The Past – Three Years Earlier
"I had a great time tonight. Thank you." It seemed so cliché to say – the hesitating was pointless. This wasn't a first date or even a second date. This was five and a half years or 2008 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes and 16 seconds, if you wanted to be exact, so then why was she fiddling with her keys- waiting for him to make a move? Maybe because it had been five and a half years – maybe this was the night, the night everything would change for them. However, when he cupped her cheek, kissed her hard and passionately, and repeated her cliché phrase – she knew it wouldn't be tonight; maybe it would be tomorrow or next week.
"Call me when you get home." She said through the rolled down window. He was smiling, waving to her calling out her nicknames and telling her he loved her.
"I love you too." She watched for a moment as he drove off down the quite street. It was late, much later than they normally stayed out – and while she could have taken up his offer to stay over at his apartment that night – she choose to come home. She had plans the next morning with some girlfriends and knew if she stayed at his cozy apartment – she'd never get out of bed before noon.
Climbing the steps to her town home she fiddled with the keys, finally locating the front door one. Sliding it into the lock she took a quick glance down the street, still seeing his taillights in the near distance. It was like him to drive away slowly, making sure she got in before he sped off uptown. Just as she turned away she heard the squealing of tires, horns blasting and then the sickening sound of twisting metal. She froze as car alarms cut through the peaceful silence of the street.
Her keys fell from her hand, as did her purse as she turned to see the mangled wreckage of two cars just down the block. One was clearly her loves silver sports car. She sprinted down the couple stairs of her porch, her heel catching the edge of a crack in the sidewalk – her ankle twisted and pain shot up her leg. Shacking off the high heel from the injured ankle she began to run, losing the second shoe in the process. Porch lights flicked on as other neighbors slowly made their way out to see what had happened. She heard first responders in the distance, heading at breakneck pace to the scene of the accident.
"—GIN!"
She screamed, over and over again, nearing the accident as tears streamed down her face. She could see it then – the whole driver's side of his car was smashed in. The front bumper wrapped around the other car that had t-boned him. Glass was everywhere, air bags had been deployed and the smell of alcohol was clearly coming from the second car. Then she saw it – blood.
"—GIN!"
She screamed again just as her foot was about to step off the edge of the curb a firm arm curled around her waist, pulling her back just as everything went black.
Present Day – Three Years Later
"GIN!"
Her screamed ripped through the quiet room. Instantly her form sat straight up in bed. The dream had been so real, she had seen it, heard it, and relived it – once again. Trembling, she stared down at her hands catching the first few tears that dripped from her chin. She was crying. She was sweating, shaking – and as the light on the other side of the bed clicked on illuminating the bedroom – she could see what her terror had done. The sheets were disheveled; all the items on her bedside table had tumbled to the floor, including the bottle of water she kept at her side. The lamp's shade was knocked off and the lamp was on the edge – prepared to fall at the slightest breeze.
A form shifted from the other side of the bed, groaning and now grumpy from the rude awakening. Padding to the bathroom and slamming the door shut, she sat in silence as her bedmate did whatever in the wee hours of the morning. After a few minutes in silence she was able to collect herself, fix the displaced items and wait till he returned to shut off the light. This hadn't been the first time that she had awoken in such a way – and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"—Ran," His voice was heavy with sleep but also something else – burden? She didn't even try to correct him, that nickname – she didn't allow anyone to call her that. The light to the bathroom flicked off and even in the minor light of the bedside table she could see he had dressed. Running his fingers through his hair he tugged his jeans up and then reached for his cell phone.
"This is the third night this week, you've woken up screaming." He stated, not lifting his head to look at her. He didn't need to, she could already see what he was doing – he was leaving her. The first time this had happened since his passing – she had grown nauseated but now – she sat watching him gather his things, mutter about 'being unable to sleep', 'this was affecting his work,' 'that this feels like a three person relationship.' Her ears perked up then, life came back into her eyes as she threw off the covers and began to stand.
