Running on Empty (4 page)

I wiggle free from the vice grip holding my arm.

“Get on your bike? In this?” I move my hand, performing a perfectly executed Vanna White demonstration of the black and white striped pencil skirt I’m wearing. Does he not understand the simple design of the pencil skirt? There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to straddle that bike seat. And I’m pretty sure I can’t side saddle it either, not with those pesky safety laws. Nope...there’s absolutely
no way
I’m getting on that stupid ass bike. “Not gonna happen, buddy.”

“Alex, if I have to pick you up, put you over my shoulder, and physically place you on my bike, I will. So yes, it’s gonna happen. You can either do so with dignity, or we can do it my way. Your choice.”

I stare at him with the best mommy death stare I can conjure up, and he holds it with no fear.
Shit
…this stuff always works with the girls. I’m now in a very unfamiliar territory. And unfortunately, it starts to seep into my brain that I have no more time to argue with him about this stupid situation if I want to keep both my business and my best friend.

“Fine!”

Blake breathes a sigh of relief and I notice his face slowly turning back to its normal color. He turns to walk back to his bike and I hesitantly follow him. He takes a helmet from the back compartment and hands it to me, then looks directly at the top of my head.

“Um…I think you have something in your hair.” He makes a move to touch my toothpaste bubble and I knock his hand away, rather vehemently.

“It’s a present from my daughter,” I state with annoyance, slamming the helmet down onto my head. Not really knowing what to do with the strap, I attempt to buckle it under my chin. He in turn slaps my hand away from the strap,
the nerve of this guy
, and buckles it, tightening it until it fits perfectly. His fingers stall for a minute, grazing across my chin and as they do, I find myself looking him dead straight in the eyes. I do this for two reasons. One, to let him know that touching me is
not
okay. He must get this one pretty quick because he promptly removes his fingers from my chin. And two, as much as I hate to do it… “Thank you, Blake.”

Blake looks at me for a brief second and I watch the left corner of his mouth slightly curve upward. He turns quickly and begins to fish his keys out of his pocket. When he turns back around, his face is completely void of any effect the last two seconds had on him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

For some reason, this sends a pang of hurt to my heart. What the hell is wrong with me? First the “almost” tears and now this…I need to get the hell out of here.

“I agree,” I quickly bite back.

Approaching the bike, I mentally work through several different strategies for conquering the seating issue at hand. Landing on the most plausible, I know what I have to do. But, I need to make sure he’s on his bike and facing forward for this to happen.

“Go ahead and get on,” I tell Blake, gesturing with my hand towards his bike. Surprisingly, he does so with no gratuitous commenting. Once he’s on the bike, I make sure his eyes are forward. I start to fold my skirt up until it hits middle of my thigh. I start to climb on, but there still isn’t room for me to straddle the seat.
Shit
. I proceed with the next fold, and start to lift my leg over the bike. As I lower my body to take my seat…

“Woo-hoo!”

“Nice legs!”

“Ride
me
, baby!”

I hear horns, catcalls, and whistling as people pass us on the interstate.
Punks…

I shudder with embarrassment, glad to have the helmet over my face. I’m sure it’s turning crimson and the last thing I want Blake Morgan to see is my face beaming the exact shade of red it did when I received “the talk” from my parents.
So embarrassing.

“Get to work assholes!” I yell back at them. I feel Blake’s shoulders begin to shake from his laughter. “Shut
up
, Blake. Let’s go!”

I tightly wrap my arms around his midsection; I’m actually glad that I’m so pissed off right now. Pissed off is my guarantee that my mind won’t wander to places I don’t want to deal with.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask him, suddenly realizing we have yet to discuss the exact location of my office.

“Yeah, you bought Ms. Parnell’s old office, right?”

“Er – yes. How did you know that?”

“My parents still live here, Alex. I know a lot of things.”

With nothing left to say, he starts up his bike and we drive the whole way to my office in silence. Not that we really have a choice. You can’t hear a damn thing riding a motorcycle, going what feels like one hundred miles per hour, with a helmet on.

Shortly after, we pull into the Prestige Staffing parking lot. After Blake gets off, I make him turn around so I can lift my leg over the seat. Once successfully completed, I make my move to get off this freakin’ death trap on wheels. Setting my foot down on the gravel, my ankle rolls slightly.

Damn shoes again! I
really
need to get started on that letter to Nike.

I grab Blake’s shirt to steady myself, immediately realizing my mistake. Once again, two inches from his face, I find myself momentarily lost.

Immediately letting go, I start to take off the helmet and wince when it pulls some of the hairs out of the top of my head. Once the helmet is removed, I look down to see that some of the toothpaste has oozed off my head and found a new happy home in the top of Blake’s helmet. I decide to keep this bit of information to myself.

Silently laughing at my secret, I pass the helmet back to Blake. I reach my hand up to feel that I now have long strands of hair sticking straight up from where the helmet pulled them out of my ponytail. I laugh again to myself, but this time it’s more of an admission of defeat. Obviously my hair and I are in some sort of sick power struggle today.

