Page 7 of The One Who Got Away

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I cruised into the parking lot for Make A Change LLC, not hiding my surprise. The pictures on the website broadcasted nice facilities, but this? This was gorgeous. The building couldn’t be more than a few years old, glass windows and shiny metal glittering like some post-modern architect’s wet dream.

I checked the address again just to make sure. Yup. Once I stepped out of my car and moved toward the revolving door, Make A Change LLC glimmered above the entrance.

I cycled through, spilling into a lobby with marble floors and natural light bouncing off of walls covered with pop art. A group of kids gathered around an interactive display. Straight ahead was a reception desk. I’d been so worried I’d be out of place, expecting business suits and icy AC to match the receptionist’s icy attitude. Instead, she popped up from her seat, her dreads bouncing with every step as she made her way to me. She was in a Make A Change LLC t-shirt and black slacks, her Chucks squeaking on the floor. A gust of air hit me in the back and another volley of laughter erupted as more children skipped over to where the others were playing some counting game with a computer display.

“Hi!” She jutted out her hand, a spiked bracelet catching the light as I accepted it. “I’m Rosa. You must be Catherine.”

Before I could frown or look down at my chest for some nametag that I knew didn’t exist, she explained.

“I recognize you from the paperwork. I ran the background check.” She nodded her head in the direction of the gaggle of children. “Brand new tech we just got in. Completely immersive and the kids love it, even the ones who learned to count forever ago.”

I watched them for a moment, counting and clapping and singing with the projection. They were learning, and even I wanted to go over and count the images that popped out of thin air.

“Ready for the tour?” Rosa asked brightly. She returned to the desk and hit a button. The display on the wall read that she was giving a tour and to hit the assistance button if you needed help. She dug into a jar of Hershey’s Kisses and handed me several caramel ones that were the same color as her skin. “We’ll stop in the lounge upstairs and grab something to drink.” She was moving at the speed of light and talking a million miles a minute. “What’s your drink of choice? We have coffee, hot and iced tea, guava juice, and orange juice.” She cast a grin over her shoulder. “Once the little ones go home, we bust out the good stuff. Beer, wine, even champagne if you’re feeling fancy.”

My head was spinning and I struggled to stay in step with her, my boots gliding from marble to hardwood floor as the elevator took us to the second floor. I followed her down the corridor. The walls were lined with all the projects the organization spearheaded, from hunger relief to issues abroad, helping refugees and children in areas of the world where heartbreaking circumstances made children grow up far too soon...if they even got the chance to live past their 10th birthday. I paused at Backpacks for Change, the bright blue letters trumpeting that a backpack was more than just that. The program provided educational assistance to at-risk youth: tutoring, after school help, and mentorship programs to inspire and motivate kids to work hard and shoot for the stars.

This building, all the resources that were clearly on hand, was overwhelming. My eyes swam with emotion when I remembered the nonprofits I worked at in the past. Home base was generally in the neighborhoods we served, in buildings as dilapidated as the places the kids and their families called home, complete with bars on the windows. This place shined like some mirage in the desert. No bars, no security guard on hand to make sure the good work we were trying to do wasn’t deterred by theft, vandalism, or worst.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped until Rosa cleared her throat.

“Everything okay?”

When I shook from my stupor and glanced back at her, I saw genuine concern.

I blinked away the tears and stretched my lips into a smile. A sad one, but a smile nonetheless. “I can’t believe I’ll get to work here.” I nearly burst into tears when children’s laughter followed us from the lobby. “In the past, the organizations I worked for were pinching pennies and plugging leaks in funding with Band-Aids.”

“No Band-Aids here.” Rosa put a kind hand on my shoulder. “Just a group of people that want to make the world a better place.” She released me and turned into the next door on her right.

Excitement for what came next propelled me forward. It was a break room, though using that word seemed inadequate at best. The break rooms I’d experienced had peeling linoleum, countertops and tables in need of TLC, and cabinets missing knobs. The tables were tiny and the chairs were far from comfortable and if there was a TV, it had stopped working long ago.

Like the lobby and the halls, the room sparkled and gleamed. I felt like I was in an IKEA showroom. Every piece of furniture was luxurious. There was a modular sofa, a bonafide indoor rock garden complete with a wall of water that trickled over smooth pebbles, and carefully curated tables and comfy chairs. No expense was spared.

My eyes took in every square inch with glee and wonder. This place would be my new-

My gaze stopped hard when I hit the bar area. The bar top stretched in a square formation, stools nestled in place. There was an espresso machine, the smell of ground espresso beans and brewing coffee filling me with warmth. And when I saw the man behind the bar, I was filled with something else: lust.

Even from behind, he was something to behold. He had on a black leather jacket with a charcoal gray hoodie. On anyone else, it would have looked juvenile, hipster even. Like someone emulating ‘rugged’ based on what they saw in a magazine or on some TV show. This guy was all man, all testosterone with his broad shoulders and jeans that gripped an ass that I was dying to grip.

Realizing that I was staring at some stranger’s behind, my eyes shot up to tamer territory, but his dark wavy hair was even more dangerous. It was just long enough that he could do that man-bun thing that was all the rage. But nothing about this man was forced. He didn’t follow trends; he made his own. His dark locks were wild and free.

I hadn’t even seen his face, but I knew he was trouble. With a capital T. Which meant I was in trouble, because if I wasn’t sure I was gonna take the job before, well, I was positive now.

“Oh! Mr. Carraway, I didn’t know you were on site today.”

I gasped.

No.

NO.

The allure, that instant draw...I should have known. It had only happened once before when I was partnered with the hottest guy at Rhoades High in Advanced Chem.

He turned from the espresso machine and I stopped breathing.

Lincoln Carraway smiled at me like a wolf about to rip out the throat of its prey.

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