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The next thing I know, I’m hit from behind. My purse flies in one direction, and I fly in the other, landing on my knees on an uncarpeted floor. I hear people crying out in surprise and concern all around me while my knees scream obscenities and blood rushes in my ears. 

“What the hell?” I gasp, looking up through the curtain of hair I was hoping to toss in Blake’s direction. I can’t tell who hit me as they rush past, but it doesn’t matter. The result was the same, no matter who did it.

“Are you all right?” a man asks, crouching in front of me. 

I can only see his shoes, shiny and expensive-looking. He reaches for me, and there’s no missing a Rolex on his wrist. Terrific. I made a huge fool of myself in front of a rich guy who happens to be the only one nice enough to stop and ask if I’m okay.

“Nothing hurts but my pride,” I mutter, looking around for my purse. Thank God it was zipped or everybody in the hall would have been treated to a wide array of chewing gum, mints, lip glosses, and feminine hygiene products. That would’ve been the cherry on top of a half-melted sundae.

“Let me help you,” the man offers, taking my arms and practically lifting me onto my feet. He’s strong but gentle—though I have no time to reflect on either of those attributes since I soon learn it’s not only my pride that’s busted.

“Oof,” I groan the second I put weight on either leg. Neither knee is bleeding, but there are already bruises coming up. 

“I wish I’d caught up to the guy who slammed into you,” my savior growls. “But I was a little too concerned with helping you. I’m sure there are security cameras all around here. If you want, I can have the footage examined.”

“Why would they …” I start, finally getting up the nerve to look Mr. Helpful in the eye. It’s not easy since I feel about as clumsy and awkward as I’ve ever felt, but I manage it.

Brown eyes. Ridiculous lashes. Tan skin, sandy hair, the sort of jaw that brings to mind a comic book superhero. 

“You’re Blake Marlin,” I whisper to my billionaire boss.

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