Wrapped Around Her Finger

CALLIOPE

I've never been late for anything. Ever. But today, the one day that could make or break my entire career, my alarm decided to betray me. Of course, the train was packed, the cab line ridiculously long, and now, I'm sprinting down the sidewalk in heels that feel like they're stabbing knives into my feet.

"Move! MOVE!" I shout, weaving around a couple strolling leisurely in front of me, their hands intertwined like it's some lazy Sunday afternoon. They shoot me annoyed looks, but I don't care. Not today. Not when I'm ten minutes behind schedule and heading to the biggest interview of my life.

I glance down at my watch-9:14 AM. Crap. I have exactly sixteen minutes to get there, and I still have five blocks to go. My feet are already screaming in these damn heels, but I push on. Why did I wear these? They're the perfect height for professional confidence, but perfect for walking? Absolutely not.

I hear the city buzzing around me, the usual sounds of car horns blaring, people chattering, and the occasional barking dog. Normally, I'd enjoy it-the chaotic symphony of life that makes the city feel alive. But today, it's an obstacle course. People are in my way. Everyone is in my way.

"Out of the way!" I hiss under my breath as I sidestep around a woman juggling three shopping bags and a toddler clinging to her arm. I'm not even sure if she heard me, but she doesn't look up. Typical.

I barrel past the exit of the train station, ignoring the dull ache in my feet. My head's pounding from the adrenaline and the sheer panic that's pulsing through my veins. I take another look at my watch. Fifteen minutes. Oh God, I can't be late for tthis. GreenYield-THE GreenYield, the top agro firm in the city, the place I've been dreaming of working at since I graduated-was waiting for me. Or at least, they would be if I could make it there in time.

I curse under my breath as I narrowly dodge a man who steps directly into my path, his eyes glued to his phone. Seriously? I spin to avoid a collision, nearly losing my balance on the slick sidewalk.

"Watch it!" I snap at him, my voice a mix of frustration and panic. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for anything right now except making it to that office on time.

The sky, once a dull gray, is now threatening to open up and dump rain at any moment. I feel the first drops land on my forehead, soft at first, barely noticeable. Of course, it would rain. Because why wouldn't it? As if this day could get any worse. I pull my blazer tight against me, as if that will somehow keep me dry. I can already feel my hair frizzing. Great. Just what I need-frizzy hair and a panic attack before the interview that could change my life.

I cross the street, dodging another oblivious pedestrian with a coffee cup in hand. He's moving so slowly, like he has no idea there's someone whose entire future is hanging in the balance. Why does it feel like everyone is in slow motion today? I'm practically sprinting now, or as close to sprinting as I can get in these stupid heels. My toes are screaming, and I'm sure I'll have blisters by the time I make it to the office-if I make it.

Another block down, and the rain starts coming harder. My pace quickens as I spot the next crosswalk. Only a few more blocks to go, and I might just make it-barely. I force myself to focus on the next step, one heel in front of the other. I've done tougher things than this. I've survived internships from hell, all-nighters during finals week, and those horrible coffee runs for bosses who couldn't even remember my name. This? I can do this.

I cross the street just as the light changes, my pace frantic, my heart racing in my chest. Twelve minutes left. My breath is coming faster now, but not from exhaustion. It's the clock. The relentless ticking in my head that won't let me rest. Every second that passes is a step closer to disaster.

Then, it happens.

I'm halfway through the crosswalk when I hear it-an engine revving a little too loudly, a little too fast. My eyes snap toward the sound, and I see it-a black Bentley speeding down the street, heading directly for a puddle the size of a small lake. My brain tries to calculate how fast the car is going, how much time I have to move out of the way, but before I can process it, the inevitable happens.

The car hits the puddle with full force, sending a massive wave of filthy rainwater soaring into the air. For a split second, everything freezes. I watch in horror as the wall of water arcs through the air, glistening in the dim light of the overcast sky. It happens in slow motion, like some cruel scene from a movie where you know exactly what's coming but can't stop it.

And then, in an instant, it crashes down on me.

The cold, dirty water drenches me from head to toe, soaking my blouse, my blazer, my skirt-everything. I gasp, instinctively jumping back, but it's too late. My clothes cling to my body, heavy and soaked, the once-crisp fabric now sagging under the weight of the water. I look down at myself in disbelief. My perfectly ironed outfit, my meticulously planned look for the biggest interview of my life-it's ruined.

I stand there in the middle of the crosswalk, water dripping from my hair, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The black car keeps going, speeding away like nothing happened, the driver completely unaware or just too much of an asshole to care.

I'm soaked. Completely, utterly drenched. The rain is falling harder now, like it's mocking me, like the universe decided today would be the day everything goes wrong. I blink, trying to process what just happened, but I can't move. I can't even think.

What am I supposed to do now?

I glance at my watch-9:18 AM. Twelve minutes left.

I have twelve minutes to walk into GreenYield, my dream company, and impress them. And I'm soaked to the bone.

I'm screwed.

But I can't just stand here. I have to move, I have to do something. My feet are glued to the pavement, though. How am I supposed to walk into that interview like this? How am I supposed to explain that I look like I've just been swimming through the streets?

I take a step forward, my soaked shoes squelching under me. I don't know if I'm going to make it in time, and even if I do, I have no idea what I'm walking into. I can barely think straight through the panic coursing through my veins.

Then, I hear it. A car door slams, and I spin around, suddenly aware that the black car has pulled over.

I blink, wiping rain from my eyes as the driver steps out of the car. For a moment, I can't breathe. I freeze as I take him in-tall, lean, broad-shouldered, with an effortless kind of confidence that makes you forget how to speak. His dark hair, just long enough to curl at the edges, is slightly damp from the rain. But it's his face that catches me off guard. Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes that practically shimmer in the rain.

He's the most handsome man I've ever seen.

For a second, I forget how furious I am, forget that I'm standing there soaked to the skin. My brain struggles to catch up as he walks toward me, his expression apologetic, maybe even a little concerned.

"I am so, so sorry," he says, his voice rich and deep, like it belongs on an ad for luxury perfume that costs twice my rent.

I stare at him, my anger mingling with a strange, unsettling attraction.

What the hell am I supposed to say now?