after all—but at least Romeo and Slade are giving me a chance.
Next are the documents. The photos. The USB sticks. Even though my box seems untouched—who would take photos but leave the cash?—I quickly paw through them, make sure it’s all there.
And at the bottom of the metal box and practically begging to be forgotten are my junior driver’s license—now expired—my birth certificate, and my social security card.
I plunge them into the bag without looking. I don’t know why I hold on to these things. Maybe because deep down, I hope one day I can be myself again.
After all these years, I should know better.
~ ~ ~
While I’m driving the old woman home, I spy the guy who was staring at me. He catches up to me at a light, and he looks at us.
This time he looks politely away, and I heave a sigh of relief as he turns the corner and heads down the street. I never liked this town, and I certainly don’t miss it.
But then, I don’t miss any of the places I briefly lived. I can’t afford to get attached.
I’m an hour from the office when the phone rings.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Romeo says, his deep voice a pleasant rumble. It could be my imagination, but there seems to be promise in his voice, and my breath quickens.
It’s been three weeks since the fateful night when I met the men who are now my bosses. Things happened that night. Things that I wish would happen again.
“Lindsay?” Slade cuts in, his tone teasing.
“Where are you?” Romeo asks.
“I’m coming in at noon,” I say lightly. “Remember?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Romeo points out. “Where are you?”
“At the doctor,” I say without missing a beat. I went a week ago for a long overdue physical, so it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“Are you sick?” Romeo asks.
“No,” I say. “It’s just part of my checkup.” Traffic on the highway slows, and motorists start honking. I hang up, then turn off my phone because I don’t want my bosses to overhear the commotion and know I lied.
Then traffic stops completely.
Sirens wail in the distance, and even though I know they’re not coming for me, I think of my fake license, and my hands turn slippery on the steering wheel. The residual cherry flavor turns bitter in my mouth.
It’s forty-five minutes before I squeeze past the accident—an overturned truck with a load of stuffed armchairs, but no one seems injured. I don’t dare make up the lost time by speeding, so I’m late getting back into town.
No time to visit my new safe deposit box, which I opened yesterday.
I sit in the employee garage, which reeks of burned rubber, and try to decide what to do with the bag. The garage is secure, but leaving the tote in the car feels too much like temping fate.
Bringing it up with me… That feels risky, too.
But every second I waste deliberating is one more second that my bosses are waiting.
I decide it’s safer to lock the bag in my desk, and I hurry to the elevators.
Chapter 2
As soon as I step through the door, the receptionists motion me over.
“Conference room A,” says Eliza. “You’d better hurry.”
Paula nods, pity in her eyes.
Still, I start toward the back of the office, toward my desk; an extra two minutes won’t make a difference.
Hawthorne turns the corner.
His dark hair is impeccably styled, and his intense blue eyes are fixed on some distant point. He’s wearing a somber suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie spotted with faint yellow dots.
Because of his height and muscular build, I’m reminded of an athlete striding into an arena, not a grumpy billionaire businessman in the middle of a stressful week.
Buried in thought, he doesn’t seem to have noticed me. The man is money wrapped in power and dusted in sarcasm, and I don’t want to be on his radar.
Maybe I can squeeze by—
“Conference rooms are the other direction, Lindsay,” he says, tone
Next are the documents. The photos. The USB sticks. Even though my box seems untouched—who would take photos but leave the cash?—I quickly paw through them, make sure it’s all there.
And at the bottom of the metal box and practically begging to be forgotten are my junior driver’s license—now expired—my birth certificate, and my social security card.
I plunge them into the bag without looking. I don’t know why I hold on to these things. Maybe because deep down, I hope one day I can be myself again.
After all these years, I should know better.
~ ~ ~
While I’m driving the old woman home, I spy the guy who was staring at me. He catches up to me at a light, and he looks at us.
This time he looks politely away, and I heave a sigh of relief as he turns the corner and heads down the street. I never liked this town, and I certainly don’t miss it.
But then, I don’t miss any of the places I briefly lived. I can’t afford to get attached.
I’m an hour from the office when the phone rings.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Romeo says, his deep voice a pleasant rumble. It could be my imagination, but there seems to be promise in his voice, and my breath quickens.
It’s been three weeks since the fateful night when I met the men who are now my bosses. Things happened that night. Things that I wish would happen again.
“Lindsay?” Slade cuts in, his tone teasing.
“Where are you?” Romeo asks.
“I’m coming in at noon,” I say lightly. “Remember?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Romeo points out. “Where are you?”
“At the doctor,” I say without missing a beat. I went a week ago for a long overdue physical, so it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“Are you sick?” Romeo asks.
“No,” I say. “It’s just part of my checkup.” Traffic on the highway slows, and motorists start honking. I hang up, then turn off my phone because I don’t want my bosses to overhear the commotion and know I lied.
Then traffic stops completely.
Sirens wail in the distance, and even though I know they’re not coming for me, I think of my fake license, and my hands turn slippery on the steering wheel. The residual cherry flavor turns bitter in my mouth.
It’s forty-five minutes before I squeeze past the accident—an overturned truck with a load of stuffed armchairs, but no one seems injured. I don’t dare make up the lost time by speeding, so I’m late getting back into town.
No time to visit my new safe deposit box, which I opened yesterday.
I sit in the employee garage, which reeks of burned rubber, and try to decide what to do with the bag. The garage is secure, but leaving the tote in the car feels too much like temping fate.
Bringing it up with me… That feels risky, too.
But every second I waste deliberating is one more second that my bosses are waiting.
I decide it’s safer to lock the bag in my desk, and I hurry to the elevators.
Chapter 2
As soon as I step through the door, the receptionists motion me over.
“Conference room A,” says Eliza. “You’d better hurry.”
Paula nods, pity in her eyes.
Still, I start toward the back of the office, toward my desk; an extra two minutes won’t make a difference.
Hawthorne turns the corner.
His dark hair is impeccably styled, and his intense blue eyes are fixed on some distant point. He’s wearing a somber suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie spotted with faint yellow dots.
Because of his height and muscular build, I’m reminded of an athlete striding into an arena, not a grumpy billionaire businessman in the middle of a stressful week.
Buried in thought, he doesn’t seem to have noticed me. The man is money wrapped in power and dusted in sarcasm, and I don’t want to be on his radar.
Maybe I can squeeze by—
“Conference rooms are the other direction, Lindsay,” he says, tone
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