Page 9 of The Girlfriend Clause
The car’s sensors shrieked as I edged in, but I ignored them. I didn’t need another drama queen in my life—I already had James.
When I switched off the ignition, I realized I was trapped—the door would only open ten centimeters—significantly smaller than my hips.
Oh well, couldn’t move it now.
I slithered out sideways, one leg first, then the other, emerging like a newborn foal covered in a light sheen of panic-sweat. Exactly what you want when meeting the new boss.
Thank God, the elevator arrow was glowing. I scuttled toward the open doors.
I’ll makeit.
Or I could have, if my bag hadn’t decided to slide off my shoulder at that very moment, sending my parking card skidding across the concrete, along with my new lipstick and wallet.
Had I wronged someone in a previous life?
I dropped to my knees, dignity now just a distant memory. Stretching under the bumper of a blue car, I hooked my fingers around the wallet, then dragged myself sideways to catch the lipstick before it vanished beneath a pay station. Coins clinkedagainst my palm as I scraped them up, my perfect nails chipping on the rough surface. The dress hitched higher every time I reached, knees burning where the concrete bit into them.
The parking card was still on the move, skimming across the floor.
I pushed myself to my feet and sprinted after it, eyes locked on the little white rectangle sliding away from me.
I could do it. It was only a couple of feet. The lift doors were still open…
Chapter 3
Liam
What the hellwas happening outside the elevator? Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.
A frantic, metallic sound like shrapnel echoed through the car park. Footsteps hurrying. A grunt. Then another.
“Get back here, you feral little twat!”
Hopefully, that wasn’t directed at me.
I had not been feral today. Not yet.
The scuffling continued.
“Ouch. Fuck. You utter bastard.”
This person was not having a good day.
I leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse of the chaos. Did I need to call security?
Maybe a priest?
A woman shot upright beside a blue Mini, some sort of white card held overhead in victory, like the Terminator before it sank into lava. Her hair was frazzled, knees black with dirt. From the looks of her, her morning might have actually been worse than the T-800’s. At least Arnie wasn’t wearing heels.
I watched for a second as she hooked the white card around her neck on its lanyard and jerked her head toward the lift.
For a split second, our eyes met. Hers widened instantly. I whipped back inside so fast my shoulder hit the wall.
A rapid patter of feet. I braced my trainer against the doors to stop them from closing.
The woman launched herself into the lift, stopping abruptly beside me. I had the sense that if she didn’t lean against something soon, she might fall over. Her bag hung open, her entire life trying to spill out, her chest rising and falling in a way that was rather distracting. I fixed my eyes firmly on the panel in front—this woman needed a chair and a cup of tea, not someone trying to drag their eyes away from her low-cut top.
She pushed the button for the ground floor, and the doors closed.
