Unavoidable Chance by Annalisa Nicole

trashcan. A now empty trashcan, I might add. I pass Reagan, who is on the phone, and thank God she ignores me as I rush into my office.
    I place the trashcan next to my desk and my briefcase on top of my once again messy desk, then look around my office. I feel my cheeks warm as I see the disheveled couch. I take a sip of coffee and look out my windows at the amazing morning Seattle skyline.
    Then I see it.
    You can totally see where I had my cheek smooshed on the glass. I rush to my door and quickly close it. Then I run in my en suite bathroom and take out window cleaner and a roll of paper towel from underneath the sink. I rush back over on my tip toes of my crystal covered, four-inch, signature red leather soul Christian Louboutin peep-toe heels, because everyone who wears four-inch heels knows you have to run on your tip toes, then I frantically spray the glass. I then wipe it with the paper towel in a furious up and down scrubbing motion. I take a step back and take another sip of my coffee.
    Then I notice more.
    On either side of where I just cleaned, I see clear as day handprints on the glass. Seriously, if someone from outside looked up at my window, they would totally know exactly what the person who occupies this office had done on these windows. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could see the outline of my nipples, too.
    I roll my eyes and take another sip of my coffee, then set it on my desk as I savor it in my mouth. I spray a big circle on the glass and clean the handprints and any other telltale signs that could remain. Just as I finish, Reagan comes in my office and rather loudly says, “What are you doing? Do you need help with that?”
    And just like that I spray my entire mouth full of coffee on the now clean window, as the words from last night that started it all ring out in my office once again. Do you need help with that ?
    “Shit, Reagan, you scared the crap out of me!”
    “Here, let me get that,” she says, taking the spray bottle out of my hand. Then she cleans up the coffee dripping from mouth level down the entire window. “That was Mr. Foley on the phone I was just talking to. He wants a meeting with you this morning before you head into court.”
    My heart sinks in my chest as I start to get butterflies in my stomach. This could be the conversation that I’ve been waiting for. What if it’s bad? What if he’s coming in here to tell me I’m not even in the running for partner? Oh my God, maybe he’s coming in here to fire me! Reagan eyes me and says, “Just relax; I’ll go make you another coffee. You should really straighten up a bit before he comes in here.”
    Reagan leaves and I rush around the room fixing the couch and straightening the papers on my desk. Reagan comes back in, deposits a coffee on my desk, then takes the window cleaner and paper towel back in the bathroom. I have to leave for court in thirty minutes and I’m just dying to know what Mr. Foley has to say.
    Not two seconds later, Mr. Foley walks into the room. Reagan asks if she can get him anything, he nods a no, so she walks toward the door. She gives me a thumbs up and a cheesy grin, then closes the door behind her.
    I stand behind my desk as Mr. Foley walks to the windows and looks outside. He wipes his thumb on a wet spot still left from the window cleaner, then rubs it on his pants. My heart is beating out of control and I frantically wonder if I have a paper bag in one of my drawers, because I may need it at any second. I’m not sure if I need it to stop me from hyperventilating, or to throw up in. He walks over to the couch and sits in the exact same spot where Jax sat while I was riding him not even ten hours ago. Hyperventilate; yes, I need it to not hyperventilate, after that, I’ll throw up in it.
    “Have a seat, Ms. Wellington.” I take a seat, and the Sahara desert returns to my throat. “You’re wrapping up the Murray case today, right?”
    “Yes, sir,” I nod.
    “We’ve just obtained a high