Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
8.
The ideal situation would be to flee in the opposite direction, maybe even move to another state entirely. If I backed out now, I was sure Carter Wright would barely notice. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd be angry, but at what cost? It wasn't like he had a way of contacting me, or that he could chase me for long.

Maybe—with fingers crossed—maybe Carter Wright would forget this whole ordeal—I could go back to working at The Daily Grind as if nothing ever happened.

That was the scenario that made my heart pound a little less, had me nearly running back to the safety of my car and slamming the door shut on everything that I was supposed to face. Just like always.

But then I remembered Chase. His bloodshot eyes and haughty words—nearly as bad. The thought of seeing him again had me moving quicker, but I couldn't help the doubts that chewed on my mind.

I hated that I wanted to run. It was an easy, stupid way to drown out the thoughts that flooded through my mind, but as I lifted my chin to stare at the towering building before me, something kept me put. I pictured those piercing, angry eyes. The scar to match. Pushing a hand through my hair, that should have been the last reason why I stayed.

A biting wind slid underneath my dress and prickled my skin. I was suddenly thankful for the winter season fast approaching, the chill numbed my thoughts and pushed me toward the double-glass doors. It was now or never.

The inside was just as intimidating as out. Floor-to-ceiling windows that spilled the early morning light across the glossy, tiled floors. I stared at my reflection, smoothing down the front of my dress; one that I made just the summer before—a pink, velvety material that hugged my tall and slender frame, and fanned out just shy of my knees. I tugged at the sleeves nervously, glancing around.

Everything was so pristine, neat. A couple couches sat in one corner, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but that was it.

I spotted the elevator and took to it, willing my breathing to steady as I stared at the directory. Carter Wright's office was situated the whole way at the top, a much too short ride that had butterflies dancing in the pit of my stomach, which only worsened when I stepped off.

Eyes spun on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone move toward me, could make out the questioning gazes, but I didn't bother to look at them, much less speak. It seemed no one was expecting a newcomer, and their gazes burned into my back as I slipped toward the two doors that I could only presume was where I needed to go.

The gold lettering of Carter Wright's name was engraved on the first door, the words Chief Executive Officer just below. With trembling fingers, I drew my knuckles against the wood, praying that I wouldn't make a fool of myself.

A faint "come in" welcomed me inside. The deep and familiar voice that had my heart in my throat. Hesitantly, I pushed the door open, swallowing hard as I came in sight of the person before me.

For a long and hard moment, there was silence. The kind that made my chest tighten. I shifted nervously from one foot to the other, afraid that Mr. Wright didn't see me.

"Carter Wright?" I hated how my voice sounded so weak.

"You're late."

He didn't break his gaze away from his laptop, but I still jumped at the sound of his low voice, the embarrassment burning my cheeks.

The clock hanging on the wall showed just a minute over eight o'clock, which made me frown ever so slightly.

"How is this late?" The bout of confidence I felt disappeared when his green eyes met my face, the infamous scowl deepening as he looked me over.