"—You still love him, but he's dead. You haven't moved on and it's been – what – like three years."
Three years, ten days, three minutes and about six seconds – your point?
"—It isn't exactly a break up – that you move on from." She stated in protest. "Besides, you know I suffer from –"
"—I know, PTSD. Except you weren't in the accident, you only saw the aftermath." The gentleness that had been in his voice before was vanishing – anger or frustration was taking hold. "—Yet, you have post traumatic stress disorder, I think you're using that as an excuse sometimes Rangiku, I swear. Like honestly."
She was frozen at the rudeness, the brash, hurtful words he was throwing at her as they made their way from the bedroom. He was pulling on his coat, grabbing his keys as she ran after him, bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
"You'll never move on, never let anyone else in, and never love anyone again if you love a dead man. He's dead Rangiku, he's dead!" The anger that was in his eyes at this point frightened her but she held her ground.
"If I hadn't moved on would I have been sleeping with you for the past six months?! You aren't the first one either!" She had been frightened before, watching him prepared to leave but his words were wounding her far deeper than any other departing male companion before. It had always been, 'this isn't working,' or 'you know, I'll call you later' but no call ever came. No one had ever confronted her before but then again – no one had stayed this long with her before. "I'm sorry if witnessing the love of your life die in front of you isn't a good enough reason to have an issue like PTSD, but it's my reason!
Silence – the anger, frustration that had been overwhelming him disappeared then after hearing her words.
"—There. You provided my point Rangiku, you called him the love of your life. So what am I? Second best, third, fourth – you said I wasn't the first guy since him. So what? He was your one and only love and the rest of us – we're nothing compared to him are we? We can't help but fall in love with you but – it doesn't matter. You'll never love us like you loved him and we'll continue to struggle and accept that we aren't good enough – that you're too good for us anyways. You're damaged goods and even the nicest guy isn't gonna stick around and try to love a girl who is still in love with a man who died three years ago. Goodbye Rangiku."
The door clicked open and then closed. A cold gust of early winter wind whipped in through the small opening shocking her out of the state his words had put her in. She stood in silence, stood in the darkness, till her knees trembled, buckled and she fell. Fell there sobbing, crying not for the departed lover but for the man who had caused this and every rift between the men in her life. The dead man.
The Past – Eight Years Earlier
The ear piercing shrill of her alarm finally became too much for her. A lazy arm reached out from under the comfort of her sheet and slapped the off switch, silencing the blaring noise. She had only hit snooze about twice so then why was it already 8:30 when her alarm was set for six? There was no other way to put it other than – she was late – really late.
The upside to being late in the busy city was that most normal people were up before the sunrise, on their way to work by the time she was rolling out of bed and in the office long before she was out the door. So now, almost two hours behind schedule – she was flying down the nearly empty street and at her building while her latte was still hot.
The overly glamorous skyscraper that was home to the fashion magazine that she worked for also happened to home to the parent company's other projects. The parenting magazine, Babes, where Ran swore all the former fashion writers ended up working for after they had their first kid was located on the third floor. She could always catch one or two of the columnists running in late, a stain on their blouse and normally a crayon, or piece of candy in their hair. She avoided them at all cost. The Home and Garden Magazine, Modern Living, was located on the fourth floor. She swore they took the garden aspect of their jobs a little too seriously, petitioning all the other floors to join in their community garden – no one ever did. The Men and Women's Health Magazines, Work It, was on the fifth floor. The Fashion department always got the snide glares from the women in the Health department. She swore it was because while they were all health writers, none of them seemed very 'healthy'. Her fashion magazine, LUXE, was on the sixth, seventh and eighth floors which might have been where some of the animosity came from. Or it could have been they were the top selling magazine out of all in the Lifestyle Department. Still, none could get by the writers and reporters that reported to the ninth and tenth floors for the hard hitting news magazine, The World, which was the recipient of all the awards that lined the walls of the lobby. Yet, the pinnacle of success came from the Financial magazine that sat up top right under the countless floors of the corporate offices, Trader, which rivaled The World for more awards won.