Blake clears his throat – I think in an honest attempt not to laugh in my face – and turns his attention to cutting the engine. I finally roll down my skirt back to its original length, smoothing any wrinkles, when I look up to see Blake staring at me. I start to say something to end this wonderfully awkward moment, when the front door to the office opens and I hear Harlow yelling from the doorway.

“Eight twenty-nine, and with one minute to spare! Good thing for you the appointment wasn’t really until nine o’clock,” she says smiling at me, an ornery grin plastered on her face. She moves her eyes from me to focus on Blake. “Blake Morgan, is that you?” She flashes him her notorious “Harlow smile”. “It’s about time you got here. Took you long enough.” Then, rather ominously, she slowly closes the door to leave me in an even
more
awkward moment. What the hell did that even mean? I shake my head in an attempt to clear it.

I turn my attention back to Blake. “Thanks again. Evidently, I made it with thirty-
one
minutes to spare. Sorry, I assumed my partner wouldn’t use the ‘change the time so you’re actually on time’ ploy while I was stranded on the side of the road fearing for my life.”

Blake looks back at the front door of my office. “You’re partners with Harlow Reed. I completely forgot about that,” he snickers sarcastically.

“Um, yeah? Is that a problem?”

“No,” he offers. “I’m just surprised you get anything done that’s all.” He puts his helmet on while still laughing. “See ya Alex.”

He starts his engine and I watch him drive off.

Jerk.

I think of the toothpaste in his helmet, probably grasping the hairs on the top of his head right this very minute.
Yeah, well, who’s laughing now?
I walk toward my office, ready to conquer the day. I look down at my empty hands. Oops.

I wonder if Harlow’s figured out there will be no coffee or donuts until
after
our morning appointment?

Walking briskly into Harlow’s office, I shut the door behind me. “What the hell
was
that out there?” I once again attempt the mommy death stare.

“What the hell is
that
right there?” she counters quickly, biting back a laugh. She points at my head. “Seriously, Alex, you never cease to amaze me. What are we calling this morning’s hair creation? This has got to be one of the worst hair days you’ve had in the last, um, what? Thirty days?” Seriously, the death stare needs an upgrade…mommy death stare 2.0 maybe.

“Shut your yapper, Harlow. With the morning I’ve already had, you’re treading on very thin ice, so watch yourself,” I say, shoving my pointer finger in her face. “What the hell was that outside with Blake? Took you long enough? That was really creepy…even for you. Like…wooo-wooo, psychic lady from
Poltergeist
creepy,” I say, waving my hands around mimicking a ghost. “What
was
that?”

“You don’t need to be worrying about what I’m doing. What you need to be worrying about is that freaking bird’s nest you’ve got going on up there. Complete with bird poop I see.” She reaches up to touch my hair, makes a face, and wipes her fingers on her Ann Taylor pleated trouser pants. “Gross, Alex. Seriously, go fix your hair. We have this interview in ‘T’ minus twenty minutes. Please, go make yourself presentable. This is a big fish and we need the commission.”

Rolling my eyes at her, I reach for the purse that’s always draped across my body and resides permanently on my hip. Well, the purse that
usually
resides on my hip. What the–

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God! Harlow…I left my purse in the Suburban…I left
everything
in the Suburban! Including my laptop.” I start to feel as though I’m hyperventilating. “I don’t think I even locked the door. Oh my God, Harlow…what am I going to do?”

Harlow walks over and places both hands on my shoulders. “Alex, calm down. Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Look, I have some basic toiletries in the bathroom, you know, for when I have the occasional overnighter.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. My face pinches in disgust and I shake my head, trying to clear the God-awful image.
Too much information…

“Everything you need should be under the sink. Go, fix yourself. We’ll do the interview and then we’ll go take care of the truck. No worries. It’ll be fine.” She pivots me toward the bathroom and shoves me with just a little too much oomph.

I turn to argue but I’m given what she has evidently developed as her own Harlow death stare. “GO!”

I sigh loudly so she can note my protest and stomp into the bathroom. I turn on the light and can do nothing but stare at the reflection looking back at me.

Get a grip, Alex.

I pull the hair band from the back of my hair and shake my head until my brown hair falls across my shoulders. Turning on the sink, I wet the top of my head and grab the hand towel from the rack. Scrubbing until I feel my hair is finally toothpaste free, I brush it out, only to place it back in a low, yet professional, pony tail. I use the flat iron to take care of any frizz that was added by Blake’s helmet, making the back of the pony tail as smooth as I can get it.

I can’t believe Harlow keeps a flat iron here. I open the doors to the cabinet under the sink. I take note of the toothbrush, toothpaste, make-up bag, eye-makeup remover, hairspray…all under the counter. Man, she keeps a lot of stuff in here. How many overnighters does this woman have?