Page 3 of When I Found You

It’s early. No one is in any of the offices yet. Right? I locate the information board and scan the list of offices on this floor.

Lawyers. Bankers. There it is. Lincoln Architecture Firm. Beneath it, I read the list of employees barely registering the names until one douses me with ice water. Jackpot.

I rest my hand on the name. Mr. Victor Cohen. Dad. I close my eyes and breathe deep.

Is this really happening? Shit. It’s New Year’s Day. If it wasn’t a holiday, he would be arriving for work shortly. I glance around the deserted floor and spy their main office door. I try it, but it’s locked. Damn.

I could wait here until he shows up. No. That could be days. I haven’t showered, and there’s nothing to eat. My stomach rumbles at the thought.

Then a stray thought built from years of watching science fiction paralyzes me. What if I screw up some space time continuum or create a paradox by seeing him? But nothing’s proven. It’s all theoretical. I mean, everything will be fine, right?

Besides, I think a paradox only happens when you encounter yourself, and I haven’t even been born yet since my birthday isn’t until June. I clap my hand over my mouth and stifle a chuckle. Holy hell, this is freaky. If this is New Year’s Day 1985, then Mom is in her mid-twenties and Dad’s just hit thirty. I’m older than my parents now.

But they’re alive. A small voice whispers. Hope blossoms in my chest. I can see them again, then reality hits me with a baseball bat. They don’t know me, and they’ll think I’m crazy if I tell them who I am.

It doesn’t matter. It’s Dad. Nothing can stop me from seeing him. Not a goddamn thing.

I need a plan.

My foot crunches on a piece of paper as I step away from the door. I retrieve it, noting the name at the top of the page. Mr. Arthur Maxwell.

A noise behind the office door startles me, but before I can react, the door swings open. A shooting pain thunders through my head and over my shoulders. The world goes dark.

Chapter Two

Arthur

The door meeting resistance should have worried me, but it didn’t. This wasn’t the first time some idiot put a chair or trash bin in front of the office entrance. For an architecture firm, the floor layout was as unfortunate as the door placement since it aligned perfectly with the elevator doors creating all types of traffic issues during the workday. I shove the door open with my shoulder, and it slams into something.

I peer around the edge of the door and frown. There’s no one there. Then I glance down at the floor and my blood turns to ice. Shit. A dark-haired woman wearing winter boots and an oversized wool coat lay sprawled at my feet. Is she breathing?

Tossing aside my briefcase, I kneel beside her and feel for a pulse. Okay, she’s alive at least. I roll her onto her back with little resistance. Her pale skin reflects a hint of color, and she’s breathing steadily, as though trapped in a deep sleep. Her thick eyelashes lay heavy against her cheeks.

She looks familiar. Maybe one of the maids working overtime on the holiday? I brush my hand across her forehead, removing the dark waves when I notice the smear of blood across her hairline.

“Fuck.” I gently rock her. “Ma’am. Can you hear me? Ma’am? Goddamn it, wake up.” My prodding does nothing, and there’s no way to hide the panic rising in my voice.

I can’t call the cops or an ambulance. The last thing I need right now is an investigation into why this woman is lying on the floor outside my office with a headwound. I know enough lawyers to know involving the cops is a one-way ticket to trouble. With the upcoming proposal meeting with the Hudson Group for a new hotel in Manhattan around the corner, I can’t take any chances of having an incident, no matter how accidental, ruin such a prime opportunity.

I sound like a heartless bastard. With a groan I place my briefcase inside the office and lock the door. The woman doesn’t even whimper when I pull her into my arms and shift her body against me. I stumble a bit under the weight but quickly find a comfortable position. I’m too old for this shit.

I press the down button next to the elevator. When the car arrives, I step in and select the ground floor. Her head rests against my shoulder lolling from the elevator’s wobbly descent. My driver should still be waiting outside. I only meant to come into the office for a moment and verify some paperwork. Then she happened. I glance down at the woman in my arms and squash the protective instinct rising from the pit of my subconscious.

No. You’re not her knight in shining armor. You knocked her out. Now you’re kidnapping her. What kind of man are you, Arthur? If I could reach inside my own mind and rip out the part of my brain now accosting me, I would do it without hesitation. Instead, I ignore it and focus on the numbers as they count down.

When we reach the ground floor, the guard’s eyes widen when I step from the elevator carrying the unconscious woman.

“Mr. Maxwell.” He rushes forward. “What happened, sir?”

“Oh, one of my new temp secretaries. She fell asleep in the lounge late last night, and I can’t seem to wake her.” I shrug but it’s lost under her weight pressed against my chest.

The guard doesn’t seem too convinced with my lie, but he doesn’t need to believe me. One of the regular guards appears around the corner. Mike. He’s worked at the building since I started here fifteen years ago.

“Oh, I see you found her.” Mike gestures to the woman in my arms. “She was up on the observation deck this morning. Asked me to stop on your floor. She one of your employees?”

I nod. “Yes, started last week. A temp.”

“She looked a little lost up there on the deck this morning.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Might want to keep an eye on her.”

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