Page 14 of Chilled and Thrilled

My stomach rolls when my hunch proves correct, and a quick glance confirms it’s Bram, looking ruffled and more than a little pissed off. He stops dead when he sees me, and I watch as his eyes roam to the empty reception desk, then to the balcony above us, which is absent of its usual collection of employees in the lounge area.

“What’s going on?”

What has he been doing all day that he didn’t know?

Reluctantly, I take out an earbud and force a polite smile. “You didn’t hear? The storm is hitting early. They wanted to give everyone a chance to get home.”

Bram nods distractedly. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“It’s only a few blocks,” I protest, gesturing in the direction of my apartment building, as if he doesn’t know where it is.

He ignores me. “Just let me get my coat. Wait for me.”

My mouth falls open as I struggle to come up with an explanation for his behavior. Only yesterday, things seemed to be back to normal. Is this some kind of misplaced concern? Is he feeling fatherly toward me right now? Gag. “I have to stop at the store,” I blurt out, and my eyes must be close to bugging out of my head.

“Perfect. So do I.” Without another word, and pretendinghe doesn’t notice my not-so-subtle brush-off, Bram heads for the stairs. “Wait for me,” he repeats over his shoulder, the stern tone leaving no room for argument.

My mouth is dry as I listen to the sound of his footsteps retreating toward the Vogel team offices, until all I can hear is the howling wind outside.

I don’t know what brought on Bram’s sudden weirdness, but screw this. He’s my boss, not my keeper. Work was officially over thirty minutes ago, which means I am a free agent for the next two weeks. There is no reason for me to be standing here, waiting for a ride I don’t want to take.

Screw. This.

Admittedly, there might be some regret when I shoulder open the door and am blasted in the face by a gust of arctic wind. The exposed skin of my face burns as I hustle down the sidewalk, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and Bram.

What happens next is over so quickly that my mind struggles to process it happened at all.

One moment, I’m striding toward the apartment, listening to my favorite murder podcast and debating whether I need to stop for food, or if that leftover Chinese is still good.

The next, there’s a long, blaring horn and I pause, looking for the source of the noise. Behind me, someone yells my name.

Then, I’m flat on my back, a huge body pressing me into the icy pavement. Sharp pain is shooting through the back of my skull, and I can barely hear myself scream as a deafening crash sounds from nearby.

What—I stare up at the gray sky, my breath shaking as I struggle to comprehend what just happened. With difficulty, I turn my head and let out a feeble cry when I find a car tire about two feet from my face.

“Sophie! Fuck—” The weight on top of me vanishes, and gloved hands touch my face. Blinking, I find myself looking at Bram, and his face is as white as the snow swirling around us.

I blink. “Did... Did I just get hit by a car?”

“You got hit by me,” he growls, then makes a choked noise, eyes on the sidewalk beneath me. “You’re bleeding. Fuck, sweetheart. Come here.”

Like I weigh nothing at all, I’m lifted straight off the ground, cradled in his arms. “Is she okay?” calls another voice—a man’s. “I’m so sorry! I hit an ice patch?—”

“Shut up,” snarls Bram, already moving. I catch a glimpse of a smoking engine, the car bunched right up against a telephone pole, and a horrified driver.

Warm liquid is trickling down the back of my neck, and white-hot pain is radiating through my skull. “I think I’m okay,” I tell Bram, blinking up at his hard-set jaw and panicked eyes. “It’s no big deal. I can walk.”

He ignores me, which is apparently a theme today, and I’m so busy trying to piece together what just happened, that I’m only vaguely aware of us crossing the street. We head right for the parking garage, and Bram’s fancy, dark SUV. When he sits me carefully in the passenger seat, I see the entire arm of his coat, and most of the front, is soaked in blood.

My mouth falls open. “Is that from me?”

“You’re going to be okay.” He curses under his breath, reaching over me to buckle my seatbelt, and it’s like he’s trying to convince himself, too. “Everything will be fine, sweetheart. Head wounds bleed a lot.”

I nod, my breathing coming a little quicker in the time it takes for him to close my door and cross to his own.

“First the shoes, now the coat,” I joke weakly as he starts the car. “How much leverage is this going to buy you?”

Bram shakes his head, expression grave as we turn outonto the street. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he hisses, gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

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