Page 42 of Billionaire Romance

I wait because I'm honestly not sure what to do here. I don't have gloves, so I can't start cleaning up the glass yet. All I can do is watch while Mr. Ferguson storms around the railing that surrounds the elevators toward me. He stops, staring at the wreckage of the cart, his face angry, veins popping in his forehead. "How did this happen?"

"It slipped," I say quietly. "I must have forgotten to lock it down this morning."

"Oh, well that's better than a freak accident," he says. "Oh wait, no it's not. I've made exceptions for you, Sally, but this is the last straw. You're the worst on the sales team, and now you've ruined a couple thousand dollar’s worth of merchandise. Go find someone else to terrorize."

I stare at him, gaping. "You mean?"

"You're fired." He yells it, and it rings out across the mall.

People are staring, watching the show, and it's all I can do not to run and hide. I can feel my face go beet red and suddenly I'm fighting off tears. "Do you want me to help you clean up?" I ask softly.

"And risk even more damage to anything that's not already broken? No thanks. But I can assure you, you will pay me back for every cent of this. I'm not going to be out this amount of money for your stupidity. I'll expect whatever isn't covered by this paycheck by the next billing cycle."

I don't have that kind of money. There's no way I can cover what's got to be probably two grand worth of chocolate above and beyond my pretty pathetic paycheck. Oh God, what am I going to do? Mr. Ferguson is the kind of man that will definitely sue me if I don't pay him back, and the case is pretty clear on this one. He'd win.

"I'll pay for it," a female voice says behind me, and I turn to find the blonde from the escalator. She's digging in her bag and pulls out a checkbook, "How much? For that and the cost of the girl’s salary, which you will pay her."

I take a step forward, "You don't have to do that," I say, as she opens her checkbook. "Really, it's fine."

She pins me with a stare that's hard and unyielding, but at the same time she's smiling. I'm not sure how she manages it. "You saved my life," she says brightly. "It's the least I can do. How much?" she asks Mr. Ferguson.

I should probably point out that the whole reason I had to save her life in the first place is because I endangered it, but I'm too shocked to move. Is this really happening?

"Twenty-eight hundred," Mr. Ferguson says, "That'll cover it I think. And I'll pay her, even though she doesn't deserve it." His eyes suddenly focus on me. "Get out of here, Sally. I don't want you anywhere near my property."

I retrieve my coat and purse from the shell of the cart and start walking. The blonde walks with me, confidently taking my arm. "Come with me," she says, leading me down one of the branching hallways to some benches. She sits me down. "Are you all right?"

"I should be asking you that," I say, trying to hide the way I'm shaking. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that. I'll pay you back, all of it, I swear."

She waves a hand in a gesture that looks older than she is. "Don't bother. Trust me, I can afford it. Besides, like I said, without you I think Edison and I would be crushed against that escalator right now."

I shake my head. "You wouldn't have even been in danger if I weren't so stupid I forgot to lock the wheels."

She smiles. "It all worked out." And then she extends a hand. "I'm Bianca."

"Nice to meet you," I say.

"Likewise." She puts her purse up onto her shoulder. "Unfortunately, I'm on my way to a meeting, so I can't stay to chat, but take care of yourself, Sally."

I stand, reaching out but not quite touching her. "Please, at least can we exchange information. I know you say you don't want me to, but I might still be able to change your mind about me paying you back."

She seems to hesitate for a second before she says, “Of course." She's smiling again, and this time I notice just how glamorous she is. Her coat and bag cost more than what she just paid to get me out of trouble, I'm sure. She lets me put my number in her phone and sends me a quick text that says 'It's Bianca!' with a smiley face.

"Thank you," I say.

"Have a good rest of your day," she says. "Try to take it easy." She floats away and I sit down on the bench again because my legs are still shaking.

The fact that she gave me her info makes me feel better, but I don't know what I’m going to do to pay her back. I didn't have the money when it was Mr. Ferguson asking, and of course, now that I don't have a job, I’m in an even bigger pinch. Great. I sink down onto the bench until my neck is leaning on the back of it. I probably look pathetic but I don't care.

I'm definitely cursed. Why can't I just have a normal Valentine’s Day?

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