The entire situation felt surreal, but I soon realized that the job was demanding. For the past months, I had been consumed with work, using it as a distraction from the intense longing I felt for Archer. He never reached out to me, and I resisted the temptation to contact him, fearing rejection and not wanting to appear desperate or immature. I didn’t have any reason to anyway. I didn’t get pregnant. My heart constricted painfully at the thought.
I focused on surviving without him each day, even going on dates with men I met at work or during nights out with Jade and Tiffany and our new friends. Whenever Jade and Tiffany tried to bring up Archer in conversation after I returned to Duport, I shut it down and changed the subject. I was grateful that they quickly caught on and understood that it was a topic I wasn't ready to discuss. But their smiles were evident when they saw my customized car with my initials on the license plate.
I had plans to return to my hometown of Brooks for Christmas, intending to visit my parents and Mark's grave. However, the thought of going back there still haunted me, a reminder of the painful memories I had to face. Despite the haunting feeling, I knew I had to gather the strength to continue living without them.
As I walked through the double doors of Urban Bistro, Tiffany caught sight of me and hastily finished up her dessert. I sprinted towards our table, and upon seeing me, she let out a joyful squeal, attracting amused chuckles from the onlookers.
"We've got more desserts, I promise," one of the waiters chimed in, causing both of us to giggle uncontrollably. Jade entered the restaurant shortly after, wearing a frustrated expression and engrossed in a phone call. She joined us in the booth with an exasperated sigh.
"I feel like throwing myself under a moving train, and it's only halfway through the day," Jade vented, sounding exhausted.
"How about some dessert?" I offered, gesturing toward the empty plate in front of her. She glanced at me, then at the plate, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Isn't dessert supposed to come after the meal?" Jade quipped.
"Booo!" Tiffany interjected, playfully teasing Jade. We burst into laughter, our camaraderie filling the air.
"I honestly don't know what I would do without you two," I confessed, feeling grateful for their presence.
"What's our Miss Executive working on?" Jade nudged me, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Anything that can help me survive the rest of the day in blissful ignorance?" she added, half-jokingly.
"That's where tequila comes in, honey," a waiter chimed in, earning laughter from the surrounding professionals who frequented the restaurant to unwind. It seemed they could all relate to Jade's desire to escape the workday stress.
"You know I can't discuss work with the competition," I replied, playfully batting my eyelashes.
Jade rolled her eyes, a playful grin on her face. "Medic is far below being compared to PharmaMed, but I'll take the compliment," she responded, chuckling.
Suddenly, a handsome blonde approached our table, his gaze shifting from Jade to Tiffany before finally settling on me. He introduced himself as Frank Green, an intern journalist from Duport News.
"Hey," Tiffany greeted him, her full attention captured, and she began playfully twirling her hair. Tiffany nudged me, trying to suppress a laugh.
"Hi," I greeted him, maintaining a friendly smile.
"Hello," Jade added.
"I heard you ladies are quite popular, so I decided to come and introduce myself," Frank explained, his charm evident.
"Do you want to join us?" Tiffany offered, patting the empty seat beside her.
"Sure, thanks," Frank accepted the invitation and took the offered seat. Tiffany and Jade introduced themselves, and as I began to introduce myself, Frank interrupted, saying, "Oh, I know who you are, Miss Rutherford. You're the head of the Quality Control and Assurance department at PharmaMed. We've heard you guys have some exciting news for consumers." A pang of discomfort washed over me, and my smile slowly faded.
Tiffany nudged Frank gently, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "She doesn't discuss work."
"Smart move. I can see why you're part of their team. Absolute discretion is said to be the company's top policy," Frank remarked, his gaze lingering on me with a sense of intrigue. It felt as if he knew more than he was letting on and that his presence at our table wasn't merely coincidental. The anti-aging product we were working on had garnered significant attention, and I suspected that other companies were eager to be the first to break through and launch a similar product in the market. The pressure from our CFO and production management to speed up production, despite inconclusive research, likely stemmed from the potential financial gains associated with such a groundbreaking product. However, I couldn't ignore my findings for the sake of greed, as it could lead to a major disaster for the company in the long run.
"Please, Frank, tell us instead about the exciting world of journalism," I interjected, trying to redirect the conversation with a warm smile. Frank chuckled in response.
"Fair enough," he replied, shifting the topic away from our work and onto something less delicate.
I returned to my office some time later and as I stepped into my office, the familiar scent of papers and chemicals greeted me, creating a comfortable ambiance.
Settling behind my desk, and thinking of what the CFO said about helping to save money, I decided to reevaluate my report even though I had done it several times.
I retrieved the report on the anti-aging product from my desk. The report detailed the latest test results and analysis, highlighting the persistent anomaly issue in the drug. Determined to find a solution, I set up my workstation with various beakers, test tubes, and microscopes, ready to embark on another round of experiments.
Several of the chemists working under me noticed my fervor and joined in to lend their expertise. Together, we compared notes, brainstormed ideas, and meticulously examined the chemical composition of the product. Hours passed by, and frustration began to creep in as we encountered the same roadblock time and time again—the product's inability to surpass its shelf life.
"Okay, we tried," I finally said, feeling a tinge of resignation. "We will keep trying, but we can all agree we are not there yet."
Amidst the weariness, one of the chemists voiced a concern. "Do you think they will listen to us?" His worried gaze met mine, seeking reassurance.
"I have submitted my report," I replied, deliberately being vague. "We have done our part."
As the evening wore on, the staff in my department began to trickle out, each one knocking on my office door to wave a goodbye. Their departure left me alone, engrossed in scrutinizing every detail of the report, completely losing track of time. It wasn't until around 9 p.m. that I decided to call it a night, realizing how late it had become.
Gathering my belongings, I turned off the lights in my office and made my way to the elevator. The empty hallway felt eerily quiet as I walked, the hum of fluorescent lights accentuating the solitude. Once inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the last floor, eager to escape the confines of the building.
But just as the doors began to close, the elevator lights flickered, and an overwhelming explosion rocked the entire structure. The force was so powerful that I was thrown against the side wall, my body colliding with it before crumbling to the cold, unforgiving metal floor.
The world around me turned into a blur of chaos as dust and debris filled the air, shrouding everything in darkness. My senses were disoriented, and I could hardly comprehend what had just happened. Struggling to focus, I felt a sticky sensation on my temple and raised my shaky hand to touch it, only to be met with warm, sticky liquid – blood. Panic welled up inside me, and my head throbbed painfully as blood streamed down my face, blinding me.
Amidst the turmoil, I heard muffled grunts and growls, followed by the clang of metal hitting metal. Then, a rush of air brushed against my face as someone strong scooped me off the floor.
My heart skipped a beat as a familiar scent filled my nostrils. I tried to speak, to ask for help, but my voice came out raspy and weak.
"It's okay, little bird, I got you," a comforting voice replied - a voice that sounded eerily familiar, like Mark's, and like a lifeline in the darkness. I clung to those words, finding solace in them, before surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness.