“That’s okay, I’m good.”
“What’s your name,” he said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.
“A-Ava?”
“It wasn’t a question. Get in the car, Ava.”
I stared at him. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.” I took a little step back so that I was out of reach, just in case this weirdo got any ideas. I didn’t care how handsome he was.
“What’s your plan? You were going to carry all those ornaments in, what, your coat? Plus, aren’t you freezing?”
The words had barely left his mouth, but I was suddenly hyper aware of the cold that had settled into me.
Having taken off my coat, I was now dressed in just a satin button-down shirt dress over a pair of sheer black tights and a light knit cardigan. My boots were soaked by the snow that was now rapidly falling.
“Just get in the car before you succumb to hypothermia and the next vehicle you get into is an ambulance.”
I looked at my coat spread out on the street, which was now almost entirely covered in snow.
“You don’t actually think I’m going to get into a complete stranger’s car, do you? I’ll take hypothermia over a potential serial killer any day, thanks.” I sounded more convinced than I felt.
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He rolled his window back up.
I stood there for a second, contemplating my options. I defeatedly looked at my coat again.
“I really think it’s best if we give you a ride, miss. Your ornaments are already in the trunk.” The driver walked around the car, and opened the door to the backseat invitingly.
I picked my coat up and shook off the snow, then reluctantly walked to the back door the driver, Miles, was holding open for me. “Good choice,” he said and winked, making me somehow feel assured and suspicious at the same time.
I tried getting into the car gracefully, but my legs had gotten so stiff from standing around in the cold that I must’ve looked like a mannequin entering the vehicle.
Before the driver had the chance to close the door behind me, I shot out my hand, catching it.
“There’s no child lock on these doors, is there?”
The driver let out a hearty laugh. “No, you’re free to exit the vehicle whenever you please.” Then he closed the door, confining me in the back seat with the smug stranger.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My cold, wet clothes clung to my body, and I couldn’t even feel my feet anymore.
I leaned forward slightly and looked back at the leather behind me. I’d left a wet mark where my back had been.
“I’m ruining your seat!”
“Don’t worry about it,” the man next to me said without even looking up.
I sat back, still not at all at ease. Miles sat down in the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, and the car slowly went into motion.
“Where were you headed?” the man asked, still not looking at me.
I pushed some strands of wet hair behind my ear. “Porthouse Publishing. It’s just down—”
“We’re familiar. To Porthouse, Miles.” He finally graced me with another stare. “Do you work there?”
I cocked a brow at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you introduced yourself when I told you my name.”
“Cyrus,” he said flatly. “I take it you’re an illustrator at Porthouse?”
“I wish. I work as a graphic designer.”
I looked at my feet, which were starting to hurt now that feeling was coming back to them. My toes were throbbing, and my shoes felt unreasonably tight suddenly.
“Why aren’t you an illustrator when you’re as good as you are?”
I stared blankly at him. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it’s not really up to me.”
“Because you don’t have experience?”
“Anything I might have seen?”
I felt my cheeks turn pink. “If you have kids, maybe. It was for a celebrity children’s book. My publishing company hosted a competition to find an illustrator, and I got the part.”
“Jesse Harrison’s book?”
I nodded.
“I’m familiar. Good work.”
“Thanks,” I said a little too excitedly. I cringed and sank further back into the seat.
I glanced at him. “And what do you do?”
I shrugged. “Maybe because my boss is kind of a dick.” I immediately regretted my words, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Cyrus scoffed. “If you work at Porthouse, that checks out.”
“Was he the one who destroyed your drawing?”
I hummed in confirmation, looking away.
The car pulled into the Porthouse parking lot. The snowfall had only increased since we’d started driving, and it now covered the city in a thick white blanket.
It made everything look peaceful, especially now that the moon had broken through the heavy clouds to cast a subtle light over the scenery, making the snow glisten beautifully.
I opened my door and got out of the car. “I’m just going to grab another box for the ornaments. I’ll be right back!”
I tried to make my way inside without slipping on the snow-covered pavement. I came out with a large box I’d found in the recycling area.
When I got back to the car, Miles was already waiting for me at the trunk, and he helped me scoop the ornaments into the box. I grabbed the box, and turned to him.
“Thank you so much. I really owe you one.”
Miles smiled and waved away my appreciation. “Our pleasure.”
I looked at the side of the car where Cyrus was sitting. I doubted he would have said the same thing. I walked over to his window, and tapped it. Miles started the car again, and Cyrus rolled down the window.
“Thanks for the ride, Cyrus. I wish I could return the favor somehow,” I said, stealing one last glance at his ridiculously handsome face.
Cyrus nodded, and began rolling his window back up.
“You just might get a chance,” he said right before the window sealed shut.
Miles waved, and pulled the car back onto the road, leaving me puzzled, staring at its taillights disappearing into the snowy night.
The next day, I found myself seated in the conference room, with Mr. Porthouse on one side and Jay, my colleague and project partner, on the other. Across the long, polished table sat Gina Helen’s team—the author whose book cover we had designed. The air felt thick with tension, and my stomach twisted as we waited for the competition to arrive. Our rivals, the well-established design team from Brentstone and Sons Publishing, were running late, only adding to my anxiety.
I glanced at the folder in front of Mr. Porthouse, knowing it held the simple, text-heavy design he’d chosen over my illustration. It felt like a missed opportunity, especially for a children’s book. The Brentstone team would surely bring something more exciting, and I couldn’t help but feel our chances were already slipping away. I shifted in my seat, nervously drumming my fingers on the table.
I stared at the Brentstone team as they took their seats, and introduced themselves. I didn’t pay attention to any of their names, until it was Cyrus’s turn. I glared at him as I took a sip of water, and my breath caught in my throat when my eyes locked with his.
“And I’m Cyrus Brentstone, CEO of Brentstone and Sons Publishing.”
