Running on Empty (3 page)

I noticed the familiar warning regarding my gas level when I got back into my car. I guess I didn’t hear it earlier this morning over my lovely children yelling and screaming at each other. Days like this, I really miss Derek. He always made sure I had enough gas to make the morning rounds. He absolutely hated when I had to get gas by myself and made every effort to make sure I never had to. After three years, you’d think I would have managed to not depend on my husband to still do certain things for me. Yet, three years later, here I am, once again on empty.

And now I find myself driving down I-35, becoming increasingly nervous that I made the
wrong
decision. I push my foot down on the gas pedal to pass some poor old couple that evidently started driving when the Model T came out, when…nothing. My car starts slowing and as I push down on the pedal, I realize that I have indeed made the wrong decision. My car has stalled. I pull over to the side of the interstate and throw my car into park.

“Seriously? Can
anything
go right today? Harlow’s going to freakin’ kill me!” Ten minutes late is still within Harlow’s “not going to kick ass” window, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to throw me into some unknown realm of Harlow fury.

I pull out my cell phone and punch in the number to our office.

“Prestige Staffing, Harlow Reed speaking.” She sounds flustered already, so I’m definitely not looking forward to this conversation.

“Um, Harlow…it’s Alex.”

“What’s up love? Are you on your way? We have that interview with the potential candidate for Synergy Accounting in, like, twenty minutes. So please, tell me you’re on your way.”

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.”

I turn quickly and start double-timing it, in the opposite direction of Blake, toward the gas station. I would love to just take off running, but unfortunately Nike has yet to make a great pair of heels. Or any heels for that matter…

Directly behind me, I hear him get on his motorcycle and start the engine, revving it a couple of times for added dramatic effect.
Bonafide asshole, definitely.
I mean, what kind of man leaves a woman stranded on the side of the road? I feel a knot in my throat and my eyes begin to form tears, but I refuse to let Blake Morgan see me cry.

I’m not sure if it’s the stress of the morning, or the fact that seeing Blake brings back all sorts of memories that I can’t emotionally deal with right now, but I’m starting to feel that empty feeling in my chest that’s never a good sign. I’m usually equipped with enough strength to keep all my emotions effectively buried throughout the day, and I mean
every
day, but I think the craziness of this morning has weakened my defenses. So I start walking faster in an effort to get out of the current situation as soon as possible.

I hear Blake’s motorcycle growling as it pulls up next to me. I keep my eyes forward and walk faster.

“Get on!” I hear Blake yell over the sound of his engine.

I shake my head. “Um, no. Thanks.” The Dory song from
Finding Nemo
keeps running though my mind…“Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking, walking, walking…”

He continues coasting alongside me. “Get on the bike, Alex!!”

“Seriously, Blake, get on with your good deeds for the day! I. Am. Fine!” I yell back at him to make sure he hears me over his ridiculously loud motorcycle. I seriously think he’s over compensating for some part of the male anatomy.

I start walking again and the sound of the engine ceases. I hear the familiar clanking rapidly approaching me from behind. Suddenly, I feel a hand grab my arm and I’m forcefully whipped around to find myself about two inches from Blake’s irritatingly handsome face. We’re so close that I can smell the mint on his breath as he speaks. It reminds me of how much I hate toothpaste.

“Alex, get your ass on this bike. I’ll take you to your office. We can deal with your truck later. I can still get you there within the now,” he pauses to look at his watch, “fifteen minute time frame to make sure you don’t getting strangled by your business partner. Think about it. Is your pride more important than your business?”