Redesigning Fate (Revive Series Book 1)

by A. M. Wilson

  The woman shifts, turning her head slightly, and I can see her in profile. She’s beautiful—straight perfect nose, high sharp cheekbones, slender, flawless face, and long blonde hair pulled into a low, sleek ponytail. She has on a pair of perfectly pressed black slacks and at least 4-inch heels. The bright red blouse she adorns is sophisticated and classy. The feeling of being overdressed just flew out the window. Now, I appear not dressy enough.

  Their conversation is near silent to my ears, but she looks comfortable and relaxed, talking animatedly with both of her hands. Her cheek facing me stretches into a wide smile, displaying perfectly straight, white teeth.

  The burn in my stomach continues rising higher towards my lungs, cinching the air from my chest, making my focus falter. My palms begin to sweat.

  I am about to look away when the woman shifts to the right, and I am caught in the gaze of a pair of bright cerulean blue eyes. My heart speeds up, but for an entirely different reason than my anxiety about the interview. The owner of that inquisitive stare is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He’s not conventionally beautiful, like the modern celebrity, but everything about him pieces together so perfectly, his body screams sensual male ruggedness.

  The pants I glimpsed before are tight black pants that form to his muscular thighs, but not in a girlish way. He sits with one ankle resting on the opposite knee while leaning his arm on the armrest. His black and gray striped long sleeved shirt fits tightly to his chest, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing tanned muscular forearms. The black ink tattooed along the outside of his wrist draws me in, and I trace the thick lines up his forearm, stopping just below his elbows. I can’t quite make it out: a shaded tribal design or symbol of some sort. A gray beanie rests casually on his head of dirty blonde hair, the front bangs swept off to the right side of his brow, and his hair has a slight curl peeking out around the back of his neck and ears. His nose is perfect. Not entirely straight, but curved in all the right places and centered above two smooth, sensual lips, the bottom slightly larger than the top.

  Images of kissing those lips, experiencing the taste of his mouth, and finding out if those lips are as pillow soft as they look, converge in my depraved mind. I haven’t had sex, of any sort, in months, and this dry spell has me creating scenarios I’d much rather replay when I’m alone. My fingers twitch to run up his biceps, along his nape. To caress the smooth line of his jaw and glide my fingers through that long hair…

  “Marlena Aldrich?”

  The soft, lyrical voice calling my name snaps me out of my inappropriate fantasy. My anxiety was temporarily at bay by my wet daydream, but those two words bring it flooding back with vengeance.

  Glancing towards reception, I see the gorgeous blonde woman, who had been talking to my current distraction, has called my name. So absorbed in my daydream, I didn’t even realize she had vacated their conversation and was now standing by the receptionist’s desk.

  I glance towards that beautiful man—who is now watching me thoughtfully—before ruefully tearing my gaze away. Throwing my shoulders back, I walk with the confidence I know I don’t have, while hoping my embarrassment isn’t obvious.

  “Yes, I’m Marlena,” I call out as I approach, reaching out my hand to her. She shakes my hand with a firm grip. The burn in my stomach is rescinding a little with each step I take; although, I know my palms are slightly sweaty in her grasp. My cheeks flood with warmth while I pray she doesn’t notice.

  “My name is Michelle Bryant. I will conduct your interview today. I’m sorry I’m running late. If you will follow me right this way, we can head up to my office now.” She gestures her arm to the bank of elevators behind the reception area.

  I smile an affirmative at her as I follow her to the elevator. This is it, I think, while trying to control my racing heart. Although, now I don’t know if it is entirely my anxiety’s fault or that damn pair of blue eyes I won’t be able to get out of my head tonight.

  Reeling with post-interview excitement, I entered the quiet elevator, anxiety nerves long forgotten. My life rides on this roller coaster of emotions, rolling from the low to the high. And right then, I was cresting a high.

