Page 57 of First-Time Caller
He swings into the room, breathing heavily.
I stay exactly where I am. I only have three minutes left in my break. “What’s up, Hughie? All good?”
“Uh, nope. Things are not all good.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s an angry guy up front asking for you.”
Jackson lifts himself from his chair with a groan. “The guy who gets mad about the snow? I told him I can’t do anything about it. It’s not my fault it’s been an unseasonably dry winter. I can’t summon snow, no matter how much I’d like to.”
Hughie shifts on his feet, impatient. It does seem like a masked man is about to leap from the storage closet with a steak knife. “No, it’s not the snow guy.” He looks at me nervously. “It’s someone looking for you. He’s threatening to handcuff himself to a radiator if he doesn’t get to talk to you.”
“Me?”
Hughie nods.
“What does want to talk about?”
“He says it’s about Lucie.”
I stand so fast my chair rocks back into the table with the coffee machine. The whole thing rattles. “Lucie? What about Lucie?”
“I don’t know, but you need to come up here and handle it.”
Eileen pokes her head out from her office down the hall, where she does all the real-time audio control. “Someone needs to stay in that booth,” she threatens. “We’re back on in less than a minute.”
I shove Jackson in the chair. “Talk about the weather,” I order. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t bother waiting for an answer. I make my way to the front of the station, my heart somewhere in my throat. Is it Elliott? Did something happen during Lucie’s date? I know some of the callers have been upset that she’s whipped up a romantic frenzy on the airwaves, encouraging partners to demand more out of their significant others . . . but no one would do anything to her, would they?
Maggie is supposed to vet the guys she goes out with. They’re supposed to be normal. Safe.
I slam my palm against the glass door and push through. There’s a tall guy standing in the middle of the lobby with his arms crossed over his chest, a furious look on his face. He starts moving as soon as he sees me, a mop of curly hair flopping over his forehead. He looks like he wants to plow his fist through my face. Maybe handcuff me to the radiator.
“You,” the stranger seethes, meeting my stride until we’re chest to chest. He digs his finger in the middle of my sweatshirt while Hughie flutters around us. I’m a fairly big guy, but so is the stranger. I might have an inch or two on him, but he looks like he could make up for it in sheer willpower alone. He pokes me again, harder this time. “I trusted you to take this seriously. You said you wouldn’t make fun of her.”
I push his hand away. I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. Make fun of her? Who? Lucie? “What are you—”
“She thought it was a real date, you asshole. Did you set it up? Hope to embarrass her?” He grabs the front of my sweatshirt, his face a thundercloud. “I told her this would be good for her and this whole time you’ve been playing her.”
I don’t know what I’ve been doing with Lucie, but it certainly hasn’t beenplayingher. I’ve been honest with my intentions, doing my best to help. Maybe I’m slightly cynical when it comes to the stuff she wants out of a relationship, but I’m not—I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
I’m about to say exactly that when the door bursts open behind him and Lucie comes barreling through from the parking lot. She’s clinging to a dark wool coat that cuts just below her knees, her hair windswept, her cheeks pink. She’s breathing heavily, slipping and sliding in the heels she’s wearing. Heels that have a tiny delicate strap around her ankle. A little bow at the clasp. My eyes stick on that inconsequential detail while the mystery man does his best to whip me around like a rag doll.
“Grayson, I swear to god, I am going to detach your spine from your body.” She grabs the back of the man’s jacket and tries to haul him away from me. He reluctantly takes one step back, but he doesn’t let go of my hoodie. The three of us move together like some backward tug-of-war. Lucie slaps at his wrist. “What thefuck,” she whisper-yells.
His eyebrows jump up his forehead. “You’re mad at me?”
“Of course I’m mad at you,” she manages through clenched teeth. She slaps at his wrist again and he finally releases me. I smooth my palm over the wrinkled material and clear my throat. Neither of them pays me any attention. “You didn’t even let me explain before you torpedoed out of the house.”
“You were crying, Lu,” he says quietly. “What did you expect me to do?”
“Maybe not rush out like Rambo and listen to me for a second,” she says back. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
They argue some more, but I’m not listening. I’m looking at Lucie. The evidence is in the puffy redness around her eyes and the soft downward tilt to her lips. I thought her cheeks were red from the wind outside, but now that I’m looking, it’s like she’s been scrubbing her palms there. Trying to wipe away tears.
My body flushes hot. A low buzzing fills the space between my ears.
I wedge myself between them, tilted toward Lucie. “Have you been crying?”
She blinks at me, surprised, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. She tries to wave me off, but I step closer, tipping her chin up with my knuckles to get a better look at her face.
