Reveal

The knot in my throat burns and I can feel the sting of tears begin to prick behind my eyes as I lean against the back of my sofa. I’m hidden like a five year-old playing hide-and-seek. Only the thought of being discovered is terrifying. Their voices begin to trail off and I listen for the dull thud of his boots retreating down the hall before I summon the courage to move out from my hiding place.

I’m shaking; I don’t know if it’s from the adrenaline of thinking he was going to force his way in here, or the realization that he’ll be coming back. I could kill Da

MY MEETING’S BEEN canceled, but instead of being pissed, which on any other occasion I would be, I’m making use of the small window opening up in my otherwise stacked day. I hate deviating from my schedule, but fuck if I can manage another hour without a decent cup of coffee. If Sophie can’t figure out that damn espresso machine in the office, I’ll have her re-distributed and find an assistant that can.

I’m rocking on my heels in line at the Starbucks outside my building and I watch as the polished glassy black leather of my overly-expensive designer shoes crack under the strain of my movements. I could’ve had Sophie come down here and get this for me, but I’ve been working on the Michaels’ case since five-thirty this morning, and I’m glad for the ten-second blast of fresh air I get crossing the street into the store. The barista, a tall, awkward-looking guy with too much product in his wavy dark hair is idly chatting to the woman at the front of the line. He’s unaware, or more likely unbothered, that there are four other people waiting to be served while he flirts unashamedly. I can feel my blood heat as he carries on his conversation, biting the side of my cheek in an attempt to calm my temper. Everything is pissing me off lately. It’s out of character for me; I’m the cool and collected one in the family, or at least I used to be.

This case feels like a goddamn noose around my neck. If I win, I’ll make partner and at thirty years old, I’d be the youngest in the company’s history. The pressure is immense. My whole life is centered on this one case, and everything has to be on point. Not only do I have to deliver professionally, but my private life has been hijacked and is under scrutiny, too. Having family on the board isn’t quite shaping up to be the ideal situation I thought it would be. For the last eighteen months, I’ve endured my parents’ input on everything: who I date, whether or not they portray the right public image, what social events we need to be seen at, and whose proverbial ass I need to kiss in order to keep everyone happy.

“Sir, you ready to order?”

A spike of irritation races down my spine as I meet the barista’s irked glare. He’s spent the last however long flirting with a customer while the rest of us waited patiently for him to be shot down and carry on serving. Now he has the nerve to look a

“Venti Americano, black.”

I dismiss his efforts to upsell me on my coffee choice as smoothly as I can. I’ve no desire to try their new Columbian roast, or add a shot of some synthetic-tasting syrup; I want a coffee, not dessert in a cup.

“Name, sir?”

He’s poised with his marker on the cup, brow arched. I really don’t like this kid. “Cole.”

“Collect your drink at the end of the counter. Sugar and creamer are behind you. Have a nice day, Cole. Next!”

I can’t actually remember the last time I engaged in a real honest-to-God conversation with somebody, instead of these clipped exchanges, each of us striving to communicate with as few words as possible. It’s amazing that in a city of 8.4 million people someone can feel this lonely.

I hear the shriek a millisecond before I register the searing hot pain shooting down my chest and abdomen, leaving a fire in its wake. What the hell?

Wide dark eyes flash panic at me before my mind makes sense of what’s happening. My shirt, pants, and shoes are drenched in steaming hot coffee, and I pull at the once-white cotton of my button down, peeling it from my blistering chest. I’m holding my breath and sucking my stomach back in a feeble, inept attempt to place as much distance as I can manage between my skin and shirt. Neatly stacked bottles of water on the countertop catch my eye, and I grab one with my free hand, quickly biting off the sports cap before dousing myself in the cold liquid.

Goddamn, this burns.

If I weren’t in public, I’d be shouting profanities and stripping out of these clothes like a madman. The background noise dissolves as I look up, realizing I have an audience.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” A voice belonging to the dark eyes trembles, cutting through the silence. I watch as the woman brings her hand up to her full pink lips and sucks down on her wrist. There’s an angry red welt from her spilled drink.

Shit!

“Here.” I pull her wrist from her mouth with a little more vigor than I intend, and she stumbles towards me. There’s not much water left, but I squeeze the plastic bottle; letting the last few drops slide over her skin and cool the burn. She’s still looking at me wide-eyed as I lift her hand, bringing it closer to me as I blow gently over it. Goosebumps break out and race down her arm. My chest is on fire, but this girl’s face has me tending to her needs and not mine. I’m sure she’s about to start crying when a young girl comes from the back with napkins and damp washcloths. I’m still holding this stranger’s wrist; her face is quick to smooth out and look swiftly unaffected as she pulls from my grasp.

The store begins to bustle like someone has released a pause button, and a new wave of energy has blown into the small store. The show’s over, and people start talking amongst each other once more, realizing there’s nothing more to see. The young girl frowns, looking irritated at me as she bends to set about drying the huge puddle of coffee and water over the floor. I would have offered to clear the mess myself, but her scowl has just sealed her own fate.

I push a cold, damp cloth against my chest as my coffee assailant wraps the remaining one over her hand.

“I really am very sorry, I didn’t realize you were standing so close behind me. Are you okay?” There’s genuine concern in her voice. I look up from dabbing at my hot raw skin. My suit is completely ruined and I’m doing a mental inventory to determine if I have a full change of clothes back in my office. I know I have a couple of shirts and ties. It’s the first time I actually take the whole of her in, and not just her huge almond-shaped eyes, or the tussled mounds of long dark chocolate hair framing her sad face. Jesus, she’s pretty. Not in an overtly sexual way either, even though she has those pouty rose-colored lips and a hint of a blush staining her cheeks. She’s just so—I can’t think of a better word—appealing.