bloodlines vs deadlines

Chapter 3: A Dose of Disaster

Emma stood in front of the mirror, squinting at her reflection like she was solving a murder case. After a ten-minute lecture from her mother featuring at least four solid whacks on the back and endless complaints about her fashion sense and four outfit changes, she finally settled on what she proudly called her “please hire me, I swear I’m normal” look.

She wore beige wide-leg trousers that swayed like they were powered by the wind, a tucked-in white top that somehow avoided major wrinkles, and a black blazer that screamed professionalism (even though it had a dried toothpaste stain on the sleeve, which she cleverly hid by rolling it up). She added a black belt to give her some structure and heels because her mom threatened to disown her if she wore sneakers again.

Topping it off was her soft white handbag, the only thing in her life currently holding itself together and her gold necklace, her self-proclaimed “lucky charm” (mostly because it hadn’t strangled her yet). Her hair fell naturally, her sunglasses were comically oversized, and her nerves? Completely fried.

“Hmmm, who’s that pretty lady?” her mom teased, giving her a playful nudge with her elbow.

Emma rubbed her arm. “That’s the 99th time you’ve hit me today. Just go ahead and make it a hundred. Not sure what childhood grudge you’re taking out on me today, but I respect the consistency.”

Her mom smirked. “If you dressed like this more often, you’d have a boyfriend by now.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me having a boyfriend?” Emma groaned. “Baggy clothes are in trend, okay? And I like comfort. Plus, I’m not chasing boys, boys are chasing me. I just… keep rejecting them. Yeah.”

Her mom gave her a long, unimpressed stare. “Done with your TED Talk? Now move your ass. Be confident. And don’t panic.”

Emma grinned and opened her arms dramatically. “Would you like a goodbye hug?”

“Why are you even asking?” her mom replied, hugging her tight. Emma was a certified hugger.

..........

In the taxi…

“Mr. Driver, can you please stop by a pharmacy on the way?” Emma asked nervously.

She didn’t know why she said “Mr. Driver” like that, maybe the stress of the interview was messing with her brain. She sounded way too formal, like she was in some fancy British movie.

“Yes, Miss Passenger,” the driver replied, copying her serious tone.

Emma just made a face and looked out the window, choosing to ignore him. She was already embarrassed enough. No way she was letting a taxi driver out-funny her today.

Her hands had begun to tremble slightly not enough for others to notice, but just enough for her to know something was coming. Was it an anxiety attack? A panic attack? Honestly, she couldn’t tell the difference. She just knew it happened every time she had something big going on, before or after college presentations, now before her interview. She had never seen a doctor about it. Denial was cheaper, and Google was always ready with the wrong answers. But maybe a pharmacy could help… at least a little.

When they stopped, Emma stepped out of the car, nearly twisting her ankle as she wobbled in her heels. “Okay. Confidence. Grace. Elegance,” she mumbled to herself while clinging to a parked car for balance.

Just as she headed toward the big pharmacy, that weird prickly feeling crawled up her back like someone was staring a hole into her soul.

She turned around.

The taxi driver was straight-up checking her out.

Emma blinked. Then blinked again. “Wow,” she muttered, dryly. “Great. My first fan of the day.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. “Yeah, I’m booking another ride. Creep.”

...........

She approached the counter confidently or at least that’s what she told herself.

“Hey… uh… brother… you have medicine?”

Emma immediately realized how idiotic that sounded and tried to act serious.

The pharmacy guy looked around, then back at her with the kindest, most suspicious smile. “Yes ma’am, we have medicine. What kind are you looking for?”

Emma cleared her throat. “Something for… trembling hands. Shaky vision. Uh, nerves. To stop me from fainting.”

The man blinked. “Do you have a prescription?”

“No…” Emma gave her best puppy-dog eyes.

After a long pause, he handed her a small bottle. “This is a light med. No prescription needed. Won’t knock you out, but it might help.”

Emma’s heart melted a little as she looked at the pharmacist.

Aww... look at his concern-filled eyes. He’s so kind for a complete stranger.

She blinked, slightly misty-eyed just as he waved a hand in front of her face.

“Hello, ma’am? Still with us?”

Emma snapped out of her thoughts. “Oh! Sorry. Here’s your payment,” she said, fumbling with her wallet. “And… you’re very kind. Thank you.”

Her voice came out higher than usual, and she winced internally.

Great. That sounded like I just proposed marriage. Emma, seriously. He’s going to think you fell for him over one polite sentence.

She turned around quickly and rushed toward the door.

“That was so awkward. Zero conversation skills. Well done, Emma.”

She walked out quickly, too quickly for someone in heels. She turned to sneak one last look at the kind pharmacist…

...and tripped.

She stumbled forward, more like half-collapsed, right into someone’s chest. Her feet were still on the ground, but her face smacked directly into something firm and expensive-smelling.

Great. Just great.

Her hands instinctively landed on his biceps, which were so solid they could double as gym equipment. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

Kill. Me. Now.

The man, dressed in all black like he walked straight out of a cologne ad, slowly removed his hands from his pockets. With zero urgency and even less emotion, he placed them on her shoulders and gently pushed her back like someone peeling a particularly clingy sticker off a new shirt.

Emma peeled her face away from his chest and turned her head slowly.

Green eyes stared down at her, calm, unreadable, and clearly unimpressed.

Her mouth went dry.

Okay. Don’t panic. Maybe he didn’t notice your entire face just did a trust fall into his chest. Maybe he’s blind. Or polite. Or has short-term memory loss.

Her heart was doing jumping jacks in her ribcage.

Say something smart, Emma. Say anything that doesn’t involve you sounding like a i***t.

“Uh… sorry. Didn’t see you there…” she mumbled, holding up… her phone. “Took a dose of this, I think it’s kicking in?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re holding your phone.”

Emma blinked, looked down, and realized she had been holding her phone the whole time not the medicine bottle.

She blinked at the phone in her hand, then slowly lifted her gaze to his face… and completely failed to hide her shocked and mortified expression.

The man glanced down, then gave a small nod toward the fallen medicine lying on the floor behind her.

“Oh… right. I, um… thought I was holding that,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Clearly, my brain didn’t get the memo.”

She gave a nervous laugh, then immediately regretted it. Why was she like this?

He raised an eyebrow. “That explains the coordination,” he said flatly, tone unreadable.

Then, without another word, he stepped past her and walked away like nothing happened.

Emma stood there blinking. Did he just insult her or…?

Emma clutched her dignity or what was left of it, picked up her bottle, and scurried off like a disaster on heels.

“God,” she muttered under her breath, “please don’t let me see that man ever again. Not in this life, not in the next. I can’t survive Round Two of public embarrassment.”

Little did she know… she had just crash-landed into her future boss.

............