Page 22 of All the Drama from New York

Ryan was still blinking himself back to rights, when the woman let go of his arm. He felt the loss of her touch immediately.

She bent and began picking up her brown paper parcels and various bags. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted several people taking photos. The guy in the suit was still videoing. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” asked Ryan. The businessman shrugged in response, but he stopped filming.

The one kind stranger in the midst of Manhattan handed Ryan back his cell phone. Or at least what remained of it. Theglass screen had a large impact circle in the middle, along with a crack which ran from one corner to the other. He tapped on the screen. Nothing happened. The phone was dead. Ryan put it into his jacket pocket.

Great, now I’m up for hundreds of dollars to repair my phone.

The pretty blonde finally stuffed the last of her fabric swatches back into a tote bag, and returned to Ryan’s side. She held out a small business card to him.

“That’s my lawyer’s card. But I should let you know, he will expect to see your death certificate before he even thinks to cut you a check.”

Ryan scowled at her. “Why the heck would I want your lawyer’s business card?”

A perplexed expression appeared on her face. “A matter of seconds ago I knocked you down in the street. So it goes without saying that you’ll be suing me.”

The only logical reason he could think of as to why he would want to sue this woman was so he could sit in meetings with her and her legal people and listen to her soft sensual accent while she discussed terms. Heck, she could read the subway timetable to him, and he’d be more than happy.

He went to shake his throbbing head, then thought the better of it. “No, I won’t be suing you. Despite what you might have heard about the US, not everyone here goes for the big legal case when they have a small accident.”

“But you banged your head. And I stuck my heel into your stomach when I tried to get up. I must have caused you serious pain and distress. And loss of income.”

She sounded like she’d watched one too many of those tv commercials which the local networks ran late at night. The ones where they offered to get you the maximum financial settlementor you didn’t pay them a cent. Shameless ambulance chasers in his opinion.

She stopped speaking for a moment, and he sensed she was thinking carefully about what she should say next. “So you have my lawyer’s card if you need it.”

From those last few words it appeared she’d finally realized the potential legalities of admitting personal liability, but she also seemed genuinely concerned about him. The conflicted expression on her face said it all. She was torn between doing what was right, and what her legal representatives would expect of her.

“I don’t need a lawyer, or any medical attention thank you,” replied Ryan, suddenly keen to reassure this woman that he was ok.

The stunning blonde—and she was stunning, even with her lovely hair and red and white polka dot dress all mussed up—held out her hand to him. “Well then, if you don’t want get anyone else involved, how about we settle this the Parisian way. Would you please come with me.”

He hesitated. “Where?”

She nodded toward a red brick building a couple of doors up from where they stood, and gave him a shy smile. “That’s where I work and live. My office is upstairs. The least I can do is to give you somewhere to rest for a little while, and perhaps find some food and drink for you.”

I must have smacked my head hard. No one ever offers to take a stranger into their private space in New York City.

Either that, or this beautiful woman planned to lure him upstairs and solve any potential future legal issues by simply bumping him off.

I’ve got to stop watching those murder mystery shows.

Ryan moved toward the side of the street, out of the way of the bustling crowd which continued passing them by. The smallgathering of interested onlookers who had initially stopped when he and the woman had collided was now long gone.

He could only hope that since there’d been no blood, no drama, the people who had taken photos—along with the weirdo in the suit who’d been videoing him— would decide it wasn’t worth their effort to post about the incident on social media.

I don’t need the world to know that this is what my life has become. From reality star to getting knocked over in the street by a stranger.

“I can make you a coffee, and then see what food I have in the fridge,” she offered.

He couldn’t resist her politeness, or that soft as silk accent. “Food and a few minutes to recover sounds great, thank you,” said Ryan.

Rubbing the back of his still aching head, he followed the woman up the street to the red brick building. He glanced up. It had a classic 1920’s façade but the building itself looked well maintained.

At the front entrance, she tapped a card to a security pad, then hip checked the glass door and pushed it open. Ryan silently chastised himself for not having offered to help with her parcels. Once inside, she ushered him to an elevator bank, tapped her security card to another pad, then pressed the button.

“I like to take the stairs, but with all these fabrics, and you having suffered such a nasty fall, I think we will take the elevator.”

He held out his hands. “Can I take some of those?”

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