~ 7

Chapter 7

~ Kesley ~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My eyes snapped open. The ceiling was spinning. My head felt like it was splitting in two.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

I fumbled for my phone on the coffee table, knocking over an empty wine bottle in the process. It rolled across the floor with a hollow sound.

8:07 AM.

My heart stopped.

"NO!" I screamed, shooting upright so fast the room tilted. "NO, NO, NO!"

My interview was at 9 AM. I had fifty-three minutes to get to SpecterTech, and I was still wearing yesterday's clothes, sprawled on my couch, surrounded by empty bottles.

Last night, after hours of arguing and crying, Taraji had finally agreed to go to the Wednesday date herself. She'd confess everything to Niklaus — tell him she was the real Taraji Gilbert, and that the woman he met on Friday was just an actress she'd hired because she hated blind dates.

We'd celebrated the end of our nightmare with wine. Then more wine. Then vodka. "To telling the truth!" we'd toasted. "To no more lying!" Another glass. "To freedom!" And another.

Now my head was paying the price.

"TARAJI!" I screamed, looking around frantically.

She was on my floor, curled up like a cat, one arm thrown over her face, snoring softly.

"TARAJI, WAKE UP!"

"Mmmmph. Five more minutes."

"It's MONDAY MORNING!" I practically fell off the couch, my legs tangled in a throw blanket. "We overslept!"

Her eyes flew open. She grabbed her phone from beside her, looked at the screen, and let out a sound between a scream and a sob.

"I have to be at school in twenty minutes!" She scrambled to her feet, tripping over a wine bottle. "Oh my God, oh my God!"

"I have my interview!" I was already running to my bedroom, nearly crashing into the wall. "Why did we drink so much?"

"You said vodka would help!"

"I was DRUNK when I said that!"

Pure chaos erupted. We were both moving at tornado speed… grabbing clothes, stumbling over each other, cursing our life choices.

I yanked my interview outfit off the hanger. I pulled them on so fast I almost put the pants on backward.

"I need to brush my teeth!"

"Use the kitchen!"

I ran to the kitchen sink, squeezed toothpaste directly into my mouth — no time for the brush — and swished frantically while trying to fix my hair in the reflection of the microwave door. I looked like death. Worse than death. I looked like death's hungover cousin.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

Taraji burst out of the bathroom, her hair in a messy bun, her teacher clothes wrinkled beyond recognition. "I'm leaving!"

"Wait… Wednesday…"

"I'll handle it! I promise!" She grabbed her bag, shoved her feet into her shoes without untying them. "I'll tell Niklaus everything! Good luck with your interview!"

"Good luck with your kids!"

The door slammed behind her.

I was alone. Standing in my kitchen. Interview outfit half-on. Forty five minutes until my future began or ended.

I spit into the sink, rinsed my mouth, ran back to my room. Resume folder. Purse. Where were my heels? THERE. I grabbed them, checked myself in the mirror one last time.

Professional and composed.

I could do this.

8:21 AM.

I locked my door and ran down the apartment stairs, my heels clicking frantically. The morning air hit my face like a slap, cold and unforgiving.

The subway was packed. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Monday morning hell. I squeezed into a car, holding my resume folder above my head so it wouldn't get crushed, trying not to breathe on anyone.

I got off at my stop at 8:36. Twenty four minutes. SpecterTech headquarters was three blocks north. I could make it.

I started speed-walking, weaving through the morning crowd like I was running an obstacle course. Business people with coffee cups. Tourists with cameras. Street vendors setting up.

Two blocks, one block.

I was going to make it. I was actually going to…

CRASH.

I slammed into something solid. Someone solid. My shoulder hit hard, and I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the concrete.

"HEY! WATCH IT!" a man's voice yelled.

I tried to catch my balance, my arms flailing. My hand smacked into something metal — a large dolly or cart.

Everything happened in slow motion.

The delivery person lost his grip on the massive box he was wheeling. It tilted and started to fall.

"NO!" he shouted, lunging for it.

Too late.

The box hit the sidewalk with a sickening CRACK. The side burst open like a piñata from hell, and I watched in absolute horror as expensive electronics spilled out onto the concrete.

Cameras. Laptops. Tablets. All of them tumbling, crashing, breaking.

A laptop hit the curb edge-first. The screen shattered instantly.

A camera rolled into the street. A taxi ran over it with a CRUNCH.

A tablet skidded across the sidewalk and smashed into a lamppost.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh NO.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" The delivery guy stared at the carnage, then whipped around to face me, his face purple with rage. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID?!"

"I'm so sorry!" My voice was shaking. "I didn't mean to… I fell..."

"You just DESTROYED eight thousand dollars worth of equipment!" He was yelling now, loud enough that people were stopping to stare. "EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLARS!"

Eight thousand. The number hit me like a punch to the gut.

"I’m sorry… it wasn’t intentional…"

"This was supposed to be delivered to Henderson Tech in twenty minutes!" He pulled out his phone. "My supervisor is going to KILL me. And YOU'RE paying for ALL of this!"

"Please, I'm so sorry, I have to go, I have an interview…"

"I don't CARE what you have!" He was dialing now. "You're not going anywhere until we sort this out. I'm calling my boss. And the police."

"The police?" My voice came out as a squeak.

A crowd was forming. People with their phones out, recording. This was a nightmare. An actual, real-life nightmare.

"Please," I begged, checking my watch. 8:41. Nineteen minutes until my interview. "I have somewhere I really need to be…"

"You think I CARE?" He put the phone to his ear. "Yeah, boss? We have a major situation. Some woman just crashed into me and destroyed the entire Henderson delivery. Everything's smashed. ALL of it."

My hands were shaking. Eight thousand dollars. I didn't have eight thousand dollars. I have never had such an amount in my life. 

"I'll give you my information," I said desperately. "My phone number, my address, we can work this out later…"

"You're not going ANYWHERE." He was listening to his phone. "My supervisor says you stay right here. We need a police report for insurance. Company policy."

"But my interview…"

"I don't care about your interview!"

I looked at my watch again. 8:43.

Seventeen minutes until the interview I'd been dreaming about for months. The interview that was my last chance. My only chance.

And I was trapped on a street corner, surrounded by thousands of dollars of broken electronics, waiting for the police.

This couldn't be happening.

This could NOT be happening.