That morning as she pushed open the door to the lobby and made her way towards the security gate she couldn't help but note the man standing there arguing with one of the security personal.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't issue you a guest pass without notice from the department and I have no notice for you. You won't be getting in." The blurrily security guard stated, cheeks flushed as this was probably the most talking – let alone standing – he had done in some time.
Ran's step slowed as she took in the gentlemen, he seemed collected but annoyed. Who was hiring currently? She had heard that Modern Living needed a new Urban Farming writer – and by the way this guy was dressed, he could honestly be a hemp farmer. His un-tucked black tee-shirt seemed to have a small hole in it or maybe it was a stain. His jeans were rolled at the ankles – honestly – who still did that? And boat shoes – did he get here by the river? His silvery white locks were disheveled and she wasn't sure if he had styled him that way or they had been blown about on his voyage down the cannel. Yet, what caused her to pause was the fine Italian leather messenger bag tossed over his shoulder. He looked like a bum off the streets but that bag said otherwise. She knew the sticker price of an object like that – and by the looks of it – it was this season's.
She paused at the security gate, listening intently to the conversation still happening a few feet away.
"I told you, I have an interview. Can't you just call up and ask them. Maybe my name got lost, by the looks of your desk – everything except food gets lost in the shuffle." The man sassed back to the security officer.
He was right, and quick to the observation. The security guards desk was littered with unfiled paperwork and more junk food wrappers and take out containers than Ran had ever seen in the small workspace.
"N-No! I won't call up. Now you should leave before I force you to leave." The bumbling security officer snapped, lifting his belt up somewhat to try and show some sort of force.
"—Force me? Oh I'd like to see you tr-"
"There you are!" Ran cooed in a sing song voice as she slid up alongside the gentlemen. "You were supposed to meet me at the coffee place on 6th and Maple." Wiping off the baby pink lipstick stain from around the opening to her latte, she shoved the drink into the hands of the interesting gentlemen.
Both sets of eyes on her were confused beyond all belief. The security guard shocked that one of the head fashion reporters and an editor was within arm's length and mystery guy wondering just who this crazy woman was.
"—Yo-You know him?" Came the remark by the guard.
"Yep, he's one of our male models for today's shoot." Batting her long black lashes over her baby blue eyes she gave him a sly smirk. "You must have gotten our memo." Leaning over the desk, ever so slightly, just enough to reveal her ahem 'assets' to assist in this rouse, long slender fingers with cherry red nails reached towards a pile of ignored memos. Stacked on top and around were the fast food containers and candy wrappers that the now flustered security guard tried his best to brush aside, knocking the pile onto the floor. "—Oh." Ran stated pulling back as the now embarrassed security guard leveled a dark glare on the man beside the beauty.
"He's a model?"
As if on cue, the mystery man cocked out a hip, dropped a hand to his side and struck the best Top Model pose he probably could come up with. Even adding a hair flip –which knocked his bangs out of his eyes in dramatic fashion – which was totally needed, she had to do everything in her power not to laugh.
"Yeah, we're uh, doing a piece on everyday fashion trendsetters. Now, we need to go, he's due in hair and make-up in like…" Checking her phone as if referencing her fake appointment, "...Ten minutes." Curling her nails around his thin but muscular arm she dragged him with her through the security gate and into the elevator, pressing the button for the seventh floor. Unexpectedly, he pressed for the tenth – the offices for The World.
As the door dinged close he lifted the coffee to his nose sniffing it just as she snatched it back from him.
"You're welcome." She stated, snipping the drink that had now cooled off completely – she should have ordered an iced coffee.
They stood in silence, him watching the numbers light as they raised higher and higher, the elevator's door opening on the seventh floor but she didn't get off. Instead the doors closed once more and they began their assent again.
