Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

42 | Traffic Stop

DOMINGO
11:16 PM

Dahlia Gray

This is the third time I'm late.

The first two times were when we were on break and Harlow was with his foster family, lodged in a cabin deep in the mountains. Of course, I couldn't call him to drive me to work—despite my fingers itching to dial the number from memory—and by that time, it was too late.

The first time, the bus broke down in the middle of the road—I was ten minutes late.

The second time, my advisor called me in early without a day's notice—I was twenty-five minutes late.

This time, I messed up the wrong bus schedule and the bus made an unusual route—and I'm an hour and sixteen minutes late.

I'm running into the building, my eyes frantically searching around the place. I knew I needed to check in with my advisor and clock in my time, but I'm afraid I'm going to be in big trouble. Not only that, according to the agreement, too many incidents could cause me to lose my internship.

"Kid," I turn, seeing Aysa quickly approaching me, her white combat boots stomping against the floor. She's dressed in blue jeans, a half-zipped black dust jacket with a reflection line etched across her pouch and a pop culture tee underneath. She finishes with a black hijab. "You're late."

I wince. "I know," I drawl, my voice desperate. "The bus went on this unusual route and I could barely get any service. I tried to text you but I don't know if it went through."

"It did." She holds up her phone, showing me the messages. "I tried to cover for you, but your advisor was getting antsy."

I grimace in response, squeezing my eyes shut in hopes that this is just a bad dream and I'm going to wake up soon. Late. Three times in a month—what are they going to do to me?

"Dahlia Gray," I hear my advisor, Tristan, call from a distance. I freeze. I can't move. His footsteps thumping against the floor, announcing his near arrival to my ultimate doom. He stops before me, and I could feel the heat of his body radiating in front of me. "Dahlia."

I inhale a sharp breath, and open my eyes. I look up to meet his green ones. "Okay. I now this seems bad, and I know I'm late but the bus made an additional route and I think they switched drivers and the driver didn't know what they were doing and plus, the traffic—"

He silences me with a flick of his hand, halting my rambling. My heart stops for a good second, my breath in my throat.

"That's not an excuse," he said, adjusting the collar to his white dressed shirt. For a thirty-something year old man, he's always looking fresh—as if he's aiming to be promoted to the CEO position upon his arrival. Unfortunately, that isn't possible in the time-span presented. "You know what the agreements are."

My lips pressed together and I inhale a breath, regulating my breathing. I look to the floor, my hands tucked under the other. "I know."

"You're one of the few promising interns of this company, and I'm proud that you got this internship," he starts, almost like he's reciting the positives before the negatives. My firing. "You're hardworking and always the quickest on your feet—but you need better transportation. You need to be here on time. Just because this is an internship does not mean it shouldn't be treated like a job."

I swallow a gulp, preparing myself for the worst. "Yes, sir."

He sighs, and I hear him running his hand through his slicked back blonde hair. "Look, I tried my best to ask for more time in the research department but I don't work for that division. They needed you to do their runs and help them an hour ago, but you weren't. They're very upset."