  I despise interviews. They are straight up nerve-wracking no matter how confident you are. Half of the questions seem irrelevant, and the other half I’m not quick witted enough to answer without stalling with uh’s and um’s. The only decent answers are tiny little white lies told to make a good impression.

  Several times during my interview, I quietly reminded myself it’s unprofessional to smear my previous employer. Especially when Michelle inquired about that job.

  “What did you think of your previous boss?” She had asked, while smiling an overly bright smile of straight, white teeth. I think she was doped up on too much caffeine. Normal people are not that exuberant while giving interviews, at least in my limited experience. Interviewing seems tedious and time consuming and probably not very riveting.

  “He was a Grade-A asshole.” I had wanted to say. However, I couldn’t tell her that. Everybody knows that’s Interviewing Rules 101.

  Instead, I had said, “He was a likeable person, but we disagreed on what opportunities were available for me at the company, and I decided to move on to pursue new field.” Ugh, gag me. My skin crawls to paint that creepy bastard in such a flattering light. Likeable? As likeable as a piece of dog shit on the bottom of my flats.

  After the standard “about you” questions, she moved on to the “what would/did you do” series of questions. The questions that turn my brain to mush. The type of question where you give your best ass kissing answer while hoping to prove you have outstanding morals.

  I stumbled through what should have been well-practiced answers, hoping to make a good impression and not sound like as much of an idiot as I felt. Those questions always catch me of guard.

  I miraculously impressed her. She hired me on the spot and handed me a packet of information regarding my first day on the job—where to park, what time to arrive, dress code, important job responsibilities, and a key for opening in the mornings.

  The sudden ringing of my cell alerted me to an incoming call, bringing me back to the here and now.

  As I dig through my purse for my phone, the elevator banks in the lobby. The doors slide open, and I step off, still searching the seemingly bottomless black bag. A black phone in a black purse was a terrible idea. As soon as I get a paycheck, I’m buying myself a hot pink phone case.

  My eyes are down, staring unseeing into the dark abyss of my accessory when my thoughts are interrupted as I slam into a hard wall and bounce right back into the elevator, landing on the floor on my back. My head hits the floor with a crack, pain shooting through my skull, and my purse spills everywhere.

  “Shit, are you all right?”

  I blink. The obnoxious fluorescent overhead elevator lights blind me momentarily. As I pull myself into a sitting position, I crane my head to the left, then to the right. A dull thud starts near the base of my skull, to the tempo of my heart, thrumming through my head. I drop my face into my hands and let out a slow, pained groan.

  “Hello? Are you okay?”

  I hear the voice the second time and it pulls me from my internal wellness check. Without looking up, I know that the voice belongs to him. The beautiful man from the lobby. Oh yes, as if running into a stranger head on and falling on my ass wasn’t embarrassing enough, I had to run head on into this delectable specimen of a man. At least now I have first-hand experience his body is as hard as I fantasized it would be. Built like a freaking truck.

  “I think I’m okay,” I respond, without raising my head. My cheeks are burning crimson. It’s much safer if I keep my head down. I’m in the middle of contemplating how to vacate this mortifying situation, when I feel a soft, warm hand lightly squeezing my shoulder. My head raises to stare into those blue eyes peering over my features.

  God, they’re as stunning as the Caribbean Sea. I’m stranded on an island surrounded by th
ose clear pools of blue, but somehow I know down to my soul, if I’d just jump in and let go, I’d drown peacefully in those endless blue depths. And that would be perfectly fine with me.

  This powerful man lowers himself gracefully into a squat on the floor next to me, and the movement breaks my focus, reminding me I’m an idiot. His gaze slowly rakes my face, searching for signs of… what? Pain? Discomfort? Because I have plenty of discomfort. His stare is causing me discomfort… right between my thighs. It takes all my willpower not to squirm.

  “Can you get up? Do you need to see a doctor?” The concern in his voice envelops my body in warmth, like soaking up the sun on a bright summer day.

  “I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking. My phone was ringing, and I was just so distracted. I didn’t mean to run into you.” Word vomit. A product of my anxiety.

