I glanced up to see Parker striding toward me from the elevators, briefcase in hand.
Megan was already gone when I looked back and I spied her retreating back stepping around the corner. I sighed.
“Good morning, Sage,” Parker said, stopping at my counter. I handed him a stack of messages.
“Good morning,” I replied, wondering how he’d spent his evening last night and if he’d been with Monique. I wasn’t about to ask, though. It was his business.
“We shouldn’t have any more … unexpected visits from Monique,” he said, flipping through the messages.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I believe we’re through seeing each other,” he said. “She shouldn’t give you any trouble, but if you hear from her, please let me know.”
“Absolutely,” I said. He turned to head for his office. “Um … so she broke up with you?”
Parker stopped and raised an eyebrow at me. His lips twitched. “Really?” He said nothing further, just stepped into his office. The glass door swung shut behind him.
I felt a thrill of satisfaction at that. Monique was out of the picture. Good.
What Megan had said sat in the back of my mind all morning as I worked. It was confirmation of what I’d felt last night, but it was depressing to hear someone else say it aloud. And again, I didn’t know what to do about it.
Idly, I opened my Magic 8 Ball app on my phone. “Should I quit?” I asked it, then shook it and waited as the answer floated to the top.
Signs Point to Yes.
Well, that answer wasn’t a big surprise, but what would I do if I quit? It felt almost like I would be breaking up with someone—with Parker—which was just wrong and weird on so many levels.
I was turning this over in my head as I hurried back from lunch. I’d had to make a detour by the dry cleaner’s to pick up a batch of Parker’s suits and now waited impatiently for the pedestrian signal to change.
Standing on the curb in a group of people, I watched the traffic whiz by. The cookie I’d gotten at lunch was burning a hole in my purse. I dug for it. Why wait for mid-afternoon when I could have a cookie right now? Especially when I was thinking about a man I shouldn’t be thinking about.
Something slammed hard into my back and I stumbled. To my horror, I lost my balance and tripped off the curb, landing on my ass in the street—and directly in the path of an oncoming truck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was no time to get up and run, no time to scream for help. I could only watch in terror as the truck barreled my way.
Horns blared and tires squealed. I squeezed my eyes shut, instinctively curling into as small a ball as I could, waiting for the bone-crushing impact.
Glass and metal shattered around me. A scream was ripped from my throat, lost in the sounds of rending metal on asphalt. There was a searing pain in my shoulder and a burning sensation, then a quiet that seemed near silence after the cacophony that had gone before.
I didn’t move, too stunned and afraid to dare hope it was over, that I had survived.
I heard voices, people shouting.
“Hey, lady! You okay? Can you hear me?”
Cautiously, I opened my eyes. What I saw directly above me was the underside of a truck, a scant inch between my head and the metal above. Somehow, I’d squeezed between the road and the undercarriage. My shoulder hadn’t been so lucky to stay utterly out of reach, though, and I could feel the wet, sticky flow of blood. Something had cut me.
“Help me,” I croaked, my voice clogged with tears and shock. “Please, help.”
Hands pulled on me and the asphalt scraped at my clothes and exposed legs, but I didn’t care. I wanted out from underneath the truck.
“Holy shit, you’re one lucky lady,” a man said once I was clear. Another two men had helped get me out and they urged me to sit down as sirens screamed in the distance.
“Here’s your purse,” someone said, setting my bag beside me. Parker’s suits were in a tangled mass underneath the front tire of the truck. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
I nodded and tried digging my phone out, but my hands shook too badly and the blood on my arm had run down to my fingers, making them slippery.
“Take it easy. I’ll help you.” There was a man crouched down next to me, a construction worker, judging by his orange vest and hardhat. He pulled out my phone. “Who should I call?”
“I-in my f-favorites,” I stammered. My teeth were chattering from the cold. “Boss.”