"Tell me, how do you have a $1300 Italian Leather Messenger Bag, yet you dress like you've slept in the subway for the past three days." Ran finally stated; turning towards the gentlemen, a questioning look on her features.
A brow rose as he offered a chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. "—$1300 dollars eh? And I got this at a thrift store."
She smirked, shifting slightly in her stance. "I've done pieces on thrift store finds, except that bag is this season, which was only put on sale in the last month and it doesn't have any sort of wear or tare which would be common with a thrift store piece. No one would just give that away, even for the tax write off." The fashion editor had the facts, and with a sip of her latte she turned back to hit the eighth floor button just as the doors dinged open to the lobby of The World.
"You have an interview with an award winning magazine and you come dressed like that. You either have one hell of a portfolio or you've slept with someone."
"—Or you have a famous father." The odd individual stated as the doors closed and they began to head back down. She wouldn't question it, although he was beginning to peak her interest. Her main focus in life was fashion, but she didn't mind dabbling in a little investigation journalism.
The doors opened to a much different scene than that of the seventh floor. The eighth floor housed the countless wardrobe pieces, as well as the on-sight photo studios. Pulling the gentlemen off the elevator, she ushered him down the stock piece lined walls and shelves, bringing him towards the men's department of clothing. There she snapped up a designer steel gray suit from the year before, a navy blue dress shirt and red tie -even offering him shoes and cuff links to go with it. Piling the shirt, tie and under garments into his arms, she directed him towards a changing room.
"—You don't even know my name but you're giving me a costly suit so I can land an interview?" He questioned as he dressed behind the privacy of the curtain. She held onto the suit's jacket, smoothing down the lapel and placing a red pocket square into the jacket's front pocket.
"—Question my motives all you want but you're gonna be the best dressed interviewee." Kneeling down she reached in her purse pulling out a small card – her business card.
Rangiku Matsumoto – Design Editor | Fashion Reporter | Chief Stylist.
Slipping the card in the jacket's inside pocket she stood just as the curtain opened. She had done it – once again – she was chief stylist for a reason. The mystery man looked less like a bum and far more like a reporter vying for the position at The World. She couldn't deny that he was handsome – in a strange way. She enjoyed the grin that seemed to never leave his features and after offering him the jacket she reached out and brushed his silver locks into place – there now he was truly handsome. Taking his arm and scooping up his fine leather bag she ushered him once more towards the elevator, hitting the up button and waiting only a matter a moments till the door dinged open. Leaning in she pressed for the tenth floor and handed him his bag.
"Kill it. And you can keep the suit till you buy a better one." She teased, winking as the door began to close.
"But how would I return it to you, I don't even know your name." He asked, an arm blocking the closing doors as he finally took a look at the kind, but strange young woman who had come to his aid this morning. Admittedly, she was breathtakingly beautiful – of course she'd work in the fashion department.
"You'll know." With that, she pushed him playfully back within the elevator, smiling brightly as she wished him good luck. The door dinged close and she was forced to stare at her reflection within the polished stainless steel doors of the elevator. She could only hope that the weird stranger would return the suit – but more importantly call her.
The day dragged on from there, pages needed to be finish, photo shoots needed to be prepared and overseen, but Rangiku couldn't focus on anything but the stranger from before. She caught herself idling by her phone, checking to see if she had any missed calls or messages. She even considered calling up to The World and dealing with the oh-so dreadful receptionist to find out who he was and how the interview had gone. Yet she reframed from poking her nose in a place she didn't belong.
Finally, as the day ticked to a close, a few girls from the office poked their heads in to ask if she wanted to join them for a Happy Hour. Just then, her phone rang – unknown number.
"Hold on, got to take this." She answered, the door closing. "This is Rangiku."
"—You know, I don't normally get this dressed up unless I'm going to dinner." The voice was foreign but at the same time she could make out the strange accent of the man from this morning. "But I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go." She could hear the teasing tone in his voice.
