A Waltz With Wolves (Book II in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Six: El Lobo Y La Tarjeta

**
I had to stay behind to give some information to the police about the accident or potential hit and run. It was embarrassing to converse with the officer while I was drunk, but apparently they care less than I thought they would.

"Do you need an officer to take you home?" he asked me when he had acquired all the information he needed.

I shook my head, shifting my weight from one heel to the other to distribute the pain in my feet evenly. "No, I called an uber."

The officer nodded before entering his patrol car. The uber I called was waiting by the corner, and Beth was already on her way over there with Patty while Paul waited for me to finish.

"You alright?" he asked me when I met him on the sidewalk.

"I just want to go home. I feel like shit."

Paul stayed silent as we walked to the uber, and when I turned around, I had this silent hope that I would see Alejandro so I could thank him for saving my life. But he never returned. He was taken away so quickly after the car slammed into the pole that I had not even a second to register where he was going. All he left behind was the smell of his cologne and wrinkles in my blouse from holding me so tightly.

We passed one more cop car before we met our uber. The drunk driver sat in the back, head down, dirt and blood on his face behind a bandage the paramedics patched on him. He was younger in physic but older looking in his face—scruffy beard, bags under his eyes, long black hair slicked back into a ponytail. I met eyes with him once before he looked away with an immense amount of shame in his eyes.

I'm not sure if that shame was for almost hitting me, or for being captured.

**
The following morning, I woke up and immediately ran to the bathroom to throw up what felt like my lungs and my entire liver. My head was pounding and my body felt like it was going through the flu. Thankfully, I didn't have to be at my job to set up my office until Monday, but Sarah calling me and trying to talk about press wasn't going through well with me.

"You're hungover, aren't you?" she asked me.

"Yeah," I groaned into the phone before throwing up again.

**

Today, I feel a lot better. It's Sunday, which means (per usual) I'm spending it answering emails, making phone calls, and setting up appearances for Sebastian via phone with Sarah. Sebastian still hasn't talked to me since our encounter at the interview.

"You aren't innocent in that, either," Sarah tells me when I express this concern to her. "You aren't willing to apologize."

"And what should I be apologizing for?" I tell her. "I mean, he knows I didn't leak the journal and he knows I gave it away out of justifiable anger."

Sarah just sighs. I know she's tired of my bullshit, and sometimes I am, too. But if Sebastian doesn't want to have a productive conversation like the one I tried to have with him last week, then we have nothing to discuss. If we're on the same page professionally, I'm perfectly fine.

Liar, my mind chides. I rub my eyes at my own antics.

When I get up to refill my water glass, I feel an intense pain on my side that makes me hiss loudly.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asks.

"Nothing. My hip just really hurts."

For a moment, I wonder where the pain is from, but then I remember that it's most likely from my hip landing on the street when Alejandro pulled me out of the car's way. I'm reminded of the thank you I have to give him, but at the same time I still feel bothered by his behavior towards me in the club. Is that reason enough not to thank him for saving my life? Of course, not. But my pride tells me that the 'thank you' is all him and I will have between each other outside of the professional relationship that may occur; if Sebastian is working close with his family, then I need to work closely with them, too if I want to create the right image.