Page 3 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

“Well, my immediate supervisor is Simon. He’s quite a character. Military school, a PhD from Columbia, teaches international criminal law all over the world. His boss, Sandra, knew my mom from law school and has a photo on her desk of her with Desmond Tutu.”

Lisa was impressed. “Sandra sounds amazing.”

“She really is.” I nodded. “But the one it’s really all about is Bill Ferrars, her boss.

I’ve had only a few interactions with him, and it’s very clear the entire place would fall apart without him.

He’s got all the authority, political connections, and a legal brain the size of a planet.

Everyone who’s anyone, from high-ranking politicians, tough-looking mobsters, or run-of-the-mill Joes with lots of cash, they all come running through those same glass doors downstairs just to talk to Bill.

My mission is to get in his good graces. ”

Lisa replied, “Sounds challenging. You think you can do it?”

I sighed. “I hope so. Won’t be easy because there’s a lot of competition, but I’m determined to make my mark.”

“Well if anyone can, it’s you, babe.” She smiled encouragingly. Gods, I loved her.

“I got to go, love, call you later?” I waved. She gave me a big FaceTime kiss and by the time I’d returned to my cubicle, I was in a much lighter mood.

Thanks to Moby’s new records of “douchery” my coffee had gone cold. Again.

So I ran down to the coffeehouse—again—to refill my personalized mug.

There were plastic cups available to us but to appear “environmentally conscious,” every senior lawyer brought their own mug, instead of not having any plastic cups around at all and actually saving the planet.

They each displayed an even more idiotic quote.

Mine read—and I noticed this proudly, I really did—“Lawyers never lose their appeal.” Needless to say, interns however, used whatever mug was available in the kitchen.

“Another looming deadline?” dear Sara, our barista, asked as she conjured up a fresh pot of coffee. I replied with a yawn so enormous, it’d make every hippopotamus on Earth feel inadequate.

“Oh, you interns.” Sara sighed with a touch of sympathy in her dulcet tones. “Your social lives must be collecting cobwebs in this place.”

I huffed with a load of self-pity. “I wish! At least I’d have the spiders to keep me company.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I hope it’s all worth it in the end.”

I managed to smile, my intention to nod and say "yes" dissolving like cornflakes in an overpoured bowl of milk. After sixteen grueling hours, seated uncomfortably close to Moby, my motivation had seen better days.

The assignment was due on Friday, leaving me with a generous forty-five hours to finish. So, after scaling the heights of thirteen flights of stairs, I barricaded myself in my cubicle with a monumental stack of work and enough caffeine to make a zombie run a marathon.

Those forty-five hours turned out to be grueling. My heavily sleep-deprived brain processed over fifty-something adult films, sprouting a massive headache from too much screen time.

By the time the deadline rolled around, I had been entrenched in the office for a staggering three days and nights, without any meaningful breaks.

I couldn’t wait to go home and take a shower…

After three whole days and nights of going non-stop through adult movies, I felt dirtier and sleepier—though surprisingly not hornier—than ever.

I closed off my computer around five o’clock in the afternoon, my eyes resembling those of a hipster after three days partying at Burning Man.

As I attempted to stand up and prepare for my exit, my limbs, unaccustomed to any movement besides typing and mouse-clicking, had taken on the texture of overly done spaghetti.

I nearly collapsed under the weight of my own fatigue.

Walking out like a drunk goose, I passed by Alma, the office manager, who waved a goodbye my way and said in her high-pitched voice, “Good day, Miss Thompson,” as she did every night.

She was a small blonde lady in her early fifties, with a stern appearance, small glasses, and consistently well-dressed and presentable, as if she were always expected to attend a PTA meeting.

She was also the one who was running the place.

I smiled at her and waved back, happy with the knowledge she wouldn’t take the time to memorize my name if she hadn’t picked up on some good chatter about me.

Exiting the building onto the street in broad daylight hurt my eyes immensely after spending so much time sitting in a rather dark cubicle with the sole light of badly lit porn. My brain went in complete sensory overload and I tried to blink away the fog in my head.

As if on cue, Lisa’s name flashed on my screen.

“Hi babe, what’s up?” Her soothing voice sounded through the speaker.

“I’m finally getting out of my work-a-thon,” I replied while suppressing a yawn. “What about you?”

“Nothing much, simply wondering if you wanted to join us for a drink tonight?”

“Who’s ‘us’?” I asked, practically sleep-walking toward the road. I was so tired and wrapped up in my own world, oblivious to the people and objects that constituted my immediate surroundings.

“Just me and Jasper,” she replied, which made me smirk.

Back then, Lisa dated a guy, Lincoln something, though she was secretly into this other guy, Jasper, a wonderful artistic man who had spent half his life on magic mushrooms before turning toward his passion: Information Technology.

Not that she knew this back then, but he would go on to develop an app for something I never quite understood, make a fortune, and would later on propose to Lisa, who would of course only accept after the fourth proposal.

“No thanks, hun, I’ll leave you two and your unspoken love by yourselves tonight. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh come on, Em. You haven’t been out with us for weeks now! How long has it been since you’ve gotten some?”

Of course, she had no idea I had spent the entire week watching porn and had no desire for any male company, though she wasn’t wrong.

I hadn’t had a significant relationship in years and although I didn’t object to picking up men in bars when I had an itch to scratch genuine emotional connections were a rarity in my life. As I preferred it.

I didn’t have the time nor energy to focus on anything less than me and myself. I was smart and hardworking, but I was impatient to succeed, and I was a very annoying perfectionist and control freak. And yes, I was rather self-centered, which I was well aware of.

“You’re right, but I’m still wiped. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow though if you want? After I’ve gotten some sleep?”

I halted right before crossing the street.

I did. I really did. Of course, I was feeling dazed, and sleepy and distracted. Distracted by my work, by Lisa’s voice but I did halt. Did she answer my last question? Did she hang up on me? Whatever she did, I halted before I crossed the street. And I did gaze at the traffic light.

Didn’t I?

I never saw the car, its color, nor its brand. I didn’t notice how it screeched its tires, nor the loud honking. I didn’t hear the people yelling and I never laid eyes on the driver.

I realized I was going to die right before the car hit me.

Which is when this immense calm washed over me, only for a second.

Then panic hit me like a hammer—a certainty of sudden death and horrible angst clouding my mind.

In a second of total bewilderment the absurd thought occurred to me to try to jump over the car.

Yes, jumping over a moving vehicle…that was where my mind went.

A clear sign death was imminent, when the only way to survive was utterly impossible.

There was a guy in a gray suit with blond hair, standing across the street, gawking at me, and the last thing I thought was “wow, this dude looks really scared for me.” Then I closed my eyes.

But I never felt the car actually hitting me.