Craving Mr. Cane

Olivia

Sweat is dripping on the sides of my face but the cold wind is refreshing. It's not the best first impression to show up windswept but I have no choice. 

I pedal faster. I want to arrive a little bit earlier so I have time to freshen up, and prepare myself. Preparation is always the key, I've read that somewhere. Interviews are always nerve-wracking and this is no different.   

This morning is important to me. It can make or break my future plans. My savings are dwindling by the day. We'll be out on the streets if I don't land a job by this month. 

I've donned my best attire, especially for this appointment. I have exactly five semi-formal blouses and this is my favorite white top. My denim lucky pants and my sensible shoes, my loafers, are the only pair I have that have no holes. They're perfect when riding my trusted bike. 

I've had this bike since I was a teenager. I don't care what other people say, I still use it since it's better than walking. Besides, bikes are fairly common here in the parks and forests surrounding the city. It's not this kind of an old bike, but still.

I live just outside the city and it takes me a good while to pedal myself out of traffic and into the heart of downtown Portland where the city’s business district is at the heart of it all. There are numerous bicycle lanes here and I take one towards the skyscrapers. I’m trying my luck in applying to Cane Industries. It’s one of the biggest conglomerates and I really need to make a good impression. This is a big opportunity for me and frankly, I need the money and success badly.

My interview is in an hour and I'm planning to get there in 10 minutes. I pedal faster. 

I see the parking lot to the building in the distance. As I turn to that side, I cross my mental checklist of the items I would need for my interview. 

Resumé, check. Inside the folder. Phone in pocket, check. I have my... 

Blaring horns ring in my ears. Everything is white.

The entirety of the left of my body is numb. I'm lying on the pavement. 

I snap my eyes open. I blink back the spots in my eyesight. My head hurts. There's a pounding at the back of my skull. I shut my eyes. My ears are still ringing. 

Where's my bike? I need my bike. Shit, my left foot hurts so bad.

I need my bag. My phone. Oh no, my resumé must be crumpled. 

I shake my head, forcing my eyes open again. My vision is clearer now.

There's a shadow blocking the sunlight. I try to wipe the liquid on my eye, obstructing my view. Blood mixed with sweat causes smarting pain on the open wounds on my face.

It hurts to move my left arm. 

A quick glance confirms I have skid burns from my bicep down to my wrist. The skin is red, raw, and tender. There's shouting in the distance and I come to my senses. 

I've collided with a vehicle, landed on my left side and I'm now face-planted on the hot cement of Cane Industries. 

There's an insistent hand pressing on my shoulder. I flinch on instinct, moving my body in the opposite direction but it hurts to do so.

I force my body to roll over and get up. I'm on my knees, blindly bracing my right hand on what feels like the tire of a car. 

Looking down, a button on my blouse is missing. There's blood on my white top. It’s ruined. No more good impression.

I have to get to my appointment! 

Checking around, I see the front tire of my bike is flat. The handlebars are bent in an angle. The back tires are spinning wildly, almost mocking me.

Oh no, no, no. It took me months to save up for that bike.

A man is shouting somewhere above me.

"What the actual fuck?! Why did you cross the street?" 

"What?" I see my bag is open, my belongings scattered on the street.

"I said the light was red! You came out of nowhere." 

I reach over and check my phone. Shit, the screen is cracked.

“Huh?” I must be still in a state of shock. Nothing is registering. It’s a man, he’s speaking but I don’t understand what he's saying. 

"Didn't you see the stop light? Are you blind or just stupid?!" The man's grating voice tries to get my attention.

Well, that's annoying. I'm bleeding here on the street, with my wrecked bike and cracked phone, and this guy would not quit swearing at me. 

"I was on the bike lane, you asshole! And the sign was clearly green! You ran me over!"

"No, are you insane? Why would I do that?" 

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe you're the crazy asshole! Why are you blaming me? You're the one with the big ass car! You dickhead!" I flip the bird in his general direction. I'm screaming my lungs out, certain that I'm causing a scene. 

I really actually do not care. I might have a concussion, that's my excuse. 

I look up in a rage, ready to curse him some more when I finally notice his appearance.

He is not bad-looking. Not at all. My mind is busy listing his attractive features against my will. Stop it, Olivia, I am so mad at this guy. 

He cocks his head, he looks me up and down. From my ankle to my crumpled and bloodied shirt and focusing on my face. 

He squints. 

The sun must be too hot this morning since my face is burning. I focus my eyes on the pavement in front of me. Searching for my other belongings.

"So what now? You wrecked my bike." I point to my crumpled transportation. "You have to pay for that."

He’s still studying my pitiful appearance. 

"What an ass," I added, just for the sake of the insult.

The next thing I see is his calling card next to my now swollen ankle. Is this his way of apologizing? What in the actual hell? I snatch it up and pocket it safely so that I know how to contact this prick and make him pay.

He moves so fast, that I barely catch the back of his clearly expensive suit as he slams his car door and drives into the building's parking lot. Clearly not minding that he just almost killed someone. He just drove away without a care in the world. 

Meanwhile, I’m left here on the pavement with my whole world upside down. Who does he think he is? Even if he is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, that doesn’t give him the license to be a total and complete dick. 

I want to follow him, maybe I'll get lucky and slap his stupidly proportional face.  

At least I know where he works. I can just look for him at this building after my interview. He's not escaping me, I'll make sure of that. 

The cars keep on blaring on the street, it brings me back to my current dilemma. 

At this point, the building's security is eyeing me with a skeptical look. Great, this is just making my blood boil. I was the one who was run over but he's looking at me like this is all my fault? What is wrong with these people?

It's that rude guy's fault entirely! And he doesn't even have the decency to ask me if I'm okay or drive me to the hospital. If I don't have an interview, I would definitely hunt him down and give him a piece of my mind. 

I'm still swearing at him when I finally gather my belongings. Looking around, I limp towards my bike and pick it up. God, this sucks. I prop what's left of it up against the wall. 

I smooth out the rest of my attire. There's blood on my white blouse and I'm pretty sure my face is bleeding and scratched as hell. Even if I have the money for makeup, no foundation can cover this amount of damage. 

I check my watch if I have time to wash my face and appear decent before my interview. 

I have exactly 5 minutes. 

I run towards the elevators and hope for the best.