Page 9 of Cerulean Truth
"Oh my goodness, miss, are you okay? We all saw the horrible accident happening yesterday," the security guy said, his voice tinged with a slight southern accent.
“Yes, thank you very much,” I responded slightly out of breath, thankful for his concern. I had never noticed his accent before.
“They will be waiting for you upstairs with quite the welcoming committee, I assume,” he continued.
I snorted; I could not see anyone, certainly not Bill Ferrars, throwing me any sort of “committee.”
Arriving upstairs, Alma was arranging flowers, holding a very focused frown. When she saw me, she shrieked at an almost unbearable high pitch and dropped them. “Miss Thompson, what are you doing here? We heard you were in an awful accident yesterday!” She rushed to my side and hugged me, which surprised me dearly.
“Ugh, Alma, not so tight.” I laughed. She looked horrified. “Don’t worry,” I said hastily, and added, “I’m still a little bruised, but I’m fine.” I tried to reassure her with a smile and was deeply touched by her concern for me.
Alma pulled me aside, sat me on a chair, and brought me a cup of coffee.
“You don’t move one bit,” she ordered. “I can’t believe they would make you come in today,” she muttered more to herself than to me. Before I had any chance to protest, she marched right up to Bill’s office. I didn’t think anyone in the office had the balls to simply barge in there, but Alma did.
Within a minute, Bill and Simon came rushing through the door.
"Miss Thompson, what on earth are you doing here?" Bill nearly shouted. Their concern was so touching, coming from two authority figures, it almost brought tears to my eyes. Nevertheless, I managed to muster a smile.
"I only have a few bruises, I’m a little stiff, but I’m fine, and I have that report due today, so… I didn’t want to take any chances," I faltered.
The two men exchanged glances, and Bill sat down beside me.
"Emma," he said softly while patting my arm. "We are very pleased with your work here. Your career won't vanish overnight just because you were hit by a car." He chuckled. I nodded and tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. I was well aware that Moby was probably biding his time, waiting for me to fail sohe could swoop in and portray himself as the hero after the “poor girl” had been struck by a car. But I had no intention of allowing that scenario to unfold, particularly when I felt perfectly fine. So, I added, "I understand, of course, but I genuinely want to be here, if it’s okay with you?"
Simon smiled at me and responded, "If you're here to stay today, I'd be honored to guide you through the preparations for our meeting tomorrow, but you'll be going home at six o'clock tonight, and not a minute later." It was evident this was not open to negotiation.
I nodded once more, saying, "I promise I'll go home at six," with a slightly embarrassed chuckle.
Bill patted my hand, then rose from his seat.
"You show great promise, Miss Thompson. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Simon. If you need anything, my door is always open," he assured me before returning to his office, leaving me with actual butterflies in my stomach. Was this really happening? One of the country's foremost lawyers had just referred to me as promising?
I practically flew—yet again—to my desk and was relieved, though slightly surprised, to find my phone had survived the crash as miraculously as I had. Someone must’ve dropped it off at the desk after my accident. How nice! Gods, I had a about hundred messages, most of them from Lisa, who was beside herself with worry. I quickly dialed her number and she answered on the first ring. The essence of the call ranged from her insulting me for being careless and stupid to crying about how much she loved me.
During lunch, I took a quick break to grab a sandwich from the shop next door. As I walked outside the building, I was taken aback to see the same blond guy in the suit again, still standing there a few feet from where the accident had occurred.
He had been facing the street, so he couldn't see me, but as I walked out, he pivoted immediately, as if he had somehow sensed my presence. He approached me with such enthusiasm, I began to wonder if I was supposed to know him from somewhere other than my recent "not worth smiling about-near-death experience." As he got closer, I noticed his hair wasn't blond at all; it was more of a salt-and-pepper gray, and he appeared quite a bit older up close than he did from afar. He reminded me a little of the actor George Clooney.
"Hi," he said cheerfully, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to walk up to a stranger and greet them as if they were old friends. I began to feel a little on edge, because it felt like I was missing something, as if this interaction were actually entirely normal, and I was the one being weird about it.
"I only wanted to say hello and congratulate you on that stunt last night." He grinned. I was almost certain I misheard him. Congratulate me on my accident?How weird.Perhaps he thought he was being funny by being sarcastic? Men often think they're funny when they're really,reallynot.
"I'm sorry," I said cautiously, "but I don't believe we've met."
"Oh, my," he chuckled, extending a hand, "I'm terribly sorry for the mix-up. I'm Stephen Stone, from area 17. I shouldn't have assumed you knew who I was but I fear I've become rather conceited since the Battle of '59. I apologize wholeheartedly, miss." He laughed again, and I caught a hint of a faint Australian accent. "I suppose I deserve to be taken down a peg by a young one like yourself," he added with a wink.
I had absolutely no clue what he was going on about. Area 17? Battle of '59? Was I losing my mind, or was he? I managed a cautious smile, uncertain of how to respond.
"Well," I tried to smile while shaking his hand, "I appreciate your kind words. But I should really be on my way; I'mabsolutely famished and need to grab a quick bite before heading back."
"Of course," he hurriedly responded, "I didn't mean to disrupt your routine. I was just so surprised to find a maga in these parts. I thought I was the only one nearby."
I simply stared at him and blinked.
“A what?” I asked, my confusion apparent.
As his eyes registered my lack of understanding, his demeanor underwent an abrupt transformation. His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed slightly in response.
