Chapter 2

I dropped into my chair at my desk, still out of breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and my legs were shaking from sprinting all the way to the agency.

I leaned back, resting my head against the headrest, staring up at the lights above. 

I survived.

Yea sure, I probably looked like a homeless woman who stole something, but I made it. A travel agency office with ten employees, low-profile cubicles, and a broken coffee machine was the ultimate safe zone. Cyrus Crest was a dark romance billionaire, he operated in high-end penthouses, underground clubs, and dark alleyways. He wasn't going to pull up to a mid-tier travel agency in broad daylight. That would ruin his whole broody, dangerous aesthetic.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

I flinched, my head snapping to the side. Lana was leaning over my cubicle wall, holding an iced matcha latte in one hand and staring at me like I had two heads. 

Lana. My best friend since diaper days. I literally wrote her into this book as Erin’s ride-or-die coworker, she was sarcastic, fiercely loyal, and currently looking at my messy hair like she was contemplating calling an ambulance.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to act normal while smoothing down my hair.

"Erin, you look like you just got jumped by a gang of feral cats," she said, walking around the partition and pointing her straw at me. "Why the hell are you wearing baggy jeans and sneakers? You had that big presentation today. And where the hell is your handbag?"

I reached down to grab my purse off the floor out of habit, only to hit thin air.

Fuck.

My mind flashed back to the sidewalk. The static. Me falling on my ass. The black suit. When I scrambled away, I had dropped everything, my handbag, my wallet, my phone, and those stupid travel folders.

"I... lost it," I said, clearing my throat. "It’s a long story. I got... robbed? By a very tall guy in a suit."

Lana stared at me, deadpan. "You got mugged by a guy in a suit and your first thought was to go put on skate jeans and come to work?" she asked.

"I needed a fresh start today, okay? Don't judge my fit," I said, turning to my computer monitor and jiggling the mouse to wake up the screen. "Anyway, I'm just gonna sit here, do my job, and mind my own business."

"Yeah, well, your job is about to kick your ass if you don't open the Crest file," Lana said, tapping the edge of my monitor. "Mr. High-and-Mighty called the main line twenty minutes ago demanding to know why his travel package hadn't been finalized yet. Boss man is already sweating through his button-down."

My fingers froze over the keyboard. I turned my head slowly to look at her. "The Crest file?" I asked.

"Yeah. Crest Enterprises? Cyrus Crest?" Lana blinked at me. "The guy who booked out a whole private jet fleet and three luxury villas through us? You’ve been working on his account for three weeks, Erin. He literally requested you specifically."

I slapped my hands over my face and let out a groan.

Of course. Of fucking course I made myself his dedicated travel agent. I remembered typing that exact chapter at two in the morning while eating cold leftover fucking pizza. I had thought it was a brilliant way to force proximity between my main lead. Now? Past-Me was an idiot, and if I ever found a way back to my real apartment, I was deleting my entire hard drive.

"Hey, can you take it?" I asked desperately, grabbing Lana’s wrist. "Please, Lana. I’ll give you my commission. I’ll buy you coffee for a month. Just take the file."

"Are you insane?" Lana laughed, pulling her hand back. "He’s a nightmare, I heard he made a junior analyst cry last week just by looking at him. That psycho is all yours."

I wanted to cry, why , why, why Erin, why did you write this shit.

I clicked on the client portal and tried to reassign the account to Lana’s ID. I hit enter.

A familiar, bold red error box flashed on my screen:

Action Denied. Narrative Event Pending.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I whispered at the monitor, glaring at the pixels like they owed me money. The locked plot was literally blocking basic workplace software. I was trapped in this hell with a storyline that refused to let me off the hook.

Before I could try to bypass the system, the whispering in the office space went silent. The sound of clicking keyboards, ringing desk phones, and hushed chatter stopped all at once. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the space.

I peeked over my cubicle wall. Our manager, a middle-aged man named Greg who usually spent his days hiding in his office eating donuts, was practically sprinting toward the front door, frantically trying to button his jacket with shaking hands.

The glass front doors pushed open and two massive men in dark suits stepped in first, holding the doors open like human shields and then he walked in.

Cyrus Crest.

He moved with that effortless, predatory confidence I had spent three paragraphs describing in chapter four. Custom black suit, pristine white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, jet black hair slightly tousled, and an expression so cold it could freeze hot tea. He didn't look at Greg or the receptionist who was currently dropping her stapler on the floor.

His eyes swept across the room, ignoring the entire layout, until they locked on my cubicle.

In his left hand, hanging casually by the strap, was my black leather handbag. Tucked under his arm were my dropped travel folders and sitting right on top of the leather purse, screen lit up with a missed call notification, was my phone.

He had my whole damn life in his hands.

"Oh my god," Lana whispered beside me, her eyes wide. "Is that... him? Why is he holding a woman's purse?"

"Because he's a menace," I said, sinking down in my chair until my chin almost touched my desk.

Cyrus didn't pause. He walked right past the manager, past the rows of stunned travel agents. He stopped right at the edge of my partition. He leaned one broad shoulder against the wall, towering over my tiny desk. The scent of expensive cologne and crisp autumn air invaded my space.

He looked down at me. His eyes slowly traveled from my wild, uncombed hair, down to my graphic tee, and stopped at the baggy jeans visible under the desk. A tiny, almost invisible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You dropped these," he said, his voice deep and smooth, carrying across the silent office. He tossed my handbag and phone onto my desk with a soft thud. "Along with your manners when you decided to climb out of your bedroom window."

Lana choked on her latte. I stared at the purse sitting on my keyboard, then looked up into those icy blue eyes.

Fucking Cyrus.

"I was testing the fire escape," I said, keeping my voice completely flat and looking him dead in the eye. "Safety regulations. You can never be too careful."

He tilted his head, his gaze darkening with that intense, overbearing gravity I had so stupidly written into his character profile. He rested both hands on the top of my cubicle, trapping me in my seat.

"Is that so?" he asked softly, leaning in just enough so only I could hear him. "Well, Miss Rayne... your safety inspection is over. Get your file. We're going to my office."