"And just who is this?" She questioned, laughing gently as she danced around her office.
"Your bum with the $1300 dollar bag, or do I need to be more specific? You might do this more often then you let on."
"You may need to be more specific."
"—Gin Ichimaru, the bum you rescued, and newest staff writer for The World, thanks to your fancy duds.
Her dancing stopped, not out of alarm but out of shock. Ichimaru – Ichimaru was the last name of one of the largest real estate moguls in the city. They owned city blocks of hotels, restaurants, skyscrapers – and this bum – guy was related.
"—You still there Ran?" Came the voice on the other end. Ran, Ran – no one called her Ran, but she liked it when he said it.
"—Yeah, sorry. I got distracted for a second. You said dinner right?" She regained herself but felt as if she was sounding like a total idiot.
"Not exactly, but if you're free, meet me at Second and King for dinner. My treat, Ran-chan."
"—Oh okay." She replied in a stutter.
"See you then." Click. Call ended.
Sitting herself on the edge of her desk, the door cracked open as one of the girls from before peeked her head in. "I'm gonna take Happy Hour as a no? Have fun on your date." She teased before closing her supervisor's door.
Second and King – was by far one of the hardest restaurants to get a table at – and she knew it happened to be owned by the Ichimaru family. Glancing down at her little fit and flare dress she knew she was in no way dressed for an evening at that swanky of a restaurant – thankfully she happened to have a personal treasure trove of clothes just overhead.
Present Day – Eight Years Later
"—Ms. Matsumoto?" The light knock and questioning tone of one of the girls on the floor snapped Ran out of her thoughts.
"—Huh? What is it?" She turned a puzzled and shocked face towards the young woman who clutched a pile of documents. The girl's expression was quickly one of shock as she entered, shut the door and made her way to her superior's desk.
"I'm sorry if I was interrupting something." She muttered, her eyes falling from Ran's face to the tear stains that littered the rough prints of an earlier photo shoot. It was only then that Rangiku realized that she had been silently crying.
"—Shit." Rangiku cursed, snatching a tissue from the box on her desk to dab up the water marks before touching her cheeks and under her eyes. A lady of fashion she quickly pulled a small mirror from her desk, checking to see if she had the tell tale lines of mascara running down her cheeks – thankfully, she was in the clear. "I'm sorry, I had a rough night." She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "My boyfriend left me."
The young girl gasped lightly, setting the documents in her hands down before rounding the side of her desk, kneeling and patting Rangiku's hand lightly. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Was it really serious?" The young woman's eyes scanned the desk before her, seeing a picture of a strange man with silver hair and a smiling Rangiku, a candid photo from years before. "Was that him?" She questioned nodding towards the framed picture.
Rangiku's eyes quickly snapped to the small picture frame that sat on the edge of her desk. All the air in her lungs was quickly sucked out as she felt her head spin and her vision tunnel. Well manicured nails pressed into the edge of her desk and crumpled a note sheet of paper before she snatched at the picture and dropped it into the bottom drawer of her desk.
"—No." She snapped her episode ending as she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "No, that…That was Gin, he died three years ago." The words hung heavy in the space between the two women. The younger one shocked into silence at the details before nodding, slowly standing and backing away.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize."
"Its right, you're new here, you had no idea. It's okay." It was far from okay. She was far from okay but the idea that a picture of them from four or five years ago still sat on her desk only rang true the words she had been slapped with the night before. "Was there anything you needed to tell me?" She questioned turning to the topic of work, to level the tension that filled the room, to break her mind away from all that plagued it. Work could be a distraction – a painful distraction.
