The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 1

I hated puddles. No, that wasn't true. I just hated puddles when I couldn't jump in them. And at the moment, I just wasn't wearing the right shoes to make that dream come true. High heels had become a necessity in my business. Stupid but oh so pretty shoes that made your butt look awesome but made stepping on anything that wasn't steady a dangerous thing leading to the hurting of said butt.

It had been a long time since I had chucked off my shoes and unashamedly jumped in puddles, the cool water soaking up my jeans and leaving me elated. And that sudden realization made me sad. I hadn't even realized that I had left my puddle days behind me. No wonder rainy days made me feel down. It reminded me of a life left behind.

So I stared down at the wet, slick ground with a dangerous level of jealousy and trepidation as I walked under my umbrella on that rare rainy day in Los Angeles. And after an awkward struggle to shut my umbrella while trying to stay dry, I chucked my high heels onto the passenger's seat of my red rust bucket excuse of a car, shoved the car into gear, and roared out of my parallel parking spot next to my apartment, dead set on passing every cautious driver in Los Angeles. 

I had learned very early on that my fellow Angelenos were terrified of rain. Their cars slowing to a crawl and meeting every raindrop like an enemy set on destroying their lives. I used to make fun of them until I had driven my car onto a street full of potholes in the middle of a rainstorm and watched my car drown. FULL BLOWN DROWN. 

My car had stuttered, trying to free itself from it's watery prison like a cat that had fallen into a bathtub, but much like said cat, it took a very long time to get free. And at that point, I was forced to climb out my car window and face my shame as other drivers shook their heads, with sympathetic glances, staring at my dead car. It was at that moment that I understood. Angelenos weren't afraid of rain, they were afraid of the streets that transformed into rivers as the Goddess of Poor City Planning reared her ugly head, demanding car sacrifices.

But today I risked angering the Goddess of Poor City Planning because I needed to make up for lost time. So I drove fast, faster than I should have considering the weather, and risked my cars life in the process. The road was slick, a warning sign for caution. One I ignored. My phone rang. Susan, my assistant's voice filled the car through my sound system. "Allie! Where are you?!?"

I winced at the volume. "Stop screaming! I'm almost there!" I lied. I was at least ten minutes away. Why do we tell people we are almost at our destination when we are so very clearly not? It's a sickness that gets worse the more you get away with it. At this rate, I fully expected to tell people I was five minutes away when I was in fact five hours away by the time I was in my eighties.

"Liar," Susan snorted. "But I'll let it slide. Just hurry. You have a package."

"That must be the mock-up for the new shoes." The rain stopped outside, and I felt my body relax in response. It looked like my car would be spared by the Goddess of Poor City Planning.

Turning off the windshield wipers I was surprised when a giggle filled my car through the speakers. "No... not that." Susan's voice took on a singsong that made me uncomfortable. Anything that made her that excited was a bad bad sign.

"Can't you sign for it?" I asked, sliding over a lane, wincing as I accidentally sent a puddle of water onto an elderly woman on the sidewalk. Crap. 

"Do you know what it is?" Susan asked, her voice going up an octave.

"If I did, I would tell you," I replied, trying to hide my irritation. "Stop playing the package mystery guessing game and just put whatever it is in my office."

I could hear her smile on the other end of the phone. "I think you are gonna like it."

I gripped the wheel tighter. "Why are you using your weird lying voice?" Susan was a great assistant, but she always insisted on trying too hard. She had been trying to be my friend since I hired her three years ago. But I sucked at making friends and it showed with my blunt, emotionless answers.