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Chapter One
Roxanne
“Where the hell is my shoe?” I growled as I dug around in my disastrous closet. One of these days, I was going to find time to organize it, but that day was not today. Not when I had an important client meeting in what—I glanced at my watch, shit—thirty minutes!
“Crap, crap, crap!” I yanked the red pump off my left foot, tossing it into the pile and grabbed a pair of black ones that were on top of the abstract collection. These weren’t my best shoes, but they would do. No one ever really looked at your feet anyway, did they?
I grabbed my small shoulder briefcase, my purse, keys, and coat and rushed out the door. If I didn’t have much traffic, I could possibly arrive on time. It didn’t look very professional to a bride if I arrived late. The last thing they wanted on their special day was delays, and if I couldn’t show that I was on top of things—namely my ability to be punctual—then why would they want to hire me?
And I really needed this client. My last two clients had signed on with me, and then one had broken their engagement, and the other decided to go with a different wedding specialist after having almost everything already planned. That really hurt because Susan Bartlow was my competition and had been since middle school. We had been friends back then, and to some people, maybe we still were, but there was this fierce competition that slowly simmered under that friendship.
In high school, we had competed with grades and sports. She always had to outdo me on the track, if only by a second or two. If her test scores were higher than mine, she’d flaunt them. We had even competed in boyfriends. If it were ever known that I liked a particular boy, she would somehow get his attention first. I think it was because those boys knew they could score from her, where I wasn’t putting out as quickly as Susan was. At first, it had hurt—a lot, but then I got used to it. If a boy was only interested in hitting the bases, then I wasn’t interested in him.
A few times after they were done with Susan, they would ask me out, but I wasn’t into sloppy seconds. Needless to say, when I heard that Susan was going to start her own wedding specialist business, I was steaming mad. She had known since high school that this was what I wanted to do. I specialized in business, marketing, and design while I was in school. Susan hadn’t. I loved weddings, and I guess in a way she did too because she’d already been married once and divorced, and I had heard she was engaged again.
Word on the street was that her latest fiancé was the ex-groom to one of her clients. That didn’t say much for her business, but she managed to undercut me in costs just about every time. I guess that’s because she came from money and didn’t need it to live on as much as I did.
I rushed out the door of my townhouse and right into a few inches of snow that stopped me in my tracks. “Holy crap! When did it snow?”
I looked down at my feet; I was standing in at least four inches of fresh powder, and the snow instantly covered the tops of my feet. Great, now my feet were going to be freezing, but I didn’t have time to go up and change into boots, not when I would have to clean off my car now.
I made it to my car, only slipping twice, and brushed the snow from the doorjamb with my bare hand while muttering under my breath about leaving my gloves upstairs. After turning on the car, I dug around in the back seat for that long thingy that would brush the snow and ice off my car.
I quickly went around my car, making sure to remove all the snow from the windows, hood, roof, and lights. It would have saved me some time by just clearing my windows, but I knew better. My brother was a cop, and he had told me over and over again about how important it was to make sure your car was completely clear. If the headlights were covered, cars couldn’t see you coming. If your taillights weren’t visible, they couldn’t see you stopping. Cops also hated when license plates were covered, because then they didn’t know who you were, and leaving snow on top of your car was hazardous to those behind you.
So I took a few minutes to clear it all off, hoping that the bride would excuse me for my tardiness because I was being safe. Maybe she would even be late herself today because of the weather.
My teeth were chattering when I got into my car and realized that I’d forgotten to turn the defrosters on, and my windows were still not clear. It was another two minutes before it was safe to drive. I now only had fifteen minutes to make the twenty-five-minute drive. I would have called my bride and told her I was running late, but I’d left my cellphone at my office the night before and didn’t have time to boot up my computer to dig around and find her number.
I pulled out on the main road and fishtailed slightly, taking my foot off the gas immediately until my car was back under control, and then slowly began to accelerate again. While I loved the snow, I hated having to drive in it, and my heart slammed against my breastbone for a few moments.
The side road from my townhouse community wasn’t plowed yet, and it was slow going. I was thankful to arrive at the main street and find it had been plowed, and while still mucky, it looked better than the side street. After waiting for an opening in traffic, I stepped on the gas, and my car slid sideways slightly before it finally got traction. Maybe I needed new tires?
I tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel as I drove into town. Please, please, please let the bride be late. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have wanted to meet at seven in the morning. She would have preferred to visit with me during regular business hours, but because she worked, she wanted to take this meeting before she had to be at her job.
I was desperate to have her as a client, and so I had bent over backward to accommodate her. I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. I was going to be at least fifteen minutes late. I had wanted to be early today, to make sure that I had coffee brewing and I could select some Danishes from the bakery next door. Sadly, without my cellphone and its alarm, I had woken up late. Why had I gotten rid of the digital clock beside my bed? Oh yeah, because I preferred to use my cellphone instead. Stupid me.
The light in front of me turned red, and I pressed the brake a little too hard, almost losing control of my car and sliding into the one beside me. Again, my adrenaline surged, and I hissed out some very unladylike words. My hands hurt from clutching the steering wheel so hard, and as we waited for the light to turn green again, I flexed my hands. They were just now thawing from my adventure in snow removal.
I was almost to my small shop when I glanced at my clock again. I was now twenty minutes late. The slow traffic and hitting every single red light since I’d gotten on the main road had added extra time to my drive. I ground my teeth, frustrated at the way my day was going. It had to get better; it had to.
As I drove the last couple of miles, I forced myself to relax and put a smile on my face. If I could smile, I would make myself feel better. I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed my smile looked more like a grimace. Ugh.
I was only two blocks from my place, and anxious to get there, but once again I was stuck at another red light. The minute it turned green, I pressed the gas pedal and rushed into the intersection. I should have waited because halfway through I was t-boned, and my car slid sideways and struck another vehicle before spinning entirely around to where I was facing the oncoming traffic and a minivan unable to stop on the icy roadway hit the front of my car. I saw it coming, clenched my eyes, and the next thing I remember was being slammed back in my seat by the airbag.
I began to cough, the smoke from the airbag filling the compartment. My entire body shook, and something wet began to run from my nose just as the pain began to register. There was a horn blaring in a constant stream, and someone was banging on my window.
“Are you alright?” a man asked, and I could only stare at him, entirely dazed by what had happened. “Ma’am, are you alright? Unlock your door.”
The words took a moment to register, and I reached for the door locks. I pushed them, but they didn’t seem to work. The man yanked on the door from outside, but nothing happened. It was then that I started to panic slightly and tried to get my seat belt off, but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed at the airbag that had deflated, trying to get it out of my way as my anxiety grew at being trapped in a car.
Someone was yanking on the passenger door, but it wouldn’t open either. I glanced around the inside of the car; my dashboard seemed to be closer than it should be, and I blinked. How was that possible? I tried my seat belt again, but still nothing happened.
The man beside the window was watching me. “Are you alright? Can you talk?” he yelled at me, and I nodded absently at him. I had no idea if I was alright or not. My left leg throbbed, and my face and chest ached. Hell, to be honest, there wasn’t much that didn’t hurt.
I wiped at my upper lip; bright-red blood smeared on my hand. Great, I’d probably broken my nose. I tried to move my left leg, but it seemed pinned under the dashboard. Something wet was also running down my leg, and that’s when the anxiety really kicked up a notch, and the fear took hold. I was injured and stuck in my car.
I heard a siren in the distance, and it was getting closer, but not fast enough. I laid my head back against the headrest, trying to calm my breathing before I hyperventilated. Hurry up, help, but please don’t let it be my brother. But on second thought, I didn’t care who it was, as long as they got me out of here.