"Oh, yes, Ms. Ise said she would have the additional spring looks over to you later today for the bridal spread." Rangiku gave a small nod, swallowing hard as she let her gaze lower to the rough prints of the earlier shoots. Smiling models posed with wedding cakes, flower girls, bridesmaids all in the latest styles, designs and colors of bride trends for the upcoming spring collections. Maybe that had been the trigger, not her mind lingering on the words from last night but the idea that by now, should things have ended differently she wouldn't be Ms. Matsumoto but Mrs. Ichimaru. She would have known the trends and fashions of bridal looks before all others when she planned her own wedding – but that had never come to pass.
A small sob choked her as she waved a dismissive hand to the young woman. "Fine, fine." She managed, sending the girl out the door without a second glance back.
A few hours later another soft knock shook her from her thoughts. She had taken a few moments to collect herself, fix her makeup and finally stop crying so her eyes were no longer red and puffy. When she glanced up from the photo spread she saw the concerned look of her close friend on the floor, Nanao Ise.
"—You gave my girl a bit of a shock earlier, you okay?" Nanao questioned, rounding the corner of her desk to lean against it with her hip. Rangiku drew herself back and away, leaning into her chair before nodding.
"Yeah, I was just lost in my thoughts."
"So the jerk broke up with you?" She wasn't kind when it came to the men that Rangiku had recently been hanging around with. Ever since she had gotten herself back into the dating game, all she did was pick up losers. She would never say the words, but she knew Rangiku to be damaged due to the death of Gin, but she was hurting herself even more by allowing these pigs into her life. She was emotionally compromised and they fed off that, seeing her as an easy lay before ridding themselves of her and her baggage. Thankfully, she knew Rangiku to have a bit of sense to her still and most of the guys been gone after a handful of dates, never getting to the prize they sought after. This last one however, had seemed like a winner, but far too many times had Nanao seen their fights, or Rangiku had told tales of the arguments they had gotten into. Soon, Nanao's acceptance of him dwindled away till she only saw him as another jerk, unwilling to accept Ran for everything she was and everything she could be.
"—Yeah. I had the dream again." Rangiku's tone softened, her eyes lingering on her stylish black leather pumps. She heard Nanao's concerned sigh and her shift to kneel down in front of her.
"—Again? What is this – "
"The third time this week, he told me that as well."
"So you've only slept one night this week without the dream waking you up?"
"Either that, or I didn't have it. Or I just didn't wake up screaming his name, who knows." She didn't like the look of pity and sorrow that filled her friend's eyes but she did her best to ignore it, to understand that it was more concern for her wellbeing than pity for her history.
"Listen, why don't we take a break, we can go across the street and get some drinks at happy hour."
"You don't drink." Rangiku leveled her gaze on her friend, her eyes actually perking up at the idea of a cocktail but knowing that she'd be on a short leash with Nanao as her company.
"I can join you, keep you company."
"More like keep me in line." Rangiku sassed playfully, which caused her to smile, resulting in Nanao cracking a bit of a grin as well.
"Glad you understand. Let's go."
Sure, it was a breach of protocol, to cut out a little early to go grab a drink but Nanao knew nothing else would get Ran out of this funk like a drink would. Grabbing their coats and handbags the two darted to the elevator, laughing and joking like a pair of school girls skipping out on class, the whole ride down to the lobby. The braced themselves for the cold winter wind as they pushed open the large glass doors from the lobby and scurried across the busy street to the bar located directly across from their work. The warmth of the bar greeted them, embracing them from the harsh chill of December weather. The place was packed; it seemed plenty of others from their office building had made their way across the street to grab a cocktail before working late tonight.
Pulling up two stools to the bar, the bartender was quick to welcome the two pretty young fashion writers and get them each a drink -a dry martini, dirty, for Rangiku and tea for Nanao – with a sideways glace at the order of tea during happy hour. Plucking the olives from her glass Ran quickly pulled one off the toothpick as she glanced around the busy bar. It seemed a handful of writers from The World and Trader were discussing business, life, and politics over glasses of scotch and brandy and offering glances towards the pretty strawberry blond.
