text: The rhythmic thumping of heels on the pavement is descending upon me at an accelerated rate. As the tapping sound escalates, the rapid echo of my pulse reverberates with a thunderous boom in my ears. At the thought of being followed, my hands grow clammy while I struggle to keep a steady breath. Picking up my pace, too terrified to sneak a glimpse over my shoulder, I opt for crossing the street with as much casualty as I can muster given my wobbly knees. The footsteps fade as if retracting in the distance, flooding my bloodstream with sheer relief as the adrenaline begins to recede. I release a shaky sigh and sneer at my ridiculous overreaction to this apparent false alarm. I have spent the last three days in attendance at an Interior Design trade show concluding with tonight’s award ceremony. I am silently berating myself for not choosing a hotel in closer proximity to the convention--being that there wasn’t a single taxi cab in sight and finding myself having to trek the twelve blocks back, in an unfamiliar city, at night, no less. Not that I was afforded much time to prepare. Expletives towards my co-worker, Jan, are swirling through my gray matter on an incessant loop since I wasn’t even supposed to be here to begin with. She had had a last-minute change of heart about attending (specifically a spontaneous jet-setting invitation to Mexico) and true to form, used her flirtatious relationship with our boss to her advantage, squirming her way out of her obligations without consequence. Queen manipulator that she is, she convinced Mike--whom she calls Magic Mike , further fanning the flