Lara's POV
My lungs burned as I ran the last block, my heels striking the pavement in sharp, uneven clicks. Of all days, fate had chosen today to turn cruel.
The taxi had blown a tire in the middle of Eighth Avenue, and by the time I found another ride, rush hour had swallowed every available cab in the city. I tried waving, shouting, even begging, but no one stopped. So I did the only thing I could. I ran.
By the time Blackwell Tower came into view, its glass walls gleaming gold under the morning sun, my legs were trembling. My blouse clung to my skin, my hair was sticking to my face, and my heart pounded with dread. I was late for the company's annual team building.
The moment I stepped inside, the cold air hit me, followed by a voice that sent chills down my spine.
"Ms. Quinn." It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. That calm, steady tone could silence an entire boardroom.
I looked up and nearly forgot how to breathe. Marco Blackwell, my boss, was standing by the elevators. He wasn't in one of his usual tailored suits but in faded jeans and a plain white shirt. The simplicity made him look even more devastating.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. Morning light framed his face, catching the faint stubble along his jaw. I had never seen him dressed this casually before, and my stomach turned to knots.
He looked at me, eyes sharp and unreadable. "Ms. Quinn, how could you be late?"
My voice refused to cooperate. My mind screamed at me to say something, anything, but all I could do was stare. He's talking to you, Lara. Breathe.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackwell," I finally managed, still panting. "There was an accident. The taxi tire exploded and—"
He cut me off with a look. The kind of look that made employees trip over themselves to apologize.
"The last van already left," he said in that cool, even tone. "How do you plan to reach the venue for our annual company team building now?"
I swallowed, trying to calm the wild rhythm of my pulse. My mind searched for a reasonable answer, but my heart had already made a reckless one.
"I'll ride with you, sir," I said, forcing a smile that I hoped looked professional and not desperate.
His brows lifted slightly. "With me?"
"Yes," I replied quickly, my voice smaller than I intended. "If you don't mind, Mr. Blackwell."
His gaze lingered on mine, sharp and unreadable, then he turned away without another word and started walking toward the underground parking area.
He didn't tell me to follow him, but my legs moved on their own. My heels clicked against the concrete floor as I hurried after him, trying to match his long strides. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he'd let me explain.
"Mr. Blackwell," I called softly, breathless. "I really didn't mean to be late, it was just—"
I hurried after him, my heels clattering against the floor as he strode toward the parking lot. I was still catching my breath when he stopped abruptly, and I slammed right into him. My palms pressed against his chest, hard muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, and for a heartbeat, the world froze.
His scent, clean, masculine, a mix of leather and rain, wrapped around me and made my pulse throb faster. My skin prickled, my whole body burning with embarrassment and something else I didn't want to name.
He didn't move. He just looked down at me with eyes so dark and unreadable they made my stomach twist. The faint stubble along his jaw, the way the light caught in his hair. God, he was even more handsome up close. And yet, the chill in his gaze was enough to crush every foolish thought that flickered in my head.
"Ms. Quinn," he said, his tone soft but sharp. "I am very strict about punctuality. I don't care if a tire exploded, if traffic stopped, or if the entire universe conspired against you. You were late."
My throat tightened. "I—I understand, sir, but I can still catch up if I—"
He cut me off. "It's not my problem anymore if you have no ride to the team building. Consider this a lesson in responsibility."
His voice was calm, but every word felt like a slap. I stood frozen, my hands trembling as I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came.
"Expect a memo from Human Resources on Monday," he added, eyes narrowing slightly. "One more warning after that, and you know what comes next."
He turned toward his car, but just before opening the door, he paused. For a fleeting second, I thought he might soften. Instead, his gaze slid back to me, cool and distant.
"And Ms. Quinn," he said, his tone clipped, "perhaps next time you can manage a bit more grace."
Then he got in his car, leaving me standing there in the echo of his words, my face burning with anger, humiliation, and a shameful flutter of longing I couldn't stop.
Precise. I bit my lip hard. One more memo and I could lose my job. I needed to find a way to reach the mountain before the event began, no matter what it took.
The word termination echoed in my head like a death sentence. My chest went tight, my palms cold.
The sound of the engine roared through the stillness of the parking lot. Then he drove away just like that. The wind from his car swept against me, stinging my eyes. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart burning with humiliation, anger, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.
How could he be so heartless? I had spent years making sure every meeting, every document, every detail of his day ran perfectly. And the one time fate decided to play a cruel joke, I became disposable.
I pressed a shaky hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. My job was everything to me. I couldn't afford to lose it. One more memo and I was done. No. If there was one thing I could do, it was survive.
