. “You’re fried, my man, and I don’t mean sunburned. Time for a break. You’ve got competent people on staff and if they can’t handle things,
