The Dirty Series 2(26)

He didn’t let anything soften the blow.

For all I know, the punches are still coming.

I have to get to him.

I run through the building’s lobby and slam my hands against the door, almost losing my balance as I throw myself out onto the sidewalk.

Cab. I need a cab.

I look left, then look right as the heat descends like a heavy blanket over the back of my neck.

Every cab for as far as I can see is occupied, and not a single one of them is pulling up to the curb to let someone out.

Pierce Industries is four blocks away.

I’ve never been there because we’ve always scheduled the PR meetings at HRM, but I’ll be damned if I don’t know the fastest way to get to my client at all times.

I give myself five more seconds to hail a cab, and when none appear, I take off running down the sidewalk, thanking my lucky stars that I’ve always been a natural in heels.

I’m instantly sweltering in the morning sun, and after a block I’m hugging the inside of the street, praying for awnings, but I don’t slow down. I move, move, move until I’m forced to stop by a do not walk sign—God help you if you cross against the light in New York City, and even if you’re walking with it, things can happen—taking off again as soon as the white hand blinks on.

The second block goes by in a blur of restaurants and people, some of whom actually step out of the way of the crazed woman running down the sidewalk at top speed in high heels, clutching her purse like she’s pursuing a thief.

Two blocks left, and the heat is getting to me.

I have to get there.

I have to tell him, right now, that I saw what he did, and that it means everything to me. I have to tell him that I know he’s telling the truth—that I know he’s fully aware that looking into the camera will bring people swooping in to investigate his every claim, and if they are not truthful, he will be eviscerated in the press and quite possibly arrested and sent to prison for identity theft.

One more block.

As I sprint across the intersection, blisters rising on my heels and the bottom of my feet, a couple of businessmen turn and step out of my way. It’s then that I see him, halfway down the block.

I slow to a half jog, not wanting to barrel into a crowd of reporters looking like a desperate, hot mess.

His lawyer steps up to the podium and raises both hands, saying something I can’t hear, and then both men turn their backs to the press gaggle and start to walk back toward the entrance. Just then, a heavily muscled man in a dark suit comes out of the building and stands in front of the doors, crossing his arms over his chest. Security to keep the press out.

I pick up the pace, hurrying toward them. This is going to be a complete pain in the ass if I don’t get there before he goes inside, an awkward phone call so that the guard knows to let me in, another fifteen minutes in the heat in front of the cameras, who will linger long enough to get more b-roll and film the reporter segments…

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the need to get to Christian—Elijah?—I can’t keep it straight—right now. As soon as he steps back into the building, he’s going to be surrounded by people demanding to know everything, and once that happens, all bets are off. I might not be able to get to him even if I can get inside.

Christian turns and looks back over his shoulder. Over the traffic noise, I can’t tell if he’s responding to another question or telling them that the interview is over, but it buys me another few seconds…

His lawyer reaches out, puts a hand on his shoulder, and both men turn back toward the doors. Fuck. I hustle forward, but my shoes cut into my feet, a searing line of pain where the skin has rubbed raw. I can’t—

“Christian!” I shout.

He doesn’t hear me, but a couple of the bloggers look my way. I don’t give a shit.

“Christian!” I shout again, at the top of my lungs, and now they’re all looking at me.

Christian’s lawyer nudges his arms, and he turns.

I can’t stop myself. It hurts like a bitch, running with the skin on my feet in this condition, but I don’t care, I go toward him like there’s no time left.

For all I know, maybe there isn’t.

His face is a mask of confusion, but as I come closer his eyes widen with surprise, and then, as he registers the expression on my face, delight.

I barrel into him, still moving so quickly that it almost takes both of us to the ground.

And then, in a completely unprofessional display, I lock my arms around his neck and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before in my life, like we’re alone in his bedroom, like this kiss will be enough to heal all the wounds between us, like I never want to stop.

I am lost in him. I never care to be found.