Zoe
Riva looked down at the electric scooter and tried to portray an air of
confidence. It was seven a.m. on a chilly Saturday morning in November, and
though the occasional car zipped past on the Embarcadero, there were only a few
pedestrians walking and running in the normally busy area in downtown San
Francisco.
Which
was precisely what she had hoped.
Because
if she went down, she wanted as few witnesses as possible.
“You
and me, baby,” she muttered, patting the straight handlebar. “Let’s do this.”
The
e-scooter was shaped like an oversize Razor scooter, with larger wheels, a
bigger deck, and a thicker post than the child’s version to accommodate the
motor. Everyone said they were easy to ride. There was some balance involved, seeing
as the scooter only had two wheels, but given all the people that she’d seen
zipping around on them throughout the summer and early fall, it couldn’t be
Could
it?
Granted,
she wasn’t the most coordinated person in the world. And yes, she had always
been the last person picked in gym class. Still, she could ride a scooter,
right?
“Confidence,
Zoe,” she told herself, not caring that anyone walking past would think she was
crazy. “You can do this.”
She
had rented the scooter from a small bank of them near Rincon Park and planned
to ride down Embarcadero to Fisherman’s Wharf. Short and easy. No turns.
Protected bike lane.
What
could go wrong?
The
instructions were simple: kick off a few steps, then gently press the throttle
button and off you go. She’d even bought a brand-new bike helmet—ironic,
since she didn’t own a bike—so
she could be safe.
And
all of this because the company founder wanted her to try his product.
“What
I won’t do for customer satisfaction.” She sighed. Though she was a partner in
a thriving law practice, she had few clients of her own and had to handle work
the other lawyers brought in. That was a situation she was trying hard to
change, but until she did, she had to keep the few clients she did have happy.
She
shook her head and took a deep breath. No more stalling. It was time.
She
looked both ways to make sure no bikes were coming, then moved the scooter into
the protected green lane. A few pushes with her right foot, a push of the
button, and…
“Shit!”
Zoe squealed as the scooter took off much, much faster than she had expected.
The stem wobbled and so did she as she tried to catch her balance and stand up
straight. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Heart
pumping, she let off the throttle, depressed the brake, and then almost went
flying again as the scooter came to an abrupt stop. Head bowed, she took a few
deep drags of air and tried to regain her calm.
“It
just took off a little faster than you expected,” she told herself between
gasps. She spared a quick look up from the handlebar and glanced around,
relieved to see no one obviously pointing and laughing.
“It’s
okay,” she told herself, shaking off the desire to drop the scooter and walk
away while she still could. “No problem. You got this.”
This
time, she anticipated the quick jolt when the motor caught. Bending her knees a
little helped, and before she knew it she was flying down the road. After the
initial terror faded, she found herself beginning to smile. Then, as the wind
picked up in her hair and she started to feel more comfortable, the tentative
smile turned into a full-faced grin.
Of
course, she was only going about eight miles an hour, well below the maximum
speed, but still. It was actually fun. Really fun. Fun like she hadn’t had for
a long time.
Zoe
didn’t have a lot of time for fun. She had time for work and time for worrying
about finding new clients. But fun?
She
was so preoccupied with her success that it took a moment to notice the man
jogging toward her. Once she did see him, though, it was hard to look away. He
was tall and spectacularly built, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and
despite the chill in the air, a full set of biceps helpfully displayed by a
sleeveless shirt. He had the long, powerful legs and effortless pace of an athlete,
which was to say he was probably going faster than her electric scooter.
She
was staring so hard at his body she almost forgot to look at his face. And that
was when she realized he was staring right back at her.
“Hey,
Zoe!”
The
guy waved, and embarrassment shot through her at the realization that she’d
been gaping at someone she knew.
Her
eyes widened. “Connor?”
It
took a moment for the realization to sink in. The man jogging toward her was
none other than Connor Ashton, one of the three owners of her firm’s biggest
client.
Livend
Capital was a venture capital firm started just a few years ago by three
hotshot investors local gossip columnists had dubbed the Bad Angels—Connor
and his former college roommates Mason Coleman and Nate Etherly. Their firm had
grown at an astronomical rate over the years, taking them from a bunch of
unknown guys barely out of business school to respected players in the world of
high-tech finance.
Connor
was the quiet, brainy one of the three. The last to arrive and first to leave.
The guy who never called when an email or text would do.
The
guy whose body was apparently fully capable of doing the talking for him.
The
embarrassment deepened as her gaze inadvertently drifted back to his waist,
then to the one place it absolutely shouldn’t go. She righted her eyes as
quickly as she could.
