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five
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Monday.

Before heading to Starbucks, I stop by work to drop off my laptop and leather tote bag.

Since we aren't yet open to clients for the day, I park in the alley behind the building and use my keys to enter through the back door.

I interned at Quartz and Bone for two semesters in college before getting offered a full-time position after graduation. I've been here ever since.

The interior design team is small—just five employees plus the owner, Heidi. She's like a mother figure to me in a lot of ways. She instantly took me under her wing and I never left her side. She's all tough-love and no-nonsense, but is intuitive and can be warm when necessary. In the last two years, she's encouraged me to further my career by applying for bigger companies, but I always find an excuse not to.

The main one being: I don't like change.

Change is scary.

Change can be bad.

Change can be having two parents one second, and being an orphan the next.

Change can be saying "see you later" to someone you love only never to see them again.

So yeah, I'm comfy at my current job.

Is it the most bustling business? Not consistently. Could I be making more elsewhere? According to the job ads Heidi has sent me, yes. Do either of those things matter to me? Nope.

"Helloooo!" I hear Chelsea call out from somewhere inside.

She's our textile expert and started working here two years after I did. She's also the colleague I'm closest with. If I had to name a best friend, it'd be Jasper. But Chelsea is a close (the only) second.

"It's just me!" I holler back before I'm in view.

We don't have private offices here—our desks are interspersed throughout the bright and airy showroom. I've never minded the open design before but I also didn't have anything to hide. Now I wish I had a private office, or at least a cubicle in case I want to do any… research.

For the last two weeks, we've been holding down the fort while Heidi's been in Italy. She returns in a few days, and even though her presence is missed, I don't think I could get away with my new huntress hobby without her noticing something is up.

"Hey," Chelsea casually says. When she looks up from her laptop and sees me, she does a double take and whistles. "Wow, girl. Wow."

"Self-care Sunday," I tell her, hoping she doesn't ask any questions.

There's no real plan today other than to make Edward notice me. And the best way to achieve that is superficially, of course.

That's why I got a caramel balayage yesterday, the closest I'd let myself get to blonde. I also got a manicure, tinted my brows, and got my lashes done. Despite Jasper's comment that they look like spider legs, they make my eyes pop.

I also let myself splurge on some new designer clothes. I might not be able to make rent this month but whatever.

The best part about this makeover is that I still look like me, just an elevated version.

Chelsea watches me as I walk past to sit beside her at the marble desk.

After I set my things down and slide into my chair, I fill the silence.

"Did you see the pictures Heidi posted? They—"

Chelsea's gasp interrupts me. "Are those—" With my legs crossed, she narrows in on the blood-red soles of my black pumps. "What are they paying you here? How did you buy those? Did you finally take up Mr. Volturi on his offer to be your sugar daddy?"

"No!" I laugh at her mention of one of our high-profile clients. Or rather, ex-client, because Heidi dropped him after learning he was constantly hitting on everyone. "The shoes were an impulse buy, but I might return them."

"One does not simply return Louboutins, darling," she says in a fake posh accent. "And if you do, let me borrow them first."

"Deal."

"Seriously, what's with the makeover?" she asks. "I mean, you look hot. I'm obsessed."

I glance down at my outfit. I went for professional yet provocative—black dress pants with a matching blazer and a lingerie-inspired silk camisole underneath.

It's understatedly sexy and powerful.

I hope Edward likes his women a little forward and feisty.

"Just needed a change," I lie. "How was your weekend?"

"Fun, but you should've come out with us Saturday night!"

"I know, I know. Next time," I promise, opening my laptop.

I can feel her eyes on me. "I know you're gonna tell me to shut up, but is everything okay?"

I look at her. "Yeah, why?"

"Something's been off the last couple of weeks, but I can't put my finger on it." It's like I can see her mind doing the mental math before she says, "Wait. Are you seeing someone?"

Um, yeah. Seeing a lot of Edward Cullen. From afar.

I force a laugh. "I don't have time for that."

"I know the podcast recently came out," she says more somberly now. "I haven't been able to listen because… it's just kind of heartbreaking. The whole thing. But—"

"Chelsea, it's fine. I promise. I'm fine." Before she can further push, I stand and say, "I'm walking to Starbucks. Want anything?"

"Walking in those? Girl, they're for looks, not hiking."

I roll my eyes. "Two blocks is hardly hiking. It'll be fine."

"Okay, okay. Well, I'd love a venti brown sugar and oat milk shaken espresso, with two pumps of vanilla syrup and vanilla cold foam."

I blink. "I'm not going to remember that."

Chelsea laughs. "I'll text it to you."

With my phone in hand, I leave through the front door and head to Starbucks. One block in, I realize I should've driven because the smooth soles of my pumps on the damp sidewalk make walking a little slippery. But turning around means having to trek back, and I might miss Edward.

So I persevere.

I see the coffee shop at the end of the block across the street.

At the same time, I happen to see a bronzed-haired man exiting.

Edward.

Fuck.

My non-plan plan will be delayed until Wednesday because the fucker decided to be early.

Even though he's on the opposite side of the street, I try to pick up my pace, but my heels keep me sluggish.

I panic.

He's at least heading in my direction instead of the opposite way. But still, I won't make it in time to use the crosswalk, so I look for a good place to cross the road to intercept him.

If I'm fast enough, I can bump into him. Purposely ruin his gray suit and my cream camisole with his piping hot Americano. I don't mind getting burned. And he'd deserve it.

I loiter between two parked vehicles, waiting for a chance to cross.

Maybe I can wave. Pretend I think he's someone else.

When he's directly across the street from me, I lift my arm.

He's oblivious.

I just need one look from him.

That's all.

One shared moment of locked eyes so the next time he sees me, maybe he'll remember.

I yell, "Hey!"

It catches his attention and he pauses on the sidewalk, spotting me.

With his eyes finally on me, I have a visceral reaction.

Racing heart, clammy palms, and rage squeezing my arteries.

I hate that I'm rattled. But I've spent the last couple of weeks being invisible to him, so it feels wrong to have him notice me.

I need to get my response under control.

I need to stay calm, cool, collected.

I need to make him curious about me.

I need to stay cruel.

Still, he watches. Waiting for me to do something.

With our eyes locked, I step out onto the road and only make it a few steps in before my plan goes sideways.

Everything happens too fast.

The blaring of a horn.

A car skidding my way.

No matter how hard it's trying to stop, it just keeps coming.

It's surreal and I don't have time to think or panic.

I falter and freeze.

And then pain.

My head—throbbing.

My skin—scorching.

My body—pressure.

I drift.

Float.

Succumb.

And then the edges of darkness go soft and light when I hear a voice.