“Okay. Try to keep her calm. I’ll be right there.”
My heart was hammering in my chest as we wove through the traffic in the city, the driver clearly overhearing my conversation, and putting a bit of a stick in it.
I’d been in a lot of crazy situations while in the service. More than a dozen occasions where my life was quite literally on the line, and I don’t ever remember feeling as anxious as I was sitting in the back of a cab, trying to get to Miranda’s side to assure her she was going to be okay, that this was never going to happen again, that I was going to find who did it and make them pay.
I’d scoped out Miranda’s building when I first started the job. It was a massive glass and metal structure that proved just how big of a business she’d built for herself in such as short amount of time.
I’d never been inside before, though.
There was a sprawling lobby with white floors and cozy-looking beige-colored chairs and couches. Live plants were smattered around. There was art on the walls. It looked less like a lobby to a billion-dollar business, and more like someone’s living room, if it weren’t for the front desk, the security, and the dozens of people milling around.
“Brock?” the security officer asked as I rushed forward.
He looked shaken up.
Maybe from seeing his boss come rushing back into work, roughed up, and terrified.
“Yeah,” I said, flashing my ID even as he passed me a visitor badge.
“Straight to the top,” he said, waving toward the last elevator.
Unable to stand still, my fingers thrummed on the bar on the side of the elevator as it quietly beeped as it went up the floors until it finally reached the top.
The doors opened to a wide space full of a dozen or so desks. All white. All with the option for being seated or standing, as evidenced by people doing both while pretending to do work, but all casting glances over toward the glass office at the back of the building.
Cam was standing fidgeting at the side of Miranda’s desk where she was sitting with her back to the glass, likely not wanting her employees to see her having a private moment.
I made my way through the rows of desks and right into Miranda’s office, rushing forward to drop down to a squat in front of her.
“Hey, honey,” I said, giving her a soft smile as rage boiled through my system.
Objectively, the damage was minimal. There were some cuts up above her eyebrow and toward her temple. Depending on how hard she hit the wall, it might bruise. And it seemed to have bled a bit, judging by the bloody paper towels in her hand and the drop of it on her shirt.
It was all minor.
But the fucking rage was burning through my system regardless.
Because someone had put their hands on her with the intention of hurting her, of causing some kind of damage.
They’d fucking made her bleed.
And, perhaps just as unforgivable, they’d made her cry.
My hand moved out, closing over the two of hers that were clasped in her lap. The other rose, prodding a bit around the cuts.
“Does this hurt?”
“A little. It’s fine. I’m… fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I shot back. “You were attacked. There’s nothing fine about that. Have you cleaned out these cuts at all?” I asked, getting a short shake of her head. “Cam, do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere?” I asked, glancing back at him.
“Yes, of course,” he said, looking happy to have a task to carry out. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rushing out.
“Miranda,” I called, waiting for her to give me some eye contact. “It’s okay not to have it all together right now. No one is judging you. You aren’t being dramatic. You were attacked. It’s okay to be upset.”
At that, her lower lip wobbled and tears she’d clearly been trying to hold back poured down her cheeks.
“There you go,” I said, slowly getting to my feet, reaching down, and pulling her up, then to my chest, wrapping my arms around her.