Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I shift all my weight to one leg and wince, morphing into a pained human flamingo. “Shit. My knee really hurts,” I choke out, laying it on thick. “Can you help me to the coffee place, so I can sit down and get some ice for it?”
His chest heaves. His face contorts. Clearly, the man feels conflicted. Frazzled. He looks at his phone again and visibly shudders. But in the end, he exhales, steps forward, and offers me his arm. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”
As I take his arm, I say, “You’re gonna have to pay for more than a new outfit, you know. You also owe me for lost wages. I just lost out on the perfect job because of you. And then there’s going to be my medical expenses. Pain and suffering.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He stops walking, poised to say more, but before he does, a loud clacking noise followed by a loud beeping sound behind us attracts our mutual attention. Oh, fuck. My car. A guy in a mechanic’s uniform is in the process of preparing it for towing, and he’s almost finished!
“Wait! No!” I scream. I drop the boy bander’s arm and sprint at full speed toward my elevated car, flailing my arms. “Stop! Wait! I’m here! Please!”
I’m too late. By the time I get over there, the job is done. The driver has secured my car for towing, and he’s walking back to his truck’s driver’s side door.
“Please, sir! Wait!” I shout, as I come to a stop at my back bumper. “This is mine. I was only gone for a few minutes. Can you please take it down?”
“Can’t do that.”
“I’ll pay the fine right now. I’ve got a credit card.” I begin frantically rummaging into my purse, but it’s no use. He’s shaking his head.
“You were blocking traffic,” he says flatly. “That’s an automatic tow.”
“I’ll pay the fine. Do you accept credit cards?”
He ignores the question and tells me where I can get it out of impound.
“Impound?” I shriek. “How much will that cost me?”
“Three hundred, if you get it today.”
“Three hundred dollars? Sir, I can’t afford that. I’m here for a job interview. I’m broke. Please, sir, I’m begging you.”
He shrugs. “Action, meet consequences, lady.”
I’m trembling. Sick to my stomach. He’s right, of course. I did this to myself. I let my anger at the boy bander cloud my judgment. Why’d I do that? Normally, I’m grace under pressure, thanks to years of training and dealing with irate, drunk, and/or anxious passengers. I’ve been trained to remain on a burning aircraft and help everyone else out first. And yet, I let some petty asshole with piercing, blue eyes get under my skin? Why, why, why? Ever since I made that colossal, stupid, paranoia-inducing mistake, I’ve turned into someone else. Someone I don’t recognize. Obviously, karma knows what I did, and she’s arrived to have her way with me now.
Behind me on the sidewalk, the asshole snickers and says, “Your knee seems to have healed in record time. It’s a miracle!”
I turn around, seething with anger. Yes, I’m an idiot. But my crimes are more of the bumbling variety. Whereas, this guy? He’s mean. Petty. Thin-skinned and vengeful. Which is why, as of this moment, I officially hate his fucking guts.
“You called the tow truck on me!” I scream. “You got your fragile ego bruised by a woman at a bar who dared to be the first, ever, not to flirt back with you, and you couldn’t handle it!”
He’s aghast. Or at least, he’s pretending to be. “You’re so off the mark, it’s insane.” He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. “This was a simple case of actions meeting consequences, like the tow truck guy said. You’re the one who left your car half in the road, not me. Y-you did that. Not me. So, own it.”
I run my palm down my face. I feel like I’m being swept down a river without a life vest. I feel adrift in my life. Out of control. Not to mention, sleep deprived, paranoid, and scared shitless. If I could rewind the clock, I would; but since that’s not possible, I was hoping this job would help me get myself back on track.
“Also,” he says, “I wasn’t flirting with you at Captain’s, so I therefore didn’t feel rejected when you didn’t smile back at me. I was staring at you because I thought you were someone I used to know as a teenager. So, don’t flatter yourself and think I’ve somehow engineered fucking revenge against you for rejecting me.” He scoffs. “That’s utterly ridiculous. Frankly, the fact that you think I’ve engineered some kind of vengeance plot against you for not flirting with me in a fucking bar tells me everything I need to know about your overblown ego and twisted sense of importance in this world.”