Not really sure how to break this to her, I opt to remain quiet while she figures it out herself.
Three…two…one…
“Tell me you’re on your way, Alex! I can’t do this one on my own. We both need to be here to make the decision. This one’s too big for only my opinion. It’s a freaking senior executive potential hire, Alex!”
Okay, Harlow’s usually a little high strung, but this is a little out of the norm…even for her. Odd. Maybe the pressure has finally gotten to her.
You see, Harlow and I started our own staffing firm right out of college – Prestige Staffing. We started our own business so that we could smoke in our office all day long, consume adult beverages during work hours, and do nothing but giggle and gossip all day. However, we both eventually quit smoking, quickly figured out that we were no good at anything while drinking and, since we couldn’t get any business while intoxicated, we had absolutely nothing to giggle or gossip about. So, we decided to start taking our business seriously.
Currently, we’re responsible for recruiting and interviewing potential hiring candidates for almost every company in Waco. Together, we can usually tell whether or not the person will be a good fit for the position before recommending them to the company for their own interviews. We have a proven track record, with over 95% of our referrals being placed with the companies. The commission on this potential candidate is HUGE. Yeah, Harlow’s definitely pissed.
“Listen, I know you’re upset–”
“Upset? Are you fucking kidding me? I. Am. Pissed!” Yes, just as I’d figured.
“Listen, I ran out of gas on I-35. See if you can stall him for half an hour. I’ll flag down an 18-wheeler if I have to. I will be there. I’ve never let you down and I’m not going to start now. Just hold him there as long as you can, okay?”
“Okay, Alex. But hurry the hell up! I have no idea what to stall him with. We only have enough coffee for one pot and no breakfast because you were supposed to pick that stuff up this morning, remember? I can’t stall him forever with my witty banter and mile long legs; there’s only so long that the poor man can ogle me. Your ass better be here in thirty minutes. Get. Here. ASAP.” I’m pretty sure I hear about three more F-bombs before catching dead air.
Oops. Maybe it’s a good thing I ran out of gas because neither the coffee nor the donuts made it into my possession today. I knew there was an actual reason I went to that gas station this morning!
“I’ll be there soon.” I say to absolutely no one but myself.
I step out onto the interstate...well, the side of the interstate, and attempt to flag the first few motorists I see. No luck. Obviously I’m not the only person running extremely late for work this morning. Sighing out loud, I resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to have to walk to the nearest station, which will definitely put me outside Harlow’s thirty minute time requirement. Turning on my heel to start the trek, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle slowing down behind me.
I hesitantly turn around, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, to catch a glimpse of whatever scary biker man has decided to be my hero this morning. I fully expect to see an old man with a beer belly and bandana covered head; complete with B.O., missing teeth, and a sweat stained wife beater. Like the hook-handed truck driver from Adventures in Babysitting! I am, however, pleasantly surprised by the delicious mirage that appears before me.
I watch the man lift his right leg over the bike and place it on the ground. Wow. This guy is huge and freakin’ tall. But anything would be tall to me, considering my five foot frame.
I hear the slow clanking of the buckles on his boots as he starts to walk toward me. Man, those are some freakin’ masculine boots. My eyes slowly graze upwards and I notice the worn look of his jeans; frayed a bit at the bottom, holes at the knee and snug at the hips. Do I dare keep going? Seriously, the temperature just raised 20°C out here. And this is Texas…in late August…
Not easily deterred, I do, in fact, keep going. His white v-neck t-shirt is stretched as far as it can go across his chest and biceps, falling a little more loosely over his stomach, while still managing to hug his hips. OMG. I’m totally not going to look any further; I can sense disappointment on the horizon.
Damn it. My eyes have a mind of their own as they keep wandering upward. I catch a glimpse of his light brown hair. It falls to his neck, with shorter layers everywhere, making the ends turn up slightly all over his head. It’s a hot mess. I never knew what that term meant until this moment right now. It’s perfectly messy. I wish my hair looked that good. I reach up and attempt to push down the bubbly toothpaste section of my hair. Okay, I’m actually starting to find this guy annoying.
I figure it’s better to just look at his face and get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid, the quicker the better, right? Either it will be horrendous, which at this point I’d prefer because no one should be this perfect, or he’ll be completely gorgeous and then I’ll keel over and die right here of embarrassment. Either way, I’d like to just get this part over with.
I quickly glance to his face. I privately note his sculpted jaw, perfect nose, and his beautiful mouth, his perfectly kissable mouth. And his perfect teeth, all of which I can now see because as he’s getting closer to me he’s…laughing at me? What the hell?
I’m about to give this random man a piece of my mind when I happen to catch a glimpse of his eyes. I find them a vaguely familiar shade of green, a light olive green. I narrow my eyes, allowing myself to really look at him. I look at his eyes, then his face, then his hair, then his shirt, jeans and boots. Oh. My. God.
“Well, Blake Morgan. What the hell are you doing back in town?”
I watch him while he rakes his hand through his hair and shakes his head, chuckling to himself. Oddly enough, this seems to make his hair look even more perfect.
Internal eye roll.
“I really don’t see what’s so funny, Blake.” I say his name in some weird new octave that I have never heard myself use. “I’m sure it’s easy to laugh when it isn’t you sitting on the side of the interstate at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Actually, Alex, I am sitting on the side of the interstate…at eight o’clock in the morning. I think that automatically gives me some allowance to laugh at the situation. However, that’s not what I’m laughing at. What I’m actually laughing at is that I’m literally just driving in to this god-forsaken town when I see you, stranded on the side of the road and because I’m such a nice guy, I’m forced to stop and help. Fate tends to be cruel sometimes.”
Um…ouch. And completely unnecessary. What the hell did I ever do to Blake Morgan? I mean, I haven’t seen him since high school, so either I did something really massive back then that you’d think I’d remember based on his latent anger, or he’s just a bonafide asshole. At this point, I’m leaning toward the latter.
I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Look, I didn’t ask you to stop so don’t take it out on me that you’re a nice guy, although I think your definition of nice might be a little skewed when compared to normal people’s. If you don’t want to help, then don’t. I don’t have time for this shit, Blake. I have to get to a gas station, get gas, get back here, get my car started, and get to work so that I can avoid being strangled by my business partner…all in about twenty minutes. So if you don’t mind, please be on your way and find another damsel in distress so you can meet this nice guy quota that you must have to complete. It was wonderful to see you again, Blake. I hope to not see you around anytime soon.”