Page 5 of The Wrong Boss

Calm descended over me. I let my knees go soft, and I prepared myself to go into battle. The man holding my memory box smiled wider, slipping my most treasured possession back into his pocket. Then he made a little flick with his fingers, a “come at me” gesture that told me he was enjoying himself, and I knew this was it.

I exploded into movement. It would only take a second to reach him, and then he’d know that he underestimated me.

Just like Derek. Just like my aunt and uncle and cousinswho didn’t think I could handle the truth. Like the bosses who had passed me over for promotions, the colleagues who had dismissed my ideas because I was just a silly little administrator in their big, fancy company.

I wouldnotlet this dirty, drug-addled thief underestimate me too.

But just as I started running at him, the man’s gaze shifted to look over my shoulder. His eyes widened, and by the time I reached my back bumper, he’d spun on his dirty sneakers and was sprinting halfway across the parking lot, my box of treasures gripped in his grimy fist.

A wordless, rage-filled yell tore through my throat. Then I heard the pounding footsteps.

A moment after that, a man dressed all in black went sprinting past me, chasing the degenerate who’d stolen the last pieces of my mother. Startled, I stared at the sharp line of his jaw as he sprinted past, his dark hair fluttering off his forehead. Then all I could see was the back of him, spine straight, arms pumping, shiny black shoes pounding the pavement as he chased the thief.

“Who the hell areyou?” I yelled, even though it didn’t matter. Hopping as pain lanced through the back of my heel—stupid blister—I set my jaw and redoubled my pace.

Whoever he was, he’d scared away the thief and lost me my chance at getting my memory box back. So either he would help me get it back, or he’d get a piece of my mind. Wisps of anger fluttered around me as I attempted to follow the two men. With every step, I fell behind.

Despair caught me in its grip. The thief was turning acorner and moving out of sight, and the man in black didn’t seem to be gaining any ground. I had to catch them.Had to.

But fate had other ideas. As I put on a burst of speed—the final bit of energy I had left—my spike heel got stuck in a storm drain, my ankle rolled, and I face-planted in the middle of the hotel parking lot.

TWO

CARRIE

A groan slippedthrough my parted lips as I pushed myself up off the ground. My palms stung, and a quick glance told me they’d been scraped up by the asphalt as I fell. The impact had jarred my shoulders, and I cringed at the sight of dirt streaking down the front of my beautiful peach dress. Kneeling on the ground, I tried to shake my foot loose from where it was still jammed in the storm drain.

A sob worked its way up my throat and got caught.

Hailey was going to kill me. I’d lost my memory box, I’d ruined my dress, and my short sprint through the parking lot had succeeded in turning me into a sweaty mess, which meant my hair and makeup were melting off.

The last twenty-four hours came crashing down on me like an anvil in a children’s cartoon. I crumpled.

My relationship was over. I was homeless. I’d ruined myfavorite cousin’s wedding. And worst of all, I’d lost the only possessions I actually cared about.

Thiswas my fresh start? This was my grand entrance into my new life?

Derek would cackle if he saw me now. He’d tell me he knew I couldn’t make it without him. He’d say I deserved this for leaving him, for thinking I could do better.

And maybe he’d be right.

Throat clenching as I tried to hold back my emotion, I winced as I tried to loosen my shoe. It was impossible to see through the tears clouding my vision, and all the strength had gone out of my muscles. Pushing myself up only made my palms sting and my muscles tremble.

I was weak—in every sense of the word.

And then I heard the footsteps. Someone was jogging toward me, and before I even looked up, I knew who it was.

The front view of him was more striking than I could have predicted. Wearing black from head to toe, my would-be savior came trotting toward me in shiny black shoes, perfectly fitted trousers, and a slim-fitting button-down shirt. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. His jaw was sharp below carved cheekbones, and thick brows drew together at the sight of pathetic ole me curled up on the ground.

Damn him for being handsome, and damn him double for seeing me like this.

If I’d had a choice, I would have stopped the tears from falling down my cheeks. But they carved tracks down my carefully applied makeup and splattered on the asphalt as the mancame to kneel in front of me, his gaze circling my face like he’d never seen anything so pathetic in his life.

Or maybe that was in my head. I couldn’t read his expression through my blurred vision. Couldn’t think about anything other than the one thing that truly mattered.

“Did you get it back?” I croaked.

He reached for me, and the backs of his fingers were warm as they brushed away my tears. “I lost him,” he said, his voice low and regretful.

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