Chapter One
Ben
“Schilling. What the fuck happened to your face?” asks my boss Graham Morgan—in front of a roomful of my colleagues—just as I’m ready to begin a presentation I’ve been working on for weeks. A presentation that’s sure to lead to a promotion.
Damn it. I thought I’d done a pretty good job minimizing the damage. I iced it as soon as I got back into the office and caught a glimpse of the swelling. Hell, it was already turning purple by that time. And since I lost one of my contact lenses during the… well, the ordeal, I had to dig out my old glasses—old glasses that one of my former girlfriends laughed at and dubbed “nerd glasses.” Honestly, they are pretty nerdy with their thick black frames, but I figured they were big enough to disguise my injury.
Apparently not.
With a heavy sigh, I turn to Graham and attempt a smile, but it hurts like hell, so I wince instead. “Had a little accident over lunch break.”
Graham chuckles. I guess I should be pleased he’s laughing about this, because if the same thing happened a month ago, before he met his girl, he’d have kicked my ass, metaphorically speaking. “You got punched in the face at lunch?”
I smile, or try to, pretending to find his line of questioning amusing because even though Graham is in a much better mood since meeting Soraya, he’s still an asshole on a good day. “I wasn’t punched.” No, I was elbowed. Hard. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Yeah, the misunderstanding was on her part. I mean, seriously, who elbows a guy in the face? Especially a guy who’s trying to keep a woman from falling into oncoming traffic. Am I right?
“I figured you’d say, ‘You should see the other guy.’”
I’m not sure who says that, and I don’t really give two fucks. I just want this conversation to end.
“What happened? One of your heroic moments take a bad turn?”
I whip my head left in time to see my assistant nudge the guy next to him. He knows the backstory here. He knows about my little hobby—the one that was thrust upon me one rainy day. I never meant to be a superhero. It just happened.
But I can’t get into that right now. Instead, I glare because… fucking traitor. I hate my assistant. He’s a suck-up and an asshole. I swear he wants my job.
“No.” I glare at Clive. Yeah, that’s what I said. His name is Clive. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Go on.” Graham waves his hand like he’s shooing away a pesky rodent. “You might as well tell us the whole story. We’re never going to be able to pay attention to your presentation until we know what really happened.”
I stare at my boss, and the only thing I can tell you for sure is my fight-or-flight instinct is firmly in the flight category. But I can’t run away. So, I do what I always do whenever shit isn’t going my way—I smile.
“Sure.” I fake chuckle. “I was heading out to lunch.”
“We know,” someone from the back of the fucking peanut gallery deadpans.
Ignoring that, I continue. “I was at the light ready to cross over 42nd when I happened to see someone with their shoe caught in a grate.”
“Someone? Or a woman?” Peanut gallery again. The fuckers.
“A woman.” And not just any woman. This one, well, let’s just say she had my attention long before her shoe got stuck. No, I noticed her a couple blocks back, probably due to the tight red pencil skirt she had on. I’ve no idea about anything else, just her gorgeous ass and curves in that skirt. Oh, and the heels. Spiky stilettos. The kind that makes a man pause and picture those wrapped around him. Well, not the shoes, the legs attached to said shoes. Her heels were black and shiny and were connected to gorgeous, curvy legs. There was a line that ran down the back like a forties film star. That’s why I noticed.
“She wasn’t able to pull herself free, so I stepped over to her, reached down, and, well, I tried to help her.”
She didn’t like it. Not one bit. I guess I shouldn’t have grabbed her leg. Maybe I should have reached for her foot instead. But I wasn’t thinking. My first instinct was to help her—to save her from certain death. Sue me.
I snort and it’s loud. She wouldn’t have died. I’d never have let that happen. “When I tried to pull her foot free, she got startled.”
That’s a lie. She wasn’t startled. She was pissed.
“She reacted, and her elbow came back and got me right in the eye.”
Twice.
“Why are you limping?”
Fucking Clive.
“When her foot got free, it came down on top of mine.”
Another lie. It wasn’t an accident. She stomped down so hard, I wanted to cry on the spot, but I held it together. I guess I should be happy she didn’t aim for my nuts.
“Who is this girl?” Graham asks, looking like he wants to hire her. I guess he could always use a good security guard, because that woman is lethal.
“I don’t know.” I barely saw her face. But what I did see was beautiful.
Her dark hair was all messy, falling around her face, probably from the struggle to free the shoe. The whole thing took only a couple of minutes before she was off, stomping across the street at a fast clip. Part of me was relieved she was gone while another wondered if I’ll ever see her again.
Chapter Two
Ben
“Great job today, Ben.”
I’m standing next to my desk, looking at my notes from the meeting when I hear his voice. Clive. He’s leaning against my doorway with a smug look on his face. And no, I didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh, yeah?” I can’t think of anything else to say to him because I’m pissed enough to fire the asshole. Well, I would if I had that kind of power, which I don’t.
“Yeah. Once everyone got done laughing at you getting beat up by a chick—”
I can’t take it. “First of all, that’s sexist. Women aren’t chicks. And if Graham heard you say shit like that, you’d be out on your ass.” Maybe I should be recording this asshole.
He’s mumbling as he turns back toward his desk, but I’m still able to make out his words. “Whatever. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, asshole?”
“I heard that,” I yell out my office door.
“Good.”
Wow. When did Clive turn into this insubordinate asswipe?
I move to my doorway. Clive’s sitting at his desk, rummaging through a drawer. “Maybe you should put in for a transfer. I don’t think this is working.”
The man stops doing whatever he’s doing and slowly turns to face me. It’s rather creepy the way he’s doing it. And his expression, well, let’s just call it ominous. “That’s not going to happen, Ben.” He practically spits my name out.
What the fuck? What did I ever do to make this guy resent me so much?
He’s got a smirk on his face now. “I’d like nothing more than to be away from you—the wannabe superhero.”
Wannabe superhero?
Well, he’s wrong about that. I didn’t want to be a superhero. It was thrust upon me. I had no choice. One day I was just Ben Schilling, average marketing guy; the next, I was Ben Schilling, savior of all mankind.