I huff out a laugh. It’s wildly irresponsible advice. It’s also exactlywhat I need. I get out of the car, square my shoulders, and march toward the building like I have a plan. I’m crossing the parking lot just as the Uber driver pulls up to the curb.
Or attempts to. A man in a yellow vest waves him forward, giving me a chance to push through the revolving doors and get inside the building first. A minute later, the driver walks in, brown paper bag in hand, and heads toward the security directory desk.
I’m at a safe distance not to be noticed but close enough to catch bits of the conversation. A phone call is placed by the security officer, and he frowns.Not expecting lunch, Craig?A back-and-forth conversation takes place between the security guard and the driver before the driver sets the bag on the desk and leaves. The security guard nods and hangs up the phone, and I hope that meansCraigis on his way down.
The elevator opens with a ding. And out walks Ben. Laughing. With a woman. Not just any woman—a beautiful woman. Polished. Confident. Looking like everything I’m not.
Ben says something and they share a laugh like they’ve done it a thousand times. My stomach sinks. Hard.
Abort mission. Abort now.
I spin around quickly, ducking my chin and heading straight for the revolving door. And this is where the universe decides to humble me. I misjudge the timing—completely—thinking I can slip through without waiting. I can’t.
The revolving door smacks me square in the shoulder, spins me backward, and traps me inside one of the glass compartments like a very confused hamster. I panic and push. Too hard. The door lurches. The person behind me yelps. The entire mechanism shudders on its axis andstops moving.
I’m stuck.
Inside a clear, spinning tomb of shame.
Through the glass, I see Ben turning at the commotion—brows furrowed, steps slowing,definitelynoticing.
“No,” I hiss under my breath.
Panic kicks my adrenaline into overdrive. I wedge my shoulder intothe frame and shove the door manually with everything I’ve got. It moves inches—but it’s enough. With one final, desperate twist of my body, I squeeze through the tight space and hurl myself out of the revolving door. I stumble onto the sidewalk, breathless, hair sticking to my forehead, dignity shredded into fine confetti.
“Cybil?”
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I bolt.
“Cybil!”
Ignoring Ben’s voice calling after me, I fix my gaze on Joy. She sees me and frantically waves her hands in big slicing motions warning me,Don’tcome back here!And immediately slides down in her seat like she’s trying to pretend she doesn’t know me.
“Cybil, wait—”
Ben’s voice carries, confused and way too close. Panic fires through me. I need to get away from here. I take off down the sidewalk, narrowly missing a man carrying a tray of iced coffees, and duck into the first place I see—a busy restaurant, packed with lunch-hour chaos.
Heads turn. Silverware clatters. I jolt to a stop, paste on a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Calmly, I breeze past the hostess stand, radiating the energy of someone who definitely has a lunch reservation and is definitely not fleeing the scene of her own public humiliation.
Behind the bar, I spot a hallway, the blessed Restrooms sign, and make a break for it. I push through the swinging door into the women’s restroom. A quick scan of the open stall doors and I slump back against the cool tile wall, gasping for breath.
This is fine.
Everything’s fine.
This was all part of the plan.
Chapter 9
Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Tuesday afternoon
“What was I thinking?”
