by Elicia Hyder
“A killer wasp, I’m afraid.” West grinned down at me. “Fortunately, there were no casualties other than the car.”
God, his smile made my knees wobble.
“What’d it hit?” Danny asked.
West pointed toward his truck. “Tapped my bumper.”
“Will it start?”
West sighed. “Haven’t tried, but there’s radiator fluid all over the pavement.”
The cop grunted in response, then surveyed our surroundings. “Think we could push it into that parking lot?”
West looked at me. “Lucy, can you steer while we push?”
My mouth was gaping. I’d rear-ended him, and West Adler was saving the day. Who was this guy?
“Lucy?”
I snapped out of my daze. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”
When my little blue car was safely off the highway and parked at the side of the gas station’s lot, I got out and rejoined the men at my back bumper. West was dusting off his hands. I should’ve washed my car.
“I’ll be right back,” Danny said, wiping his hands on his pants as he walked back to his police cruiser.
I narrowed my eyes at West. “Are you famous?” It was a fair question in the music capital of the world.
He laughed. “No. Danny knows my father.”
“Oh.”
“He won’t give you a ticket,” he added, lowering his voice.
My shoulders relaxed, and I blew out a deep sigh. “Thank God.”
The cop pulled into the lot beside us and rolled down his window. “Need me to call a tow truck for you, ma’am?”
West held up his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
My head snapped up. “You will?”
“Of course, I will. I can’t leave a beautiful young woman stranded on the side of the road.”
I tapped my chest. “You know I ran into you, right?”
West ignored me. “I’ve got this under control, Danny.”
Danny tipped an imaginary hat toward us. “Call me if you need anything, West. And give my regards to your family.”
West waved. “Will do.”
“Thank you!” I called out as the officer drove away.
True to his word, West Adler—knight in shining polo shirt—called a friend who owned a body shop. After a few moments on the phone, he covered the speaker with his hand. “My buddy says it’s gonna be about an hour before he can get here. You can leave it, and he’ll pick it up and call you about the damage, or we can call another company. It’s up to you.”
Between being rattled by the accident and feeling woozy from West Adler’s cologne, I didn’t know what to do. “If you trust him, I guess it would be OK to leave it.”
He nodded, then pulled the phone back up to his ear. “Hey, man. We’ll leave it here at the gas station. It’s a dark blue GKS Sport with a front end currently shaped like an accordion. You can’t miss it.”
My mouth twisted into a frown.
West winked at me.
“I’ll text you her phone number,” he said before disconnecting the call.
I withered. “Thanks, West.”
He tucked the phone into his pocket. “Don’t mention it. My friend could use the business.”
I knew he might be saying that to make me feel better. It worked.
He looked down at the shiny silver watch encircling his wrist. “I can give you a ride depending on where you’re headed.”
I crossed my arms. “Are you doing penance for some horrible past sin?”
“What?”
“Or maybe you’re in the ‘make amends’ step of a recovery program and this is some part of a paying-your-grievances-forward plan?”
West scratched his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nobody’s this nice to someone who hit them at a traffic light. I know because I’ve done this before.”
The corner of his perfect mouth tipped up. “Maybe you just haven’t bumped into the right person.” He pointed to his truck. “Do you want a lift or not? It’s a pretty simple question.”
“Umm…”
“Where are you going, Lucy?”
“Downtown,” I answered.
Without giving me a chance to object, he walked to his truck and opened the passenger-side door. “Me too. Hop in.”
Giddiness bubbled inside me. I felt a little dizzy. Maybe it was the concussion. “Are you sure?”
His eyes widened, and his sparkling smile was teasing. “Get in the damn truck, Lucille.”
I laughed and got in the damn truck.
On the off chance he was a serial killer (such would be my luck), I texted my roommate Olivia Barker. In case I go missing or wind up dead, a guy named West Adler is driving me to work. I wrecked my car, but I’m OK. Just wanted someone to know.
She didn’t respond.
West got in the driver’s side and started the engine. It was so loud I wondered if I’d screwed up his muffler, but West didn’t seem to notice. He put it into gear and rolled to the lot’s exit. “So where were you headed this morning before all hell broke loose inside your car?” As he pulled onto the busy street, he waved his thanks to the driver who let him cut into the line of traffic.
“Work,” I answered.
“What do you do?”
I tried to cross my legs, but the pain stopped me. “Marketing. I work for an artist-management company downtown.”
“What kind of artists?”
“Country music mostly.”
“Anyone I’ve heard of?”
I nodded. “Probably. Melvin Brooks, Jake Barrett, Lawson Young—”
“I love his new song,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Most guys do.”
Country crooner Lawson Young had recently released an entire album spawned by one of the worst, and most public, breakups in history. At least Nashville’s history, anyway. And that was saying something in the home of country music. The first single—eloquently titled “Bitch, Please”—immediately blew up the charts, and the tabloids. The object of the breakup? My boss, his soon-to-be-former manager. Things at work were tense, to say the least.
“Do you like it?” West asked.
“The song?”
He chuckled. “Your job.”