What
the hell was she doing? Drooling over Connor?
Connor
was so off-limits he might as well have been her brother. First and foremost, he
was part of the small circle that encompassed her best—really
only—friends.
She didn’t relish the thought of bringing hookup
drama into that circle. And since her previous relationships existed on a
spectrum from bad to awful, that’s all it would be.
Secondly,
professional rules forbade lawyers from having sexual relations with their
clients. Getting sanctioned over a casual affair wasn’t really high on Zoe’s
to-do list.
So,
yeah. Off-limits.
She
tried to recover from her momentary lapse of judgment with an enthusiastic
wave, which turned out to be a huge mistake. Because waving required lifting a
hand from the handlebar, which required removing her hand from the brake.
Which
sent the front wheel of the scooter wobbling, which meant that when she panicked
and squeezed the throttle, the scooter took off right into the curb.
With
a shriek, she tipped off the deck and half ran, half flung herself forward.
Right
into a lamppost.
Connor
wasn’t sure what hit first—her forehead or
her nose. Either way, the impact sent Zoe flying backward, stumbling a few
times before falling on her butt on the sidewalk.
The
bleeding started a few seconds later.
He
swore as he sprinted toward her, concern for her injury mixed with a hint of
chagrin for his own behavior. Damn it. He’d waved at her like a ten-year-old
who’d just seen his crush. No wonder she’d stared at him strangely just before
hitting the curb. She probably thought he was a crazy person, trying to flag
her down.
He
crouched down beside her as she touched her nose, which appeared to be the
source of the bleeding. Her left hand lay limp on her leg. Had she hurt her
wrist when she fell backward? He wouldn’t be surprised. He’d seen kids on the basketball
team he coached break their wrists from exactly that kind of impact.
She
hadn’t passed out, thank goodness, but she did look dazed, and a substantial
knot was already forming on her forehead. He pinched the bridge of her nose,
his first-aid training overriding his normal remove.
“Don’t
worry,” he said. “Just stay still. I got you.”
A
minute passed with her blinking owlishly at him, which Connor found
increasingly concerning, because in his experience, Zoe always had something to
say. “Zoe? You in there?”
She
gazed directly at him, and those endless crystal-blue eyes grabbed him right by
the balls.
Just
like they always did.
“First
time on a scooter?” he asked, hoping to get her to say something.
He
was a few seconds from whipping out his phone to call an ambulance when she
finally spoke. “What gave me away?”
He
was relieved that her voice sounded mostly normal. Wobbly, but coherent. “Hard
to say, exactly.” He looked down at the hand sitting limp on her leg. “Can you
move your hand?”
She
winced as she started to wiggle her fingers, then gave up. “Maybe? I don’t
think so. It hurts like crazy.”
“That’s
fine. Don’t move it.”
She
adjusted her position. “Why am I still bleeding? Am I going to die? I think I
might die.”
“Highly
unlikely,” he said, examining her face. He caught a lock of the long, dark hair
that had escaped the helmet and pushed it back, then immediately regretted it,
worrying he’d overstepped.
“It
probably feels much worse than it is.”
“How
do you know?” she asked.
“I
coach middle school basketball. You’d be surprised how many accidents I’ve
seen.” He examined her face more closely, noticing that she was starting to
look a little gray.
“Um,
Connor?” She glanced down at her good hand and then the sidewalk. Her voice
wavered unsteadily.
“I’m
not feeling so great.”
He
glanced around, but there were very few people around, and nothing open so
early on a Saturday. He had all kinds of first-aid equipment in his car, but
that was parked up by his apartment, which was a little over a mile away and up
one of San Francisco’s absurdly steep hills.
“You’re
not going to pass out on me, are you?”
She
tried for a half-hearted smile. “I don’t think so? To be honest, I kind of
freak out around blood. Especially my own.”
“Here.”
Without thinking, he pulled his shirt over his head. “You can use this on your
nose. At least you won’t have to look at it.”
She
stared at the shirt, then at his chest, then back at his face. A hint of color
appeared in her cheeks.
And
now he felt like a complete idiot for stripping in front of her without
considering how weird that must look.
He
folded the fabric into a rough triangle and pushed it into her hand. “Trust me,
looking at it makes it worse. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. That
should help.”
“Why
is that the answer to everything these days?” she asked plaintively. “Pretty
sure I can’t deep breathe my way out of this one.”
He
ignored that and tried not to notice that she glanced again at his chest. Shit.
She must be thinking what an idiot he was. “You didn’t black out when you hit
the post, did you?”
