chapter three

                                    

                                          
After collecting the dropped coffees and tray from the sidewalk and disposing it all in a nearby bin, I return to the man who has single-handedly ruined my morning. He looks handsome in his suit, something that plenty of other women notice as they pass him by. He pays them no notice as his gaze is glued to his phone.
                          
I check my own phone for the time, surprised to find that only five minutes has passed. It's plenty of time though for the coffee on my blouse to dry into a stiff, almost translucent stain that now looks worse than ever.
                          
"Give me a reason to be late for work," I say, and when he looks up and stares pointedly at my chest, I continue, "Like, some idiot didn't just bump into me and made me spill coffee down my front."
                          
"Just say you had an accident," he replies, and when I give him a pointed look he says, "non-fatal so you can still go into work."
                          
"You are very unhelpful."
                          
"You slept in," he says. "You were distracted by an insanely good-looking man and dropped coffee down your front."
                          
"Hopeless," I reiterate.
                          
"Take the day off," he counters. "Say you're sick."
                          
"I can't when I'm meeting half my colleagues for drinks tonight," I reply.
                          
"Hand me your phone," he says suddenly, and though there is authority behind his words, I can see a hint of reluctance on his face as I do as he says. "What's the name of someone you work with?"
                          
"Jessica," I say, because her name is the first to come to mind.
                          
He texts something to her, and within moments of sending it off, my phone starts to ring. He answers before I can even think to take it back.
                          
"That is me," the man says in response to Jessica's question. He looks my way, a smirk playing across his lips as he listens to whatever else my colleague has to say. "Well, Lucy had a bit of an accident on her way to work this morning and won't be in for another hour. She needs an excuse for being late."
                          
I have no idea what the hell is going on right now. First, who is this guy? And most importantly, why is Jessica talking to him like she knows him?
                          
My eyebrow lifts so high I'm surprised it doesn't get lost in my hairline.
                          
The man eventually says goodbye to Jessica, hangs up, then hands me back my phone. "Sorted," he says.
                          
I stare at him. Just like that, everything he started is 'sorted'. Rendered speechless, I have no idea what to say next.
                          
"Let's go," the man says, inclining his head in the direction of where he intends for us to go.
                          
I don't move, though. I stand rooted to the spot, because for someone to do what he just did, has to have some power somewhere. And Jessica is no airhead. She wouldn't go ahead with something unless she knew this guy or knows of him through reputation alone.
                          
"What's your name?" I ask him.
                          
The man cocks an eyebrow. His expression asks the question, 'Don't you know who I am'? but he doesn't verbalise it. Has someone not asked him the question before?
                          
I wait expectantly, because I'm not going to go anywhere with some random hot dude until I at least get his name.
                          
He turns back to me, heaving a sigh as he does so. "Kyle Ward," he says, and he extends his hand.
                          
The glare of the sun off the glass of the nearby buildings makes me squint, and the rising temperature from the proximity of bodies bypassing us makes me feel as though my hand is super clammy when I take his hand to shake it.