Professor Feelgood (Page 29)

It’s hard to reconcile the twenty-four-year-old man he’s grown into with any of those memories, and it’s even harder to accept that any version of Jake is the hot-as-hell Professor Feelgood, but that’s the reality I have to live with, whether I like it or not.

The only thing that consoles me as I finally drift off to sleep is that tomorrow can’t possibly be any worse than today.

Predictably, I dream of falling machetes.

TEN

____________________

It Gets Worse

“SHIT.”

I wipe away a smear of eyeliner as I try to complete my makeup in record time. “Shit, shit, shit.” Of course, on the most important day of my entire career, I slept through my alarm for the first time ever. Just another addition to my ever-growing file of Random Things That Suck. I’m now running super late for work, and as usual when I’m in a mad rush, nothing is going my way.

“Here,” Eden says as she comes into the bathroom and shoves some toast into my mouth. “And Max has made you coffee. It’s on the bench.”

“Shanks,” I say, speaking around a mouthful of toast. I quickly stroke on a light layer of mascara and brush on some powder before running barefoot to my room to grab my shoes and purse.

“Oh, crap. Eden, I left my coat at the bar last night. Can I borrow one of yours?”

She flashes past my doorway and returns in a few seconds with her red trench. “Here. Anything else?”

“Nope. I’m outta here.”

She follows behind me as I dash into the kitchen to grab my coffee. I take a quick mouthful and set the cup down. “No time to finish. Thanks, though.”

Max is there bent over Eden’s laptop. “Ash?

“Yeah?”

“Uh, before you go, you’d better look at this.” He turns the screen so I can see it. “Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”

A popular publishing blog is splashed with the headline, Whiplash Steals Social Media Star from Major Publisher. In addition to the lovely headline, the article takes a swipe at me personally by saying that Whiplash is gambling their six-figure investment by “entrusting the high-risk project to a novice editor with no experience.”

Not untrue, but still … it makes me feel like crap.

“Goddamn Devin,” I mutter, before pointing aggressively at the screen. “And for the last time, we didn’t steal anybody. I discovered him!”

Either Devin doesn’t understand the precarious situation Whiplash is in right now, or he’s determined to get a few hits in against the woman who took his promotion. Either way, he’s a petty little man.

Max gives me a sympathetic look. “Sorry.”

I sigh. “Not your fault. All good. Thanks, Max.”

Eden gives me a quick hug. “Have a good day.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Unlikely, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

I head out of the apartment and hit the button to call our creaky elevator. When I step inside and the doors close, I drop my shoes onto the floor and push my feet into them. Of all the mornings to be late. It’s going to be weird enough to introduce Jake around to my colleagues like he’s a stranger, but I’d hoped to have some quality time with Serena, so I could pick her brain about how to approach the narrative for Jake’s book.

When I thought he was someone else, I had no trouble imagining myself steering this ship in the right direction. But now …

I’m hoping against hope that a good night’s rest might have brought him to his senses about us working together. I realize it’s not likely, but a girl can dream.

I fish around in my purse to find my lipstick as the ancient elevator makes its creaky descent to ground level. I should have taken the stairs. I’ve just finished swiping on some bright crimson, when my phone rings.

“Shit.” I groan when I see Serena’s name flashing on the screen. “Oh, goddamn double shit.”

When the elevator opens, I answer the call as I struggle to shove my arms into Eden’s coat.

“Serena, hey. I’m so sorry I’m not there. I had an alarm mishap this morning, but I’m on my way.”

I push through the doors leading to the street and pull up short. It’s raining. Hard.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Asha, what’s going on?”

I take a breath and hold my vintage Fendi handbag over my head before making a mad dash to the subway station. “Well, I didn’t realize it was raining, so I don’t have an umbrella.”

“Not with the weather. The whole team is in the conference room, waiting for you to brief them about the professor.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, well ––”

“Did you see The Pub Hub this morning?”

“Yes, I did, and I’m mad as hell about it––”

“People are already judging us for entrusting this project to you. Don’t prove them right by dropping the ball. You should have been here half an hour ago.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, I just ––”

I’m hurrying down the subway stairs when I slip on the wet tiles. As I let out a shriek, my phone and bag go flying, and I tumble heavily down the remaining steps. I grunt when I hit my knee and elbow as I fall, until I finally land in an inglorious heap at the bottom.

“Goddamn freaking shit!” People crowd around me, asking if I’m okay as they help me up. I quickly grab my purse, but when I look around for my phone, it’s nowhere to be seen.

“Did any of you pick up my phone?”

Having done their bare minimum duty to help a stranger in need, the members of my rescue party mumble various versions of ‘no’ before scurrying off to catch their own trains. As they leave, I scan the area again, and when I almost fall again, I realize the heel has snapped off my shoe. I nab it from the bottom of the stairs before doing one final search for my phone.

“Honey?” There’s a female cleaner standing nearby holding a mop. Ironically, she’s right next to a ‘Slippery when wet’ warning sign.

Too little, too late, sign.

“Are you looking for a phone in a bright yellow case?” she asks.

“Yes!” I cry, limping over to her. “Did you find it?”

“No, but a saw a young punk with a hoodie and backpack running away with it right after you fell. I tried to grab him, but he was too quick.”

“Oh, my God, seriously?”

She points to a set of stairs a short distance away. “He went down there. You want me to call security?”

“Ah, no, no time. Thank you.”

I stride off as quickly as I can with one crippled shoe.

“Honey!” the cleaner calls after me. “Don’t bother. He’s long gone by now.”

I ignore her and head down the stairs, but keeping true to karma’s determination to screw me over, I see the train speeding away into the dirty tunnel, just as I get to the bottom of the stairs.

“Ballsucking nippleslut! Are you kidding me with this?”

I slump in defeat. My life was in that phone. Now I’m late, wet, one-heeled, no-phoned, and bruised in several places. And to top it all off, my boss probably thinks I just hung up on her while she was chewing me out for being tardy. Well, at least this day can’t get worse, right?

Did you forget you’ll be spending most of the day with the King of the Assholes? a tiny voice whispers in my mind.