The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 15

Sometimes after you get emotionally slapped in the face, you lose track of time. You just sit there staring at the broken pieces of the human disaster that makes up who you are and forget what it means to do anything else. It's like you are on a merry-go-round with no way off, spinning past the same images over and over until it's just a swirl of emotions that turn you numb as the images blur. 

"Allie?" 

I spun around in my swivel chair, startled, and with all the grace that came with being scared out of my skin in a pitch-black office, my chair tilted and I hit the floor wrist first, letting out a mouse-like squeak. 

Pain snaked up my wrist, needles underneath my skin that pushed the emotional pain out of mind, starling be back to reality. I blinked, finally registering the change in light. When had the sun gone down? Why is it suddenly so quiet in my office?

"What?!?" I hissed through clenched teeth, gripping my wrist tightly as I stared towards the dark doorway. A figure stood tall in the doorway, sending chills down my spine. The office was empty, it was late, and I was alone with an injured wrist. Shit. 

The figure moved across the room in a flash, suddenly kneeling in front of me. "Allie, are—" I moved without thinking, body reacting to the sudden danger. Susan had gotten hurt, and I refused to be next on the list. I was going to cause some serious damage. Had been itching for it all day. And my wish was granted as I quickly slammed my palm up and hit the figure square in the nose. 

A large crack filled the air as my palm met cartalidge. The figure gasped and stumbled back, hitting the ground in front of me. "Allie! What the hell!?!" 

Two painful things clicked into place at the same time... 

One, I had just hit Tate in the face. 

And two, by the sound of the crack, I had just broken his nose. This is why you can't get close to cute guys. You break them. This is why you can't have nice things Allie!

Scrambling to my feet, ignoring my throbbing wrist, I stumbled over to Tate whose hands were pressed up against his nose. "OHMYGOSHI'MSOSORRY!" I shouted far too loudly in such a fast babble that it came out as one warped word of high pitched panic.

It was nearly impossible to see him in the dark office. A small sliver of light seeped in from one of the office lamps out in the hall, sending a glow across Tate's crumpled white button-up shirt. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, paint splattered across his forearms. 

Several splotches of paint had worked its way into his disheveled hair, glistening in the low lighting. He seemed more vulnerable and tired in the shadows of the night with only the light of the hall to frame his face. I leaned close to his face trying to see the damage past his fingers. 

"Remind me to keep my distance when you get startled," Tate said to the ceiling, head leand back, strands of chocolate brown falling back out of his face. 

The light carved into his lines, like a glowing frame highlighting his jaw, the curve of his neck, the veins in his arms, his beauty in the dark. It was utterly disarming. A filter that threatened to open my heart and swallow me whole. My gosh, how can he look this good while he's covered in blood and paint? This is wrong and should be illegal!

I stared at him for a long beat, forgetting for a moment that we were both injured like a dumbfounded idiot. 

"Allie?" Tate asked, his eyes scrunching shut against the pain I caused. 

Get it together girl. "We need to get you to the hospital," I blurted kicking back into gear, after a moment of inappropriately timmed gawking.