She
closed her hand around the shirt and pushed it up to her nose. “No, but my head
does hurt,” she admitted.
He
leaned closer to examine her forehead. “I guess you didn’t get the helmet
adjusted when you bought it?”
“What
do you mean?” she asked, her voice muffled behind his shirt.
He
sighed. “They aren’t one size fits all. You actually have to adjust a helmet or
it doesn’t do you any good. It’s supposed to fit snugly and cover your
forehead.”
“Well,
that’s super helpful information to have now,” she said. “What do I look like,
a bicycle helmet expert?”
He
gave a reluctant chuckle. “Ah, no, I wouldn’t say that you look a bit like a
bicycle helmet expert. How do you feel otherwise?”
“Feel?”
She gazed up at him, and a tiny, reluctant smile appeared in her eyes for the
first time since he’d seen her. “I just spectacularly wiped out on an electric scooter
while trying to wave to a friend, Connor. How do you think I feel?”
Friend.
Good reminder. They were friends. Also, she was one of his company’s lawyers.
So, his lawyer, in a manner of speaking. They’d sat in meetings and bars
together for years, and she’d never once looked at him in a romantic way. He’d
heard about her dates, and she’d heard about his. If you wanted to call them
dates. “Disasters” was more like it.
Regardless,
at this point, they were practically related.
And
therefore, clearly, he needed to forget his decidedly nonfriendly feelings for
her. Just like he forced himself to do every time he saw her.
He
pulled his phone from the case strapped to his arm and opened an app to call a
car. The closest was five minutes away, but that was still faster than he could
run up the hill and back down with his. “You care which hospital?” he asked, looking
down at her.
“I
don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine, really. In fact, I should probably
just take that scooter back and go home.”
“Home?”
He shook his head. “You might have a concussion, Zoe. You hit your head pretty
hard. You need to get it checked out.”
“Concussion?”
Her eyes got even wider. “Seriously?”
“You
don’t have to get knocked out to have one.”
“And
I thought this day couldn’t get worse.” She made a wobbly attempt at getting to
her feet. He moved his hand under her good arm to support her. She was a solid
foot shorter than him, and yet one of the toughest people he’d ever met. Tiny
but fierce. That was Zoe.
“St.
Francis okay?”
Her
shoulders dropped. “I guess.”
“Hopefully
you didn’t have anything else to do today.”
“Oh
no,” she said with a wave. “Just a few thousand pages of documents to read. No
big deal.” She gazed at the scooter and then turned to him with a grimace. “So
there’s no way I could get back on it, right?”
He
blinked. “Are you crazy? Of course not.”
She
wilted a few inches. “I figured. I just thought maybe…
Never mind. I hate to ask, but could you maybe move the scooter onto the
sidewalk for me? Just to get it out of the street?”
“Of
course. You okay standing on your own?”
She
straightened her back, though she still looked a little gray. “Yep. I’m fine.”
“Well,
I don’t know about that.” He jogged over and retrieved the scooter. She walked
on her own to the curb behind him.
“I
think my nose is okay now,” she said, gingerly removing the shirt from her face.
“Thanks for the shirt.”
If
anything, he felt even more awkward now as he hovered over her in all his bare
chested glory. Connor was used to being the tallest guy in the room, and
generally he liked it, but right now he just wished he could fade a little more
into the background.
“No
problem. I’ll run home and grab some clothes, then meet you at the hospital,”
he said.
“Connor,
you do not need to come to the hospital.”
“Zoe,”
he said patiently, “I’m coming to the hospital.”
“There’s
no reason. Seriously, you should just finish your run. It’s not like I have any
life-threatening injuries. If you really want, I can text you when I’m done.”
“No.”
“What
do you think is going to happen? I’ll be at the hospital, Connor.”
“Sorry.
I’ll wait in the lobby if you want. But I’m coming.”
She
cocked her head, looking surprised at his resistance. Normally, when Zoe went
into lawyer mode—giving
instructions, arguing, being logical—he
didn’t put up much of a fight. Connor was the scientist
of the Livend group, and he knew better than to try to lawyer anything. At any
rate, the only one who could go toe to toe with Zoe in a war of words was Nate,
the business end of their trio,
and
even he picked his battles. But this was different. Leaving a friend alone in a
hospital with a possible concussion wasn’t something Connor was prepared to do.
Regardless of how much she argued.
“You’re
not budging?” she finally said.
“Nope.
I’ll meet you there as soon as I can,” he said firmly as the car pulled up.
“Call me before then if you need anything.”
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