  He chuckles a low, deep sound that makes my body tingle. He reaches down to grip my hand and help me to my feet.

  As I place my hand in his, a shock of electricity shoots through my palm and races up my arm at the contact. I barely stifle a gasp and my knees go weak, causing me to stumble forward back into that damn hard muscled chest. The aroma of cologne and pure male aggravates my senses in a psychological way. As if I’ve undergone Pavlovian conditioning and my body automatically responds to the slightest whiff of his delicious scent. Has a man every smelled so intoxicating? Slowly lifting my gaze upward, I catch his looking down at me. He’s still gripping my hand tightly.

  “Are you certain you’re okay? You’re not woozy or anything?”

  Humiliation rushes through me. I rip my hand away from his, shake it a few times, and wipe my palms on my pants as if I can erase the lingering tingle.

  “Are you always this persistent? I said I’m fine the first three times you asked!” I snap.

  Now thoroughly embarrassed, I gather my spilled belongings as quickly as I can manage and push my way out of the elevator door. I resist looking to see if he is following me as I stomp, not so gracefully, toward the lobby. The feel of his hand and his chest pressed against me still affect me. His scent still overwhelming my olfactory bulb.

  I pointedly ignore the few people in the lobby, but I swear I catch a nasty grin from the receptionist as I pass by her station. Surely, she didn’t miss the exchange in the quiet elevator bank. I throw out a haughty, “Have a nice day,” as I glide by and push my way out into the midday sunshine.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “We have to go out to celebrate!” Carly, my best friend of four years, and biggest supporter, would never miss an opportunity to party.

  We met in high school after she transferred from being homeschooled her whole life. Unfortunately, she had a hard time fitting in. Carly was so painfully shy she could hardly string a few words together, let alone carry a full conversation. High school was a catty, judgmental place, and in the beginning she simply didn’t fit the mold. She wore her raven colored hair long with a moderate amount of frizz and a slight wave, as if she didn’t own a straightener, or curling iron, or any styling product. Her clothes weren’t the most fashionable, although she wore them well. She was pretty, but did nothing to accentuate those features.

  It wasn’t until sophomore year when we were paired as lab partners in Chemistry that I discovered she was a true gem. Being forced to work together for lab assignments, she opened up and showed what a kind, funny, smart girl she was. She got me like no other. We liked the same bands, read the same books, and after a small amount of persuasion from me, liked the same clothes. I helped her grow out of her awkward stage, and now I’m a little envious of her. College has taken that growing bud I nurtured and helped her bloom into a beautiful, inspiring, spirited woman. If I didn’t already know she wasn’t a virgin, I might be a bit scared for her. She has guys from all walks of life knocking on her door. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

  Carly had moved away from our hometown about a year ago so I feel extremely lucky to have her close again at a time in my life where it feels like I have nothing left. Starting out new isn’t nearly as frightening with my best friend close enough to have my back.

  “Are you sure you don’t have other plans? Midterms to study? It’s just a job. We can celebrate it another day.”

  Not that I didn’t want to go out, because I did. Getting lost in the loud body rocking music with a drink in my hand sounded good right about now. But seeing as I haven’t lived here long, I know she has a clique she parties with regularly. I don’t want her to break plans on my account.

  “Nope! I finished my last midterm today. It’s spring break, silly. We are going out. There is nothing I’d rather do than go clubbing with you.”

  I have zero hope of winning against her insistence. She’s going out with or without me, but when Carly wants something, she gets it. So I give in but mask the relief in my voice. I’ve missed her, but I don’t want to let her know how much. I don’t want her to worry. “All right! All right. You win. Come over at nine. We can get ready here and take a cab from my place.”

  Carly giggles a light, lyrical sound. “Sure thing, doll. See you then.”

  “Later.”

