Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

Chapter 1

Emerson

This can’t be happening. Not today. Please, please, please, I’m begging you, not today.

I’m not even sure who I’m pleading with. God, the universe, fate…anyone and everyone who might take pity on me and make my damn engine turn over.

But fate is a fickle bitch—no one knows that better than I do—and so is the universe, apparently, because all Suzanne does when I turn the key for the fifth time in as many minutes is wheeze a little. Then cough. Then die all over again.

Of course she does. Of fucking course. Why wouldn’t my ten-year-old piece of shit Corolla choose today to die? It’s not like it’s my first day at work, not like I need to make a good impression. And it sure as hell isn’t that I need this job or anything.

Oh, right. I do. I really, really do—at least if I want to avoid going into default on my student loans. Not to mention pay my rent. And eat. I mean, sure, my ass can stand to lose five pounds, but actual starvation’s not the way I want to accomplish that. Just saying.

“Please, please, please, Suzanne.” It’s my mantra as I turn the key again. And again. And again. All to no avail.

“Goddamnit!” I grab my bag, then slam out of my car in a rush. A quick glance at my phone tells me I’ve got exactly twenty-three minutes to get to work. Which, if an Uber magically appears at this very second, I just might make. But since my fairy godmother has been taking a break for pretty much ever, I doubt that’s going to happen.

For a second, I think about calling my best friend, Sage, but at this hour she’s probably in the middle of teaching a yoga class at her mom’s studio.

So, in the end, I pull up the app and order an Uber anyway—a guy named Rajiv accepts the fare. I can’t afford it, but if I lose this job, I won’t be able to afford anything. And desperate times call for desperate measures. It says six minutes to arrival, which is six minutes too long, but again, it’s not like I have a choice. As usual. Lately my whole life has been one lack of choice after another.

It’s getting really, really old.

I spend the next eight minutes pacing back and forth in front of my apartment complex, willing the damn Uber to just get here. It’s drizzling out—because why wouldn’t it be—and already I can feel my curls frizzing as they escape, one after another, from the tight ponytail I slicked them into this morning. I consider running back to my apartment for an umbrella, but I’m afraid I’ll miss the damn Uber if I do.

How is this my life? I mean, seriously, how is this my life?

I’ve always been a success, always managed to do whatever I put my mind to. At school, in relationships, in life…at least until I graduated from college with an art degree ten months ago and got stuck in the real world. Now I feel like I’m floundering almost all the time, and those times when I’m not floundering…it’s only because I’m drowning.

I gotta say. Adulthood sucks. It really, really sucks.

Another glance at my watch says it’s ten minutes and counting.

Stupid, late Uber.

Stupid, temperamental Suzanne.

Stupid traffic.

And most of all, stupid me for not leaving earlier…considering what my hair probably looks like right now, I really shouldn’t have bothered spending all that extra time on it today.

The Uber finally shows up at twelve minutes and counting, and I pretty much throw myself into the car. “Go!” I all but shout as I slam the door and reach for my seatbelt all at the same time. “I need to be at work in eleven minutes!”

The driver doesn’t move. Instead, he just sits there watching as I practically hang myself on his seatbelt. Sometimes it really sucks being short—who but me would actually get strangled by a seatbelt in a Prius, for God’s sake?

“Did you hear me?” I demand, pointing to the clear road and stoplight that is somehow magically green in front of us. “You are Rajiv, right? I have to be downtown in eleven minutes.”

He grins, and—not going to lie—it’s a little creepy. He’s trying too hard and showing too many teeth for my liking and for a moment I consider getting right back out of the car. But the seconds are ticking away and if I lose this job, I won’t have anything to live for anyway. Or, more importantly, any way to live. And since running home to Mommy and stepfather number four isn’t an option I can live with, I really, really need to get to work.

I settle for scooting all the way against the door, putting one hand on the handle and shoving the other one into my bag where my canister of pepper spray is attached to Suzanne’s currently useless key ring.

“Welcome,” he tells me in a barely discernible accent, his hands sweeping wide in front of him. “Welcome to my car. I am Rajiv and it is such a pleasure to drive you today.”

“Umm…thank you.” So, not serial killer creepy, I decide as I relax my grip on the pepper spray. Just Zen master crazy. I should be relieved but something tells me this is going to be so much worse.

“Please,” I reiterate as he checks his mirrors for the fifth time in as many seconds, still idling at the damn curb. “It’s my first day. I can’t be late.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises in a voice so sincere it sets my teeth on edge. “But the GPS says twenty-four minutes from here. And the GPS is seldom wrong.”

“God, please don’t tell me that,” I moan as he finally pulls into traffic—only to get stopped at the light half a block up. The light that takes forever and is rarely ever green at this time of t

he morning. The light that was green for nearly two minutes while Rajiv sat there making my blood pressure shoot through the roof.

I check my own GPS app, and sure enough Rajiv is right. Shit.

Seconds drag into minutes as we wait for the damn light to turn green and I can feel myself starting to sweat. It’s not that hot out—with the light rain, we’ve barely made it up to the mid-seventies that is usual for San Diego at this time of year—but my nerves are going nuts as I can’t be late, I can’t be late, I can’t be late runs through my mind like a clock-maker’s mantra.

Not to mention, it feels like Sage’s hot yoga studio in this damn car. Seriously, it has to be ninety degrees in here.

The light finally turns green—thank God—and I all but scream, “Go.”

Rajiv just shakes his head and gives me a vaguely disapproving look. “You need to remain calm,” he tells me in a slow, deep voice. “We will get there when the universe wants us to get there. There is no use in struggling against our fate.”