Page 1 of Wrapped Up in You
PROLOGUE
SERENA
One week earlier
“Shit,” I mutter beneath my breath in the bathroom stall. My first day on the job, and I start my period. Of all the freaking luck I could have, this is what I’m greeted with? Luckily, I’m prepared, thanks to my mom for drilling it into my head to always pack a pair of panties, a pad, and a tampon in a plastic baggie. This started well before I hit that magical age in life where your body betrays you when you least expect it. At school, no less.
It seems I may meet my demise before the day has even started because, wouldn’t you know, I bled through not only my panties but also stained my gray skirt. I dig through my bag, grab my necessities, and make quick work of the process. There isn’t much I can do about the fabric, which sucks, completely and totally. I don’t have a magic bag full of tricks, like say stain remover, peroxide, or a spare change of clothes.
Once I’m finished, I leave the bathroom stall to wash my hands, do a quick spin in the mirror, and stare at myself in absolute horror. The one day I didn’t pack a cardigan, naturally,since I decided to clean my car out yesterday, too. Which means I don’t have any extra clothes in there, either.
I am well and truly fucked.
At the age of thirty-two, I should not be starting a brand-new career, and I should absolutely not be starting my period in the middle of the month due to stress, especially since I’m two freaking weeks early. Yet here I am. Here I fucking am.
The only thing I can do now is strategically place my bag behind me, hold it there, and pray that someone will allow me to borrow something until I can beg my mom to bring a cardigan of hers or mine. Which means I need to text her right away before she makes plans with her group of girlfriends, including my aunt.
I whip my phone out of my purse, bring up the thread with my mom, and start my text.
Me: 911.
Me: Mom. Mom. Mother!
Me: HELP ME.
Mom: Serena Lily Beck, stop giving me a freaking heart attack. What’s wrong?
Me: I started my stupid-ass period. I need a coat, a cardigan, a sweater vest, a brown paper sack, anything really.
Mom: Go to Uncle Todd’s office. Aunt Val is here with me. She said there’s some kind of sweater of hers there, but also, your uncle keeps a sports coat there, and it would go perfectly with what you’re wearing today. Val said this, the fashion icon of the century, that oversized is the “in” trend.
Me: I love you both. You’re life savers. I’m heading there now before I have to report to HR. Thank you! Hugs and kisses, talk later.
I don’t wait for a response. I’ve got places to be and people to see, and being late will only make this stressful day even more so. I strategically place my bag in such a way that it’s behind me, holding it there with the palm of my hand, and walk out of the restroom.
I’m on a mission as I step into the small hallway, unaware of my surroundings while looking at my feet instead of where I’m going.
“Oomph.” The wind is knocked out of my sails as I run straight into the hardest chest of my life. My forehead meets the brunt of it, and just when I’m about to stagger backwards and likely land on my ass, I don’t, because two strong hands wrap around my upper biceps and keep me horizontal.
“Whoa, there, you good?” When the man before me speaks, his voice has a low and rough quality. It’s so thick with a gravelly tone that I want him to keep talking so I can catch each and every word.
“Um... yeah, I think so.” I take a hesitant step back while looking up at the man who saved me from a greater demise than the bathroom incident. The way my day is going, I’d end up sprawled out, legs spread wide, and give the handsome strangera view he would never recover from, string included, because why not?
I’m greeted with light brown eyes that remind me of a steady storm slowly building in intensity. His warm skin tone, full lips, and a strong jawline under a short beard give him a rough, lived-in edge. He’s all solid lines and broad shouldered, accompanied with a quiet strength, a type of build that looks like it comes from real work and not a gym mirror. Each time he makes a subtle movement, it’s unhurried and grounded—like a man who isn’t in a rush and never needs approval to show he’s capable of moving mountains.
“That’s good.” His hands leave my arms, and I feel a coldness settle where they have touched. He’s in dark slacks that fit him a little too well, cupping him in all the right ways. They’re the kind that make it hard not to notice the strength in his firm thighs and the bulge between them that is more than visible. The crisp black button-down does nothing to soften him. His sleeves may be rolled up to his forearms, and his collar is open at his throat, but that doesn’t mean he’s a man at ease. The tightening of his forearms after he’s slid his hands in his pockets only amplifies the man tenfold. He looks like the kind of man who could get his hands dirty in the morning and enjoy a six-course meal at dinner without missing a beat.
“Thank you. I should be going.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a slight tilt of his upper lip, giving me somewhere between a smirk and a smile. We both head in the same direction, nearly bumping into one another again. “Shit.”
“Oops, sorry. You go first.” I offer my hand. Our interaction ends, but I’m left with a view of his firm backside, and it seems the rough start to the morning I did have is slowly getting better.
The mystery man turns left, and I’m going right in order to make it to the elevator banks. I wait with a group of others beforewe’re shuffling one by one into the small space. We make stops along the way, and I’m able to maintain my area in the corner, keeping the seat of my skirt from prying eyes.
I’m one of the last out when we make it to the fifth floor, once again making sure I’m covered. When I glance down at my watch, realization hits that I need to be back downstairs and with Sandra in less than ten minutes.
I take a deep breath and wave a quick hello to my uncle’s assistant, Mary, whom I’ve met a couple of times in the past week when I came in and out of the office to fill out paperwork.
