This isn’t happening. I can’t have a stalker. I don’t have time for a stalker.

Maybe he’s not staring at me…maybe he’s just staring in my general direction?

But there’s the copy of my book in his hand. I don’t even want to think about where that hand has been recently.

He’s not coming toward me, though. He’s just standing there. Maybe it’s just a weird coincidence, and I’m overtired and over-caffeinated and creating insane scenarios in my head where there are none.

Did I mention I’m paranoid?

I back away slowly, trying not to accidentally make eye contact with my creepy friend from the train. If I can just get inside the building, past security, I’ll be safe…for now.

I consider the pros and cons of literally making a run for it. I decide on an awkward casual power walk so it won’t look like I’m running for my life. I take one last look over my shoulder before I reach the entrance.

The man from the train is gone.

“You’re fucking losing it, Rhea,” I tell myself. Talking to yourself is also a sign that you might be losing it.

Sighing, I turn back toward the Transamerica building. And slam directly into another human being.

I scream. I can’t help myself. My nerves are frayed to shit, at this point. My phone goes flying, as does my coffee.

Jesus Christ. Can this morning get any shittier?

Shaking, I raise my head, praying that the human I’ve just collided with isn’t the man from the trolley.

It’s definitely not him, but my heart still skips a beat.

Standing before me is one of the undeniably hottest men I’ve ever seen. I have to crane my neck to meet his emerald green eyes.

Tall, handsome, and evidently angry. His brow furrows, and I can’t help but observe how sexy that deep indent is, even though he looks furious.

I’m too mortified to speak. My coffee has splashed the lapels of his suit.

He looks down at his (generous) torso. He looks at me.

I think I try to say something. An attempt at an apology. But all that comes out is an unfortunate sound that might be described as something between a gasp and a squawk.

It’s only then that I realize our impact has caused him to grab my upper arms. To stop me from falling over? To steady himself so that he doesn’t fall directly on top of me?

Not that I’d mind him falling on top of me.

His grip is tight. I thank god that I remembered deodorant and to brush my teeth.

He’s still looking at me incredulously, and I swear I can hear him silently counting to ten in his head.

Okay, buddy. Who slammed into who, here?

Then he lifts me. Actually lifts me like it’s nothing, and moves me to the side, where I narrowly avoid landing in the puddle of coffee that has drowned my phone.

Alright. I’m not the most tactful person myself, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t pick someone up without their consent. Was it really necessary to move me out of his way, like he couldn’t simply step around me?

A well-dressed couple rushes out from behind him and disappears into a waiting black SUV. Sheepishly, I realize that if this guy hadn’t moved me, the fancy couple might’ve also smacked right into me. Like a revolving door of human bumper cars.

Fuck. My phone. My meeting. My last ounce of pride.

I wait for Tall & Handsome to say something. He dabs at his suit with a napkin. He glances down at my pathetic phone, and then one last time at my pathetic self, before shaking his head and tucking his hulking mass inside a waiting sedan.

He watches me as the car slowly pulls away from the curb.

I feel like I need to say something. To apologize. To flip him off. To laugh hysterically.

Instead, I do something incredibly unhinged and passive aggressive.

I blow him a kiss.

Because that is how you handle adult situations.

Those green eyes burrow into mine, and the corners of his mouth slowly turn upward. My god, is this fucker smiling at me?

No. It’s not a smile. It’s a smirk. What a creep.

What a devilishly handsome creep.

Before I can react, he rolls his window up, and all I can see is a tinted dark window.

Then he’s gone.

What the hell.