Page 16 of Where Angels Fall

Turning, I walk away as fast as my feet will carry me, only looking back once I’m sure he won’t be able to see me. In my distracted state, my body collides hard with someone, my purse spilling out onto the street.

Today is not my day.

Chapter 7

Maddison

“Oh, fuck!” I hear as I crouch down to shove my things back into my purse. “So sorry, girl!”

The impact was hard enough to knock the breath from both of us, phone skidding away, lipstick rolling towards to gutter, keys clattering against the concrete.

“I’m so sorry!” I blurt out at the same time she does, and she drops to her knees opposite me.

“No, no... That was totally my fault,” she says quickly, her voice light and warm. Human. A balm I didn’t realise I needed right now. “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

I glance up and stall.

Long black hair spills over the girl’s shoulder in a glossy curtain, framing a face that’s sharp in a feline way; High cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips tipped like she’s halfway to a smirk. Her eyes are what catch me, though. Crystalline blue, clear and bright.

She scoops up my phone and hands it to me with a soft smile. “Here. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say automatically. Though my hands are still shaking. “I mean... yes. Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

She snorts quietly. “Same. Occupational hazard.”

“Of... walking?” I ask, trying to reassemble my life from the ground.

She laughs, a quick, genuine sound, and gestures over her shoulder. “Work.” Across the street sits a narrow shopfront with blacked-out windows and bold lettering above the door. A tattoo parlour. “Long day. Brain officially clocked out.”

“That makes two of us,” I murmur.

Her gaze flicks over my face, assessing, and then softens. “You look like how I feel. About two seconds from either crying or committing arson.”

I blink. Then, against my will, a breathy laugh escapes me. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to people who know what to look for,” she says gently, handing me my keys. “I’m a tattoo artist by trade, but technically I’m a therapist when I have the needle in my hand. I’m Roxy, by the way.”

“Maddison.”

“Well, Maddison,” Roxy says, standing and brushing off her ripped black jeans. She’s much shorter than I am, even with her platform Doc Martens. “You look like you need a drink.”

I look at her, not finding the words to reply. With my upbringing, being homeschooled by people my father deemed good enough and never really seeing people my age except in the work environment, I’ve never really had friends. Colleagues, sure. Acquaintances, yes. But never a friend. Is this how people make friends? Running into them in the middle of the street?

“You free tonight?” She pushes, not letting my silences be awkward. “I really could use a drink, and I’ve been dying to try out this cute place on the harbour.”

My smile creeps onto my face without my permission; the idea of having a drink with someone so different from anyone at work has me excited.

“Yes,” I nod. “Yes, I’m free for a drink tonight.”

Her smile widens, and she adds my number into her phone so that she can text me the address for the bar and skips away, while I try to gather myself up enough to go back into work.

I spend the rest of the day sinking into the senator’s event, doing everything in my power to ensure it is one that is talked about for months. One that has everyone’s perception of the sleazy man to be polished into something golden. It’s what I do, after all.

It helps the day fly by, distracting me from the terrible morning I’ve had and that most likely, there is a man in a leather vest, waiting outside somewhere to watch me and report back to his boss.

By the time eight rolls around, my Wednesday workday is complete. I’ve managed to keep my thoughts strictly on work and not on leather-clad criminals. My limbs feel heavy in a way that is familiar, and right now a drink sounds perfect. Roxy sent me the address for the Harbour Bar, and it takes me ten minutes to find the quiet place. Being a Wednesday, it’s pretty dead, which doesn’t bother me at all.

Parking my car in a gravel lot to the side of the bar, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Why am I so nervous? I take a deep breath of the salty air in. Walking around the side where I’m parked, the bar sits right near the wharf. Lights from buildings and street lamps glint off the dark water, the sounds of it lapping at the wharf floating around.