  The call disconnects, and I stare at my cell for a moment. It’s just after five o’clock yet it feels much later. I reflect on my day, my thoughts drifting to the mysterious man I pressed up against in the elevator…

  Oh God, I have to stop this. I need to hit the gym before a long night out downtown. A long run on the treadmill will give my head a chance to rid the dirty thoughts, and my body could use a good workout. A night of binge drinking is definitely not a productive intake of my daily allotted calories. I didn’t used to care about my weight or watch what I put in my mouth. But ever since my ex told me my thighs were getting bigger than his, I started to care. A lot. Up until we broke up, I worked out religiously. After, well, I suspect my lack of appetite took care of the extra weight for me. Now, I run as a way to relieve stress.

  ***

  My feet pound the treadmill, following the rapid beat of the techno song pouring out of my iPod’s headphones. Sweat runs down my face as the stress from the last few weeks leaks out of my system. The internet searching, resume writing, job hunting monotony added an unwanted load of stress to my life, but it needed to be done.

  I had to get out of the place where he still visited. The blatant stares from my coworkers that they cast my way whenever he showed up were a mixture of sympathy and denial. Our old mutual friends were now only his friends. They left me. I was alone in my workplace with the devil himself as my boss and near constant reminders of the life I was forced to leave. The only way to cleanse the past from my life was to make it nothing more than a memory.

  David—also known as dad— had left us when I was five. David walked out to save his own sorry ass, and even though his destruction was out of our lives, it only led the rest of the family down a path of desolation. At five years old, it couldn’t have possibly been my fault, but in my mother’s mind, I was still to blame. Or maybe I was just the easiest target. She claimed the now open title of family aggressor and took out her anger of David leaving on me. She wasn’t physical, but her verbal abuse could slice through even the thickest confidence. Since I grew up with virtually no self-esteem, her words strongly affected me.

  My brother, DJ, wasn’t much better.

  I looked up to my brother since as far back as I can remember. Only two years older than myself, I still saw him as my defender. Whether it was a scary bug, a bad dream, or the mean kid down the street, DJ was always there ready to rescue me from the evilest of villains—except David. He couldn’t have done anything to spare me the pain.

  I like to believe that his withdrawal was because of his own guilt, not because he blames me, too. DJ walked out shortly before I graduated from high school, and I haven’t seen him since then. He had promised to wait, to take me with him, but he left without a word. The betrayal I feel from DJ is more powerful than that of my parents, combined.

  Is the pattern ob
vious yet? It was my turn to walk away before someone else could turn their back on me. I vowed never to let someone important walk away from me again. Travis may have broken my heart in the cruelest of ways, but I left before he had the chance to coax me into giving him another chance. I’m ashamed to admit I have a history of taking him back.

  I slow the treadmill to a brisk walk, leaving my thoughts behind for my cool down. The three miles I typically have to push through flowed easily from my system tonight. I hit the showers before heading out to my car. Remembering my fridge at home is embarrassingly empty, I pick up Subway for dinner and leisurely drive home.

  An hour later, I sit on my couch, flipping through the television channels. I am just stuffing the last delicious bite of my turkey sub into my mouth when my door flies open, and Carly comes waltzing inside, bags in tow.

  “Are you here for the night or staying for the week?” I ask, eyeing the bags dubiously.

  She laughs a high-pitched squeal, a mischievous look in her dark brown eyes. “Of course I’m not staying for the week. But we are going out to celebrate, and I thought you could use a new dress. Plus, half of this is just my stuff for getting all glammed up to go out.”

  “You have more beauty supplies than a drag queen,” I say, with a roll of my eyes. “Let me see the dress.”

  She tosses a black garment bag on the couch. I unzip it slowly, excited yet a little scared. Carly is known to be extreme at least eighty-five percent of the time. I clap my hands together when I see what’s inside, a sexy black mini dress. The slinky black material has a halter style bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Straps crisscross down the open, low back. Under the breasts, the sides are cut out offering a flash of exposed skin. I practically run to my bathroom to try it on, grinning like an idiot the entire way.