"Don't." Nanao whispered as she caught Rangiku's lingering gaze on a columnist from The World.
"He looks nice, and he smiled at me."
"If those are your two requirements in a partner then you might as well sleep with him. He looks like a pompous ass, Ran"
Pausing Rangiku turned to look at the guy again. Clear blue hues took in the fine tailoring of his suit, the way his hair was styled, the expensive watch around his wrist, the cocky grin that only fit half his face. Yep, she was right, ass.
"You're right. I can hear him now, 'Hello, did you know my column on Bullshitry won me two awards.'" She mocked in the best stuck up, egotistical tone she could muster. The joke sent the two of them into fits of laughter, which drew the gentlemen in question towards them.
"—Hello sweetheart." He cooed, in an almost identical tone Ran had just mocked. "I couldn't help but notice you out of everyone else in this bar…your eyes…"
"Before you begin your go to pick up line, I'm not interested; I was just trying to tell if your suit was Prada or Gucci, but now that you're here." She stood up, reached around, pulled back the collar of his jacket and checked the tag before sitting back down. "I got my answer. Michael Kors isn't really my style." Rangiku said wrinkling her nose in phony disgust, shifting back in her bar seat and raising the rim of her glass to her lips, dismissing the guy without a second glance. Nanao did her best to contain her laughter.
The two spent a little longer at the bar than they had planned. Rangiku was finishing up her third martini when Nanao glanced at her phone, tagging Ran's arm. "We need to go." She hissed, slapping her card down to pick up the tab as she hurried to pull on her coat. "We need to have that mock up done by today and it's sitting on your desk."
Ran, feeling a bit of a buzz, waved her hand and laughed at her friend's alarm. "It's fine, it's fine. I'll just slap the pictures on and we'll call it a night. You know we change the mock ups like ten times anyways before it goes to print." She rambled. Regardless of her friend's lackluster mood to work, Nanao grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the door. The cold was worse than before and the two flew across the street, weaving in and out of the gridlock of early afternoon commute. As the pushed their way into the lobby, a bit out of breath and Ran laughing they made their way towards the elevators as those who were done early made their ways out the door.
The elevator dinged open and Ran, not paying attention began to walk just as one person began to exit. Their forms collided, strong hands gripping both her shoulders to pull her slightly back. A small gasp escaped her as her clutch dropped from her hands. Clear blue hues stared at fine pressed, white shirt, an expensive dark gray suit lapel but slowly rose to take in a much more handsome feature. Cold, icy turquoise eyes stared down at the young woman. A finely chiseled jaw was set hard pressed in an annoyed frown, and brows furrowed as the man peered at the brash woman he was holding. Releasing her and stepping back he smoothed back a snow white lock before tugging down his suit coat and bending to retrieve the briefcase that had dropped to the floor. Rangiku stood shell shocked as she still took in the handsome man she had literally run into.
"You should watch where you're going, Miss." He stated, his voice, cold and hard just like his eyes. A shiver ran up her spine, causing goose bumps to form on her arms, even under her heavy wool coat. Nanao slipped behind the scene to jump into the empty elevator and hold it while Ran continued to stand like a fool as the man nodded to her before walking towards the front door. As he exited an icy gust of wind whipped into the lobby and shocked her out of her trance. Her gaze lingered as a car was called up and he got in before it pulled off into traffic.
"Just who was that?" Rangiku questioned, bending down to retrieve her clutch before bouncing into the elevator.
Nanao shrugged her shoulders before sighing softly. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was the Chief Editor for Trader – the youngest ever."
"Wait, the financial prodigy? The genius?"
"Yep, the one and only – Toshiro Hitsugaya."
"—Damn" Rangiku stated, brows rising before both of them fell into silence. She had never even met the guy, just ran into him but her heart was racing – why? "—He seems like an ass."
The elevator erupted into laughter as the two women headed back to their floor to finish their work – and hopefully get home before it was completely dark.