Hazel
4.
A semi was beeping in my dream. Backing up straight toward my little, silver Prius. But that's crazy because behind me was at least a good hundred foot drop, the sparkling city lights of the busy New York streets directly below. Cars the size of ants were backed up along the streets, people just the same. If I fell, it wouldn't just be me getting crushed. What I want to know, though, is how my car got stuck on the top of a skyscraper.
I was doing my own beeping, laying both hands against my horn, but the truck didn't seem to hear. It just kept backing closer, closer, closer...
My eyes sprung open. My alarm was going off with that same incessant beep as the truck in my dream, my heart about jumping out of my chest. I glanced around the dark room—just to be sure. My eyes fell on my phone.
6:17
My alarm has been ringing for two minutes?
I sprang from the warmth of my bed, nearly tripping over unpacked boxes as I shift around my room for the light switch. I had less than an hour to be at the coffee shop.
Quickly, I shower, dress and shove my dark hair into a messy ponytail. With a single glance in the mirror, I looked...presentable. Save for the bags underneath my eyes and the flushed, bleary-eyed expression.
I guessed that'll do.
On the way out the door, I spot my portfolio sitting untouched in the same chair I had left it since I moved in. A portfolio filled with my future—the only reason I wanted to move in the first place.
Fashion and drawing was the only reason for coming to the city. If mom and dad had tried to talk me out, told me it was better off if I stayed home, I probably would have listened. This move felt more unsure and more demanding than anything I'd ever done, and the ever-present anxiety that had sprung on me the moment I arrived, formed inside my stomach all over again. That familiar pool of dread. I shook my head and sighed.
Carefully, I flipped through each piece as the doubt gnawed at my insides. Would it be enough? I ran my fingers over a sketch of a dress, frowning slightly. I wanted to believe I was doing everything right, or at least what made sense.
I had to at least try, but if I couldn't get in to my Gucci or Calvin Klein dream job, I didn't know what I'd do.
Chase's eyes followed me the whole way to the counter when I stepped into the coffee shop. It wasn't a long trek, but I sure felt the short distance with his penetrating stare.
Glancing at my watch, I did my best to ignore Chase and the uneasiness growing inside of me. It was a miracle I actually made it on time. I'd hailed a cab on last minute thought, but should have assumed the early morning traffic would keep us at a stand-still for a good ten minutes.
Chase looked different. I couldn't help but notice his flushed complexion, unfocused gaze, and his balance teetering as he poured a customer's order. Although I didn't think much of it, I couldn't help but hear the warning bells chiming in my head as I watched Chase disappear to the back and not come out for several minutes.
I texted my boss of my sudden suspicion, and as Chase reappeared, I quickly hid my phone and scurried to the counter to widen the distance between us. Chase noticed, the corners of his mouth tilting upward ever so slightly.
My eyes flit around the empty coffee shop. It was mostly silent except for the select few speaking quietly to one another, the soft drone of the speakers playing music I couldn't make out the words to. In the quietness, I found my eyes wandering.
For the past week, there had been no sign of the fancy man with that scar, but the curiosity couldn't help itself most days when I found my eyes wandering toward the door or out on the busy street.
Just one more glance, and that would have been enough. Originally, I had planned to ask Jules the day after but I soon realized that guy was probably just a regular citizen of New York with a suit and a wealthy job.
"You okay there?"
It wasn't Chase's voice that necessarily reeled me back to reality, but the stench of alcohol on his breath and the slurred note of his tone. I took a step away, my eyes widening a fraction at the realization that my coworker was drunk.
"I'm fine." My eyes searched Chase's bloodshot ones. How hadn't I noticed before?
More customers have shown up now, to my relief. I pushed Chase to the back of my mind. Two men and a woman who came in with crisp button ups and briefcases. Some of them I recognized from days past, but their presence didn't help my growing fear. They hardly even bat an eye at me as I rung up their orders. I watched them disappear through the double-glass doors.
As soon as they were gone, Chase took hold of my arm so quickly that I gasped. Pain shot through me as he dragged me behind doors, his breathing heavy and hand clammy with sweat. I tried to struggle out of his tight grip, but to no avail.
"Tell Riley about this and I'll kill you." Chase's eyes were dark as they flit wildly over my face, his grip tightening so that I couldn't move.
I watched with horror as he bent low to grab a bottle from one of the shelves, one I wouldn't have noticed hidden behind a tub of coffee grinds. Chase took a swig and let go of my arm. He called after me as I hurried away, back out into the shop. I willed my heart to slow.
When no one showed behind the counter, I glanced down at my phone. To my relief, Mr. Riley's response had came up on my phone, but it wasn't exactly what I wanted.
In a meeting until 11. Be there as soon as I can.
Sighing, I pressed my phone to my ear. I glanced toward the door behind me to no sign of Chase. Just as I thought, the line went to voicemail at just the exact time someone cleared their throat.
When I pulled the phone from my ear and glanced up, I nearly dropped the phone from my hands. Fancy man was on the other side, ice-cold green eyes and a scowl to match. For an unknown reason, relief flooded through me.
"A black coffee."
The back door swung open upon Chase's entrance and struggled to keep the growing unease at bay as he came staggering up behind me. Whether the man noticed or not, his face remained impassive.
For a long moment, I focused hard on what he had said, finding my gaze locked on the awful, jagged scar. I could hear Chase as he took to the second customer in line.
"Don't you know how to work?" The fancy man's gravelly voice startled me as I met his hard gaze. "Hurry up."
But Fancy Man wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was staring at my arm, which was already turning an ugly shade of yellow and blue. I quickly moved my fingers over top, wincing as I touched the tender skin.
I hurried away before I could meet his gaze, and my fingers trembled as I poured the steaming liquid into a to-go cup. I could feel Chase beside me.
"You wanna know who that is?" Chase's voice slurred, leaning in close.
I shook my head and backed away, hurrying to grab a lid as Chase stumbled toward me. His arm reached out to steady himself on my shoulder. I jumped away from his touch.
"That," Chase spoke anyway, "is Carter Wright. CEO of one of the wealthiest buildings in New York. One of the most nastiest bastards you'll ever meet. Stay away from him...bad news..."
"Great." I muttered, ignoring the steaming droplets of hot coffee that spilled over my knuckles.
In this instant, I was thankful Mr. Wright took a seat at one of the empty tables toward the back of the room. The distance was welcoming as I sucked in a much needed breath. Still, I couldn't help but to study him. I noticed that there was no one else around him—it seemed that most people had gravitated toward the front of the room, and I could see why: Mr. Wright's presence was daunting. Could feel his gaze even from a mile away.
Nearly an inch away, I could hear the dissatisfied breath Mr. Wright let out, and the whispered word, "finally" was barely on his tongue when I felt my foot catch on something on the ground. It was just enough seconds to glance down just in time to see the foot that I had tripped over.
Pitched forward, I had no time to register what was happening as a gasp leapt from my lips, the coffee cup sailing from my fingers. Pain ricocheted through my knees as they came down hard on the ground.
Everything stopped, ears ringing as I glanced up. Blood rushed to my cheeks in realization of the angry face staring down at me. His gaze bore into my face as I took in the extent of my damage.
Coffee stained Mr. Wright's charcoal suit and a good majority of the white button-up underneath. I was sticky myself, both of my arms covered in the dark liquid, down the front of my apron.
But at least I had an apron.
If Chase was right, despite his drunken-state, it looked as if I might've just dug my own grave.