I nodded. “Most days.” And it was true. Besides all the drama as of late, it was fun and exciting. And fortunately, it paid well enough to cover an increased car insurance premium and my hefty deductible.
My phone buzzed in my hand with a text message. Are you dead? It was Olivia.
Not dead. Call you later, I texted back.
“Where’s your office?” he asked as we neared the on-ramp to I-65 North.
“Inside the Summit Tower. Do you know where it is? It’s pretty new.”
He checked his blind spot and merged with traffic. “I think I’ve seen it before.”
“Probably. It’s the biggest building downtown.”
He shook his head. “The Batman Building is bigger.”
“The what?”
“You’re not from here, are you?”
“I’ve only lived here about six weeks,” I said.
“Really? Where did you move from?”
“A teeny, tiny little town called Riverbend. Have you ever heard of it?”
He thought for a moment. “It doesn’t ring any bells.”
“It’s between here and Memphis with a sixty-mile detour south off I-40. You’re not alone. Most people haven’t heard of the armpit of Tennessee.”
“Armpit, huh?”
“It’s a pretty place to visit, or maybe hide in the witness-protection program, but I don’t recommend staying there.”
He cut his eyes over at me with a grin that made my stomach tingle. “Are you in witness protection?”
I winked at him. “Not anymore.”
“What brought you here?”
“The job brought me to Nashville, specifically, but I was considering any city with a population greater than three thousand.”
I looked out the window. “Lately, I really needed a change of scenery.”
“How’s that working out for you?” he asked.
I admired him from across the cab. The scenery looks pretty great from here. I didn’t dare say that, however. I blushed and looked away. “I’ll let you know, but so far so good.”
“Look.” He pointed toward the skyline in the distance ahead of us.
The tallest structure in the sky was a giant building with what looked to be two pointy ears. I laughed. “I get it. The Batman Building.”
We arrived at my office way too soon. I wasn’t ready for our meeting to end. He pulled up to the curb in front of the entrance and parked. “Here you are, m’lady.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Thanks again, West. You really didn’t have to do all this for me.”
He shifted sideways and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Let me get your number. I still need to send it to Randy at the shop.” When he finished typing with his thumbs, he leaned toward me, tilting the phone enough for me to see the screen. He’d started a new contact file under the name Hot Chick Who Wrecked My Truck.
I almost melted into a puddle.
After exchanging numbers, I opened the door and groaned in pain as I slid out onto the sidewalk.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t get checked out at the hospital?” he asked, his gorgeous eyes crinkled with concern. “I’m afraid you might be really hurt and not know it.”
My heart, I knew, would surely never be the same. “I’m fine, I promise. And I’m really sorry about your bumper, West.”
He shrugged. “It could happen to anybody.” Quickly, he tapped his chest. “Not me, of course. But anybody else.”
Laughing again, I closed the door.
He rolled down the window. “Let me know if you have any problems with the shop.”
“I will. Thank you.” I waved as I turned toward the building and started up the front steps.
“Hey!” I heard him call.
I looked back.
He pointed at me with a grin. “You owe me, Lucille. Don’t you forget it.”
Then he winked, and I slipped off the step.
Thankfully, West missed my blunder on the stairs as he drove away, leaving me and the butterflies in my stomach to duck, embarrassed, into my building. I limped to the elevator lobby and pressed the up button.
The Summit Tower was a spectacle in the center of the city, encased in glass from top to bottom. The elevator provided a spectacular view of downtown Nashville on my ride up to the sixteenth floor, but that morning I wasn’t looking at the skyline. I was scanning the streets for a black pickup.
Maybe he got off the street. Maybe he parked and came inside. Maybe he sprinted up the stairs to be waiting when I step off the elevator. He’ll take me into his strong arms and…
DING!
The doors slid open, and the building’s geriatric gardener looked up from the fern he was pruning. He waved a handful of brown leaves at me in greeting. My shoulders drooped as I stepped into the hallway. It’s going to be a long day, Lucille.
Claire Huggins looked up from the receptionist desk when I walked through the smoky glass double doors of Record Road Nashville. It was strange seeing her there. Normally, I arrived before everyone else and quietly slipped into my office to hide unnoticed all day. Claire glanced at the clock on the wall.
I held up my hand as I crossed the room, favoring my injured leg. “I know. I’m late.”
She looked worried. “Is everything all right?”
I nodded. “I wrecked my car on the way in, but I’m OK. Anything I should be aware of?”
She shook her head, then her hand shot forward. “No, wait! Audrey is in the conference room doing a lot of yelling, so you might want to steer clear of there.”
My eyes widened, even though our boss yelling at someone wasn’t exactly a newsflash. “Thanks for the warning. Have a good day, Claire.”
“You too, Lucy.”
As quickly as my battered legs would carry me, I crept down the hallway lined with gold and platinum records toward my office. Audrey’s muffled bark filtered through the walls, stirring my sympathy for whoever was on the receiving end of it. I assumed she was probably yelling at Ava, her sister and vice president of the company. The pair of them made me glad I only had a brother.
