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"Ugh, no," I groaned. "It's not the money. I hate running in one place. It takes the fun out of it."
"Fine. Just be careful, please," she pleaded, and I resisted my chuckle in the face of her genuine concern. As an only child, my parents worried far too much about my safety.
They also worried far too much about my lack of a husband and family.
Saying they wanted to be grandparents would be an understatement.
"You're coming to dinner tonight, right?" she asked, and I shook my head at her with a huff of laughter. It was Sunday. They usually came over to my place mid-week, but Sundays had always—and would forever—be my mother's territory. She wouldn't even give it up to her "fancy chef daughter."
"Yep, I'll see you tonight, okay? I'm about to go into the bank."
"Okay, sweetheart. Love you."
"Love you too, bye." I hung up, feeling appreciation for my meddling mother and father. Even when they were sticking their noses into my love life—which they no longer did too often after setting me up on too many failed dates with their friends' sons—they meant well. They meant the best.
They'd just been head over heels in love for too long to consider the possibility of love not being meant for me. I didn't have a soulmate.
That didn't mean I had to be alone.
I walked into the bank with my phone in my hand, emitting a long, low groan when I only made it a few feet inside.
People crowded the interior, to the point I could barely see the front of the line from my place at the back.
Didn’t anybody work normal business hours anymore? I'd thought having an unusual profession would work to my advantage, but so many people mid-morning was just one more sign of the way the workforce in Chicago was changing. I took my place in line behind a middle-aged woman, who gave me a sympathetic smile, undoubtedly having had the same reaction when she walked in only a few moments prior.
I pulled out my phone and stared down the screen as I scanned through all my unaddressed social media notifications. I couldn’t keep up with it all anymore. The blog had officially gotten away from me with its success, and while the money was fantastic, I needed to consider hiring a social media manager to take that element off my hands.
I didn't bother looking back when the door opened behind me. With the crowd already in there, it stood to reason that the door was revolving.
“Nobody move!” a male voice yelled from the doorway. A woman screamed, and I turned back to find three men standing just inside the door, black ski masks covering their heads and AK-47’s in hand. My phone dropped to the floor in shock as one man used a gun to hit the security guard in the face where he stood frozen. I jolted in place from the sound of my phone hitting the floor, bending down to snatch it up. Even in that moment, I appreciated my expensive, protective case. Usually it was water damage or food that the case saved my phone from, but I supposed bank floors worked too.
Two of the men moved to the tellers with bags, while the other stood guarding the door. “Everybody in the corner!” he yelled, and the crowd scurried over quickly.
I couldn't say what possessed me to do it, but as everyone else attempted to hide behind each other and be as small as possible, I threw my shoulders back and stood tall. An elderly woman shuffled her way over, fidgeting with her walker in her hurry to comply with the orders of the bank robber watching us pointedly. I took her arm, giving it a reassuring pat as we left the walker in favor of getting her into the corner.
"Thank you, dear," she said with a shaky sigh, patting my arm when I'd maneuvered her into the corner. I nodded, shoving my phone into my jacket pocket finally and making my way over to grab her walker. After just a few seconds of standing without it, it was clear that the woman needed it for stability.
"Get back in the fucking corner," the man at the door warned, deep brown eyes peeking out from the holes in his ski mask as he glared at me.
"She needs the walker. That's all," I placated, holding my hands out in front of me to show I wasn't a threat. Though admittedly, if a guy with a really big gun was concerned about me then we had definitely entered backward land.
"She'll live." He pointed his gun at me, and I flinched and ignored the whimper a woman behind me released at the prospect of the gun being turned on the hostages.
"Fine. Be a douchebag. I mean, you are robbing a bank obviously, but it takes a special brand of asshole to leave an elderly woman without her walker," I mumbled, unsure what exactly had come over me. The others behind me were afraid, and so was I. But I was also just pissed. There was no way I would die without ever being loved, especially not shot full of holes in a fucking bank robbery.
Though, if I didn't shut my mouth that might happen regardless of how I felt about it.
Instead of firing the gun, I watched as the man's chest shook with laughter. He lowered the gun and tipped his head at me. "By all means, go ahead. I wouldn't want to add asshole to my rap sheet, sweet thing," he drawled, and I bristled.
I had a feeling I'd fucked up.
Regardless, my feet carried me the extra distance until I wrapped my hands around the walker. A hand landed on the other side when I moved to lift it, and with a nervous swallow I turned my face up to glare at the robber staring down at me with amusement dancing in his eyes.
&nb
sp; When our eyes connected, his eyes narrowed, and the amusement fled. It was rather comical to watch whatever was passing through his mind as the thoughts were so very visible on his face even when I could hardly see it. “Ivory?” he asked. I froze at the sound of my name on his lips.
“Do-do I know you?” I stuttered in shock.
