Chapter 15
In the end, I say nothing, swallowing down the bitterness that’s burning the back of my throat.
It wouldn’t matter anyway; Monica’s made her mind up.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I force out because my parents raised me right.
In a final act of disrespect, she says nothing, already turned back to her computer, her French acrylics hitting the keys sharply as she types.
Andy smiles smugly as I walk back to my desk. The weight of everyone’s attention pokes and prods at me as I move.
No one says a word as I box up my stuff.
Sterling isn’t even at his desk.
He likely won’t even notice I’m gone.
* * *
As soon as the elevator doors close, I change my mind.
I should have said something. What kind of a hard-hitting reporter am I if I can’t even stand up for myself to my own boss? Maybe this is a sign that I’m not suited for this after all.
When I reach the foyer, I’m greeted by a familiar grin.
“Are you stalking me now?” I shift the box in my hands as I pushed past Lucky into the foyer. “Don’t tell me; your brother works here.”
He laughs, causing something traitorous in my chest to chime like a bell. I grind my teeth to ward it off.
I will not like him, no matter how chipper he is. And cute. So, so cute.
“Nah, they’re back home. All five of them. But I’ve got a cousin who runs a bar downtown.”
“Of course you do.” I walk past him.
“Hey,” Lucky says, popping up on my right. He’s holding out a coffee and a takeout bag. “How about we swap?”
I pull the box away. I’m mad. At Monica, at Lucky, at myself. “Thanks, but you’ve done enough helping today. How did you even find me?”
“I felt bad about this morning, so I brought you the coffee you’d missed and a doughnut as a peace offering.”
I do love doughnuts.
“I have a soft spot for the classics,” he adds, following me like a puppy that’s eager to play. Doesn’t anything faze him? “Hopefully, you like sprinkles.”
Dammit. My favorite.
I grip my box tighter.
“Thank you, but no. Today has already gone about as bad as it possibly could. I don’t think a single doughnut is going to fix the fact that I got fired for being late.”
“Do you want to yell at me? It might make you feel better.”
I level my best stare at him.
His smile remains. “Hey, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Come on. A bit of caffeine and sugar, and you’ll feel better.”
I snort. “Are you always this disgustingly optimistic?”
He cocks a brow. “Are you always this hopelessly cynical?”
Cynical? How about pushed to my limit?
“That’s pretty rich, coming from a guy who gave away a hundred dollars like it’s nothing. How about you take all that money and persistence and do something good with it? Then we can talk.”
I blow past him. It isn’t easy to get through the revolving doors with my hands full, but I can’t stop. I need to get out of this building, away from the crushing sense of disappointment that’s eating away at my gut.
The wind outside is harsh, the chill snapping my brain into focus. Okay, so The Observer didn’t work out, but there’s more than one paper in this city, and I’m as qualified as anyone else.
Getting a reference will be difficult. Monica is out, and who else could I even ask? Andy would lie to spite me, Bianca doesn’t answer calls she doesn’t recognize, and Sterling doesn’t even know my name.
I jump when my phone rings.
It’s a juggle to pull it from my pocket, but at least it’s good news.
“Bryan, hi. You’ve got great timing; I was about to call you to see when I could come by your office to pick up the keys.”
There’s a sigh down the line. No, no … not this too.
“I’m sorry, Mia. I received a call from your employer, and I’m afraid we’ve had to deny your application for the apartment.”
I come to a stop on the sidewalk, the last of my hope draining onto the pavement, trampled beneath the feet of the jostling crowd. Someone curses me as they pass by.
“Please, my lease runs out this week. I need this apartment. I’ll pay two months up front, whatever you want.”
“I’m sorry. We’ve already rescheduled a viewing for Thursday. Unless you can regain steady employment in the next two days, there’s nothing I can do for you. Have a nice day.”
That’s it then.
They say losses come in threes, right? Boyfriend, job, apartment. I’ve lost it all. Do I win a prize now?
Maybe I should hang it all up. Move back home, go back to the Ferntree Gazette. Start again.
As I start walking, I’ve no goal in mind. I have nowhere to be.
It doesn’t surprise me when Lucky appears at my side. “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener, you know, and if sugar’s not your thing, there’s still time for breakfast. My treat.”
I must really look pathetic if he is willing to subject himself to breakfast after I yelled at him. Twice.
He bumps my elbow with his. “I’m going to guess you skipped breakfast this morning, so you have to be hungry, and I know the right spot for something hot and filling.”
I bet he does.
No.
No sexing the Englishman.
“Why do you even care?” I ask. “You don’t even know me.”
The kindness in his eyes is too much. Soft and compassionate.
Too close to pity.
It’s a stark reminder of everyone who said I shouldn’t move here, that I couldn’t make it, that this city would chew me up and spit me out. It’s the knowing looks I’ll get when I slink back home, proving them all right.
I can’t do this right now.
A crew cut in a suit is stalking toward us, on a mission somewhere. Lucky steps out of their way, bringing him toward me quicker than I can process, seemingly between one blink and the next. My heart thunders in my chest.
On instinct, I step backward, the scent and heat of him intense up close, my nerves sparking and jolting in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. It’s too much and not enough.
There’s something behind me, something knee-high that barks, and I startle. The world shifts, tipping sideways, and I know I’m falling the wrong way. Not onto the sidewalk, where all I’d have to worry about were people trampling me, but to the road.
Ahead, a bike messenger barrels toward me, and there’s not enough time to stop him.
Lucky’s hands grip my arms as he pulls me upright, out of the way.
My stomach is in my throat. My eyes feel like they are pulsating, or maybe I’m blinking too much. I can’t breathe. My fingers are clawed in Lucky’s shirt. I can see them, but I can’t feel anything. There’s nothing but noise.
“You’re okay. Breathe.”
Jesus, he smells good. Or is that the doughnut?
Knowing my luck—ha, luck. Like Lucky. Okay, maybe I’m delirious.
He probably smells like this all the time.
Just walks around, smelling amazing, like some sort of English Pied Piper with rock-hard pecs and kissable lips. I bet they’d be soft. They look soft.
Vaguely, I register his voice, gentle and low, but I’m distracted by the way he’s running his hands up and down my arms. He hasn’t even tried to pry my fingers out of his shirt yet.
Oh, I dropped my box.
His lips look delicious. Is that sugar? I want to taste him.
Oh God, how long have we been standing like this?
“T-thank you.” It comes out shaky, shakier than I’d like, but I can’t feel my knees right now. A light breeze is likely to knock me over.
His grip tightens. It’s nice. Solid. Strong. It’s the only thing keeping me together.
“That’s good. In and out. I’ve got you.”
He does, so I focus on his words. His voice is sweet. I like the accent, like the way he’s still calm. Steady. Like his chest. I press harder, chasing the pa-dum of his heart under his sweater.
I don’t think about work or the apartment.
I don’t need to think about anything other than breathing in and out and the searing heat of him.
I used to make Ma bury me in a pile of steaming clothes, straight from the dryer.
I’d curl up underneath and soak in the warmth.
I’d like to drape Lucky over me sometime.
There’s noise around us, people probably, but all I can see is him.
It helps.
Slowly, the rest of the world comes into focus. Cars, people, my feet on the ground. How closely we’re standing together. Intimately. A tingle runs up my spine.
He smiles. “Come on. I know a spot.”
I let go and step back, blinking up at him.
* * *
Make Your Choice:
go with lucky (go to 27)
go home alone (go to 19)
go back (go to 9)