I relaxed when I reached my office undetected, but my relief was short lived. I heard the latch of the conference-room door tumble, followed by the familiar staccato click-clack of Audrey’s heels against the tile. My spine went rigid, and I fumbled my keys before I could get the right one in the lock.
“Lily!”
I groaned and rolled my eyes up toward the ceiling, mouthing the question “Why?” to God or whoever might be watching. Before turning around to face her, I plastered a bright smile across my face. “Good morning, Audrey.”
It was rumored in the break room that in another lifetime Audrey Scott had been a beauty queen. It was believable given her perfectly symmetrical face and long, silky dark hair. But that was before the pressure of running a powerful company in show business had etched a few extra years across her brow. I’d heard she was thirty-four, but she could easily pass as forty, or fifty, depending on how deep her stress lines went at any particular moment. Watching her stalk down the hallway toward my office, I could have been convinced she qualified for AARP.
She tugged up the sleeve of her tailored gray suit—which I was sure cost more than my rent—to look at her sparkly watch. “Lily, I need your help.”
I took a step to my right, out of the way of the name placard on the wall. “Of course. What do you need?”
She didn’t notice my name. “I have a meeting with Lawson’s lawyer and his business manager at nine. Can you get me the financial reports from all of last year’s online advertising?”
Ahh…no wonder heads are rolling already this morning.
Lawson Young had been one of the agency’s biggest clients until the younger of the Scott sisters, Ava, dumped him the night before their big Texas wedding. Now, four months later, Record Road was still working out the details of being forced to let Lawson out of his contract with the agency. Hence all the yelling in the conference room.
“You asked me for it yesterday, so I put it in your door pocket last night before I left the office. Did you see it?” I asked.
She blinked with surprise. “Oh! No, I didn’t. I dumped all that paperwork on my desk this morning before my phone began ringing.” She cocked her head, pressing her painted lips into a thin smile packed with fake endearment. “What did we ever do without you, Lily?”
She turned on her heel before I could say anything else. When she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, I stamped my feet in frustration and jabbed my finger over and over at my name engraved in the gaudy brass plate on my door. My name is Lucy!
My head throbbed, only partly from the car accident.
It had been exactly forty-three days since I’d accepted the position of online marketing manager for the Scott sisters, and I was beginning to wonder if my senior boss had some kind of brain defect. Two weeks in, I’d given up on correcting her about my name. I was Lily. And there was no convincing her otherwise.
I walked into my office and flipped on the overhead light, though the room hardly needed it. Before sitting down at my oak desk, I paused at the wall of windows to admire the view, and I inhaled a deep calming breath fragrant with citrus polish and glass cleaner.
As crazy as Audrey’s tyrannical behavior threatened to make me, I truly loved my job. Which, in its simplest form, was to get whatever or whoever I was selling on as many computer and mobile screens as possible.
I spent my days creating email newsletters, building and tweaking social-media ads, and writing website and blog content. The writing was my favorite. Drafting articles that could make fans swoon and land a website on the front page of Google was truly a magical art form. My last job had been whoring out software for a no-name foreign comp
any from a makeshift office in the basement of my parents’ house. For the lighting upgrade alone at Record Road, I’d be willing to change the name on my birth certificate to Lily.
Thirteen new emails were waiting in my inbox, four of which were from Audrey. Two were from her assistant, Peter Jansen, following up on Audrey’s four emails, and one was from my dad. The rest was junk. I clicked open the message from Dad first.
Hey, Lulabean. Just wanted you to know that Katherine and I are having a great time in Costa Rica. The internet is shoddy here, so I’m not sure if I’ll be in touch again before we get home. Attached is a picture of a monkey. Hope you have a good weekend.
Love you, Dad
Wrinkling up my nose, I wondered if the picture was of Katherine, Dad’s new bride. It wasn’t. It was a picture of him with a capuchin monkey sitting on his shoulder. His face was tanned from the Caribbean sunshine, and he was laughing behind his salt-and-pepper goatee. I paused to remind myself for the millionth time that his happiness was what was important despite my feelings about the situation.
And he did look happy. I wasn’t sure if that fact vexed me or not. It’s not like I wanted him to be sad, but did he have to be so happy? So happy so soon?
I couldn’t help but compare his smile to the one in our family photo that was framed my desk. Our family. Before Katherine. Before cancer. Before everything had fallen so spectacularly apart.
Then I lightly smacked my own cheeks. “Stop it, Lucy.”
Those kinds of thoughts would zap all my productivity for the next few hours, so I typed out a quick reply, saved Dad’s picture to the appropriate folder designated for personal photos, then deleted his message. I returned to the inbox and promptly erased all the junk mail before tackling Audrey’s requests. All of them had already been addressed and were sitting on her desk, except for one. I moved that email to my “To Do” folder, because it wasn’t urgent, and deleted the rest.
Under the desk, my cell phone beeped inside my purse. My joints burned as I bent to retrieve it.
Just checking to make sure you made it inside OK…and without killing anyone. - West
Be still my heart.
I leaned back in my cushy office chair with a grin so wide it triggered a cramp in my jaw. I hit reply, bringing up a new chat window.
