Chapter 1: Hannah
You know that recurringnightmare where you show up for your calculus exam except you’ve never taken calculus, and you start to panic because the whole page looks like it’s written in Greek?
Actually, calculusiswritten in Greek, so that’s not a dire enough example. No, this is much worse than that. How about the dream where you are out in public buck naked with nowhere to hide, and everything’s just hanging out for the world to see?
That’s how I feel right now.
No way is this happening. Not to me. Not tonight.
Heat floods my face as my hands grow cold and clammy and threaten to drop this entire tray of champagne I’m carrying. I flex my fingers because that’s the last thing I need.
I can practically picture the crash, all eyes turning toward me. He’d see me, no doubt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that happen. Also, I’d probably get fired, and I don’t have the energy to look for another meaningless job right now.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was on the verge of a panic attack. Hannah LaRosa doesn’t have panic attacks. She’s cool, calm, and collected.
Yet, that’s not how I feel at all.
Also, Hannah LaRosa totally has panic attacks. They usually have one specific trigger, and that’s not what’s happening now. I shouldnotbe panicking over this.
I need some fresh air. Or to at least be in a separate room. Yes, those two things are important. But first, I need to put this tray down before I drop it. By some small miracle, I manage to avert disaster, get the tray to a stand, and rush to the bathroom. Surely there is some exit in there through which I can escape from him.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
As I approach the bathroom, I pick up speed. I may be out of shape, but my body remembers how to sprint. You’d think I was being chased by a serial killer rather than my current situation.
Which, to be clear, is: after a dozen years, I’m finally in a room with the one who got away.
Well, he didn’t actually get away because it’s not like I truly had him in the first place.
I need to calm down.
I will, once I’m out of the line of sight. In two seconds flat I’m inside, protected, with my back to the door.
Not that he saw me.
Or that he’d come in here after me if he did.
Or that he even remembers me.
Okay, I’m fairly certain he remembers me, but maybe he’s taken so many soccer balls to the head that he has selective amnesia.
One can hope.
It’s not that I want him to have a brain injury or anything, but I would rather have a toe-nail fungus from a pedicure than have him see me here tonight.
STOP. I need to stop this whirling chaos in my brain. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m suffocating behind this stupid mask, and I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air to fill my lungs. I hate that the waitstaff still has to wear these, but when the booking party requests it, we comply. I rip the infernal thing off, trying to process the last three minutes. Maybe my brain is deprived of oxygen, and I hallucinated the whole thing.
That would be a stroke of luck I don’t have.
There is only one man who can send me into this type of tailspin, and it’s Callaghan Entay. And he’s here. In my place of employment. Definitely, my worst nightmare is coming true.
I mean, other than the nightmare I actually went through because of him.
“No no no no no.”
“Are you okay?” The voice makes me jump, not that it would take much to push me over the edge in my current state. I really do need to calm down. The concerned voice belongs to a woman in a sparkly white and silver dress.
