Page 7 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

I was lost. My phone was dead, I was on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, and I was lost. I passed a boarded-up gas station that I swore I had seen not ten minutes ago and pulled over to check my phone.

I tapped the screen. Nothing. I pressed the “on” button.

Still black. Was my phone dead ? I scrambled for a charger in my purse and then in my suitcase, tossing my belongings onto the backseat.

Ah-ha! Got it. Now to find a plug… I poked around in the front of the car.

Nothing under the dash, nothing in the console, nothing in the back.

Was there seriously no USB port in here?

Gah. The stupid, tiny rental car had no charger, and I had foolishly used my phone battery up while answering Gerald’s emails on the plane.

I’d made it just fine to the town of Booth, but the rental house Paola had booked was on the outskirts, and I had no idea where.

Out the car window were cold, empty fields, a few cows, and endless, flat pavement under a heavy sky.

It was pretty grim. At least the sky matched my shitty mood.

I’d sent out a few job applications on the plane, but I didn’t expect to hear back.

I’d spent the last eight months applying to public interest roles and hadn’t gotten many responses.

Every day I woke with the sensation of the floor slipping slowly out from underneath my feet.

I kept waking in the middle of the night to check my email, and the anxiety was slowly grinding me down.

This trip had to go well. I had to win this deal.

But first, I had to get to the damn rental house so I could start fresh tomorrow.

The country was so not my scene. I was a born and bred New Yorker.

I walked fast, talked faster, and rarely dressed down.

The wet pavement in the airport parking lot had already made a mess of my best black stilettos.

A poor choice for driving and an even poorer choice for this weather.

The cop who had followed me from the airport must have noticed my halting drive, because he had only peeled off when I had pulled out of town and onto these country roads.

I rarely drove, only maintaining my license at my father’s insistence.

He claimed that knowing how to drive had saved his family’s lives when they had fled Armenia.

I put the car in drive and turned around.

Right is toward the town. I think? Fuck it.

I had to pick a direction. Corn fields and the occasional tree rolled by.

Signs for the town of Booth started to appear, framed by the ominous clouds hanging low in the evening sky.

I reached the town limits when the first few fat drops hit my windshield.

Not ten minutes later, the diner I’d spotted on the way out came into view and I sighed.

Something was going right, at least. Hopefully, they could charge my phone or give me directions.

They had to have plugs. I steeled myself for the slap of raindrops against my face and scurried inside as fast as my stilettos would take me.

This isn’t bad. It was actually pretty quaint.

Lots of photos with what I assumed were local celebrities due to the number of cowboy hats and farm animals.

Cozy looking booths and a really hot bartender behind the counter.

Hello there . He tipped his ball cap at me.

“Ma’am. Seat yourself anywhere you’d like. ”

“Can I plug my phone in, please?” I waved the dead device in the air. “And yes, I know I am that person.”

He grinned and gestured for the phone. “I’ve got you.”

I plopped myself at the bar and ordered a cup of coffee. Ogling this guy and scanning the local paper someone had left on a chair could easily occupy me for an hour. I just needed a little juice on my phone before I got back in the car.

When my phone finally got to thirty percent battery, I dragged myself through the rain, into the car, and followed the directions back to where I’d stopped before.

I passed the boarded-up gas station, now mostly shadows under a dim, wet sky.

I shivered. It was so empty here. And I’d spent the last hour watching residents heading home to their cozy houses, probably to have nice dinners and sit by the fire on a cold winter night.

My stomach rumbled. This sucked. Please let this house be close.

I just wanted to change out of these clothes and have some dinner.

I turned on to a bumpy dirt road next to a cornfield.

My teeth rattled with every pebble and divot.

A stately old Victorian with a lovely porch came into view.

Not bad. My heart lifted a little. It was surrounded by cornfields, but it looked cozy and warm.

A light was on inside. The rental company must have left it on.

I pulled up the drive. It was silent, except for night breezes shushed gently through the adjacent field.

I shuddered. At least the lights are on, otherwise this would be totally creepy.

I parked the car, dropped my bag on the porch, and fumbled for the extra key that the listing noted would be under the mat.

It wasn’t there. Crap. Maybe under the flowerpot next to it?

I picked it up and then stubbed my toe on the doorframe and hissed a curse.

Okay, not under the flowerpot. Maybe the door was open?

I reached out to push the door open, right as Jason Elliott, in all his shirtless glory, pulled it open.