Wrapped Around Her Finger

LL

reer, my alarm decided to betray me. Of course, the train was packed, the cab line ridiculously long,

tertwined like it's some lazy Sunday afternoon. They shoot me annoyed looks, but I don't care. No

five blocks to go. My feet are already screaming in these damn heels, but I push on. Why did I wear t

the occasional barking dog. Normally, I'd enjoy it-the chaotic symphony of life that makes the

an juggling three shopping bags and a toddler clinging to her arm.

g through my veins. I take another look at my watch. Fifteen minutes. Oh God, I can't be late for tthis. GreenYield-THE GreenYield, the top agro firm in

ly into my path, his eyes glued to his phone. Seriously? I spin to

d panic. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for

ticeable. Of course, it would rain. Because why wouldn't it? As if this day could get any worse. I pull my blazer tight against me, as if that will someho

e entire future is hanging in the balance. Why does it feel like everyone is in slow motion today? I'm practically sprinting now, or as close to sp

t make it-barely. I force myself to focus on the next step, one heel in front of the other. I've done tougher things than this. I've survived inter

minutes left. My breath is coming faster now, but not from exhaustion. It's the clock. The relentle

it h

und, and I see it-a black Bentley speeding down the street, heading directly for a puddle the size of a small lake. My brain tries to

, everything freezes. I watch in horror as the wall of water arcs through the air, glistening in the dim light of the overca

instant, it cr

, but it's too late. My clothes cling to my body, heavy and soaked, the once-crisp fabric now sagging under the weight of the water. I lo

nding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The black car keeps going, speeding away like

mocking me, like the universe decided today would be the day everything goes wrong.

supposed

atch-9:18 AM. Tw

reenYield, my dream company, and imp

scre

to the pavement, though. How am I supposed to walk into that interview like this? How

m going to make it in time, and even if I do, I have no idea what I'm walking

and I spin around, suddenly aware

uldered, with an effortless kind of confidence that makes you forget how to speak. His dark hair, just long enough to curl at the edges, is slightly

handsome man I

here soaked to the skin. My brain struggles to catch up as he walks

ich and deep, like it belongs on an ad fo

mingling with a strange

am I suppose