I looked up at the bright morning sky beyond the ramp. The team building was in the mountains, hours away, and I had to be there before the event began.
For a fleeting moment, I considered taking a bus, but I immediately dismissed the thought. There wasn't a direct route going up the mountain. The last stop was still miles away from the top, and the climb from there would take hours on foot.
The road leading to the retreat was smooth and wide, the kind designed for luxury cars and the kind of people who could afford them, people like Marco Blackwell.
I wasn't one of them.
My stomach twisted as I stared down at my phone. I didn't have many options. Missing this event would mean another memo from HR, and one more after that would be the end of everything I'd worked for.
I swallowed hard. My pride screamed no, but desperation spoke louder. There was only one person I could call, even if every part of me resisted the idea.
My best friend's brother. Corbin.
The thought made my heart drop. The last time I saw him hadn't ended well. Corbin was arrogant, smug, and the kind of man who always made me feel small every time he opened his mouth. He was confident in that infuriating way that made people obey without question, the type who didn't take no for an answer.
He was the last person I wanted to see. But right now, he was the only person who could save me. My only option was to swallow my pride and call Corbin, even if my entire being screamed against it.
I hated the idea of owing him anything again. But if I didn't, I'd lose my job, and that was something I couldn't afford.
"God, why him?" I whispered under my breath, pressing a hand to my forehead.
Still, I unlocked my phone and scrolled to his name, hesitating as my finger hovered above the call button. My pulse quickened with frustration and dread.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," I muttered, then took a deep breath and pressed call.
Because if Marco Blackwell was going to see me as nothing more than his clumsy secretary, I'd make sure he was wrong.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Corbin Hale's sports car, silently praying I would survive the ride.
He had made me promise one more date in exchange for this favor, something I already regretted the moment he flashed that infuriating grin and tossed me a helmet. Corbin was a professional racer, and apparently, speed was the only language he spoke.
The moment he hit the gas, my stomach dropped. The city blurred into streaks of color, and I clutched the seatbelt like my life depended on it. He laughed every time I screamed, which, judging by his grin, only encouraged him to go faster. By the time we reached the top of South Valley Peak, my throat was raw, my legs numb, and my soul halfway to the afterlife.
"Thank you so much, Corbin. I really appreciate your help," I managed, climbing out of the car with what little dignity I had left. My voice shook as I tried to steady myself.
He chuckled, looking far too proud of himself. "It was worth it, and I'm glad you called me."
Despite nearly dying twice on the road, I couldn't help but feel a strange rush of victory. I had made it alive, early, and ahead of everyone else. Even ahead of my cold-hearted boss who had left me stranded in the parking lot.
But my triumph vanished the moment I heard the deep, familiar roar of another engine. My heart dropped as Marco Blackwell's car pulled in beside us. He stepped out, tall, composed, and visibly furious.
"Mr. Blackwell," I said quickly, forcing a smile that probably looked more like panic. "I made it."
His gaze cut through me, cold and unyielding. "You will still receive a memo from the Human Resources Department, Ms. Quinn." His tone was sharp enough to slice through air.
"Don't be so harsh, Marco," Corbin said smoothly, leaning against his car with a teasing grin.
I shot him a glare and grabbed his arm, dragging him aside before he could make things worse. "Shut up, please," I hissed, my pulse racing.
He only laughed. "Just don't forget about our date, Lara," he said, loud enough for Marco to hear, before getting back into his car and speeding away down the mountain road.
I stood frozen, my entire body trembling as Marco took a step closer. His eyes burned into mine, unreadable but heavy with anger. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My heart was beating so hard it hurt.
"Ms. Quinn," he said quietly, his voice cold and deliberate, "do I need to remind you what to do? Move. Now."
The command hit like a slap. I followed him quickly toward the reception area, my nerves buzzing and my pride crumbling.
He stopped abruptly and turned, his jaw tight with anger. "Stay away from Corbin Hale," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
For one foolish second, I thought he was jealous. I wanted to believe it. But that illusion shattered when his next words came.
"He's a spoiled brat who only wants one thing. Don't be naive, Ms. Quinn. Someone like him will never take someone like you seriously. He comes from money, and his family expects him to marry within his class."
The words stung like acid. Not because he was wrong, but because of how easily he said it as if it was his duty to remind me of where I stood.
He turned away and walked into the lobby without another glance, leaving me standing there, humiliated and burning with anger.
I wasn't hurt because Marco said I wasn't good enough for Corbin. I was hurt because he reminded me that, to him, I was nothing more than his clumsy, replaceable secretary.