11. REEMA
That evening, Coleman and I were the last ones out of the office. I'm not surprised. At six fifteen, the cleaner usually comes around and bumps their vacuum into his desk and then swoops around to do the same to mine. If we ignore those polite suggestions, flickering lights are warning enough that they are locking up, and that if we don't leave, we'll be stuck here together until the next morning.
Mr.Davies doesn't care what acrobatic feats we do to win clients during office hours, but he lost a close friend to burn-out, so he doesn't approve any overtime. He's been known to go around the office and talk about that trauma, pausing very pointedly near our desks, warning us about it.
Not a problem, Mr.Davies…
Cue a mental image of sweat streaming down my face. The thought of him finding out what I've been doing in my evenings makes me dread. I can't be found out. It's only for a little longer, I tell myself. Then I'll never work like this again. No one has to know what I've done as long as I win this once.
For even if I wasn't afraid of consequences from Mr.Davies, what I'm putting my body through is catching up to me. When I leave my desk tonight, I feel more of a mess than normal. Hair is falling out of my bun-loop, but I don't have the energy to redo my floppy hairstyle. I'm crashing and it doesn't help that I skipped lunch today, because I didn't want to get off an important client call. Amateur move, Reema.
My blood sugar isn't where it should be. My hand gropes through the pockets of my jacket, but nothing comes up. Dammit, I ate all the candy I usually store there, and I'm strangely devastated by that.
Trying to get home as quickly as possible, I jog to the elevator and hit the close button over and over again. Doors start sliding shut, but a palm interrupts them.
Coleman.
He squeezes himself inside, and when he folds his arms across his chest, the muscles move in a way that dries my throat. He needs to skip arm day at the gym…and leg day… and shoulder day… back day… all the damn days.
"Nice try, Patel."
"Not everything is about you," I tell him dully. I focus hard on staying upright when Coleman tells me I should expect another client transfer form from him soon. He names the business.
It's a sizable client, but winning them doesn't move his score close to the forty-nine million my portfolio is secretly sitting at. Not that I have enough energy to feel relieved right now. I've pushed past my limits, and I need rest before I come back to the parking lot tonight.
Coleman's eyes look over at me for a long moment. "You're abnormally quiet."
"Not really. I always ignore you."
"Thinking about all your dates?"
Dates? How does he know about?—
The elevator opens to the parking lot. I'm about to leave when out of nowhere, spots appear before my eyes. I try blinking them away.
"What's going on?" he asks, brow furrowed.
"None of your business." I can't see anything. Everything goes black for a second or maybe more before I come to my senses. Above me is the ceiling. I'm no longer standing, but I've also not fallen. Nothing in my body throbs with any kind of injury.
Soap. That's the first thing I smell. Lovely piney notes of masculine cologne. That's when I realize there's a hard chest cradling my body. Coleman didn't let me hit the ground. He caught me and then held on. His knees are scuffing on the concrete floor, and his bag is haphazardly thrown to the side. Strong arms wrap firmly around me.
I can tell he's trying hard not to shake me, but his grip tightens. "Patel?"
I don't answer him. I grab the front of his shirt and struggle to hoist myself higher. My head shakes. Thankfully, there are no more dots swimming in my vision. Still, a frightened pinch is warning enough inside me. It could have been so much worse. What if I had been on the road and fainted? Or in the middle of a crosswalk? I need food and rest right away!
"Hold on, I have you," he says.
His arm goes underneath the crook of my knees. He's getting back on his feet… lifting me…
"What?" I shriek. "What are you doing?"
"Getting you out of here. There's a doctor, or, better yet, a hospital close by?—"
"Stop that!" I fidget in his arms. "Let me down!"
He doesn't listen to me. He doesn't even care about his bag spilled on the ground. It's left behind as he carries me out of the elevator, the doors closing on it. By the time we're halfway down the parking lot, I've come fully to my senses. I pinch his shoulder. It has no give. Of course it doesn't. "How do you have time to work out like this?"
He looks down at me, clearly confused. I take that opportunity to go back in and this time I pinch the part of his neck that meets his shoulder hard.
Instinctively, his grip loosens, and I'm able to push myself out of his arms. It's not particularly athletic, and with the outfit I have on today, I'm an oversized, fuzzy creature tumbling away.
"For fuck's sake, Patel," he snarls, staring at me. "What is wrong with you?"
I'm on my feet, dusting myself off. "This can't be the first time someone has chosen to go unconscious in your presence."
His jaw tightens. He steps forward.
I step back.
He stands there, frozen. His hands go palm-side up as if he's trying to convince me he's not a threat.
"See you tomorrow," I say, hardening my words with conviction.
"Are you driving?" he asks, demanding to know.
"Yeah."
"I'll drive you."
No. The denial is like a gong inside me. He can't see where I live. He can't. Not him.
I force out a laugh. "You're not supposed to let yourself be taken to a second location, Coleman. Everyone knows that."
He shoves his hands into his pockets…. and he looks pissed. "Come on, Patel."
"You can watch me walk away in a straight line." Before he can argue, I turn around. My pace is brisk, and I don't look back to see if he's following or not. Straight into my car, I go. There is a granola bar waiting on the passenger seat. I tear the wrapper open and shove the food into my mouth. My body cries with relief at the fuel. If I could, I'd eat a whole bread loaf right now and bliss out.
When I look up, I see Coleman. He's come to stand in front of my car. His arms are crossed, but I also see something an awful lot like concern pass over his face. There is a muscle in his jaw jumping out. Is he worried he might be blamed? That someone will think he pushed me to the ground? I roll down my window, ready to tell him to go away, but he speaks first.
"Reema."
I freeze, mentally staggering back. He never uses my first name. Looking out the window, I can tell his breathing is more agitated than normal. So is mine.
Does he care that I, Reema, collapsed? Or is he just a good fucking Samaritan?
Did he really offer to drive me? To take me to see a doctor? Would he wait while I got checked out?
I want to get out of this car and go back into his arms. They felt warm. I want him to hold me and tell me that everything is okay. I want to thank him for catching me.
Those needs balloon inside me, and they scare me more than anything. Once upon a time, I let myself think another person could be my sense of security. I poured my everything into that relationship, and then it all went to shit, and I haven't felt truly safe ever since.
Forcing myself to smirk, I give Coleman the finger.
The green in his eyes pitches dark.
Good. Hate me.
I put my car in reverse and head straight out of the parking lot.
Truly, that was a horrible thing to do, but there is no way I'm letting him drive me home. I don't let anyone see where I live, and there's no way he's going to be the first one.
Think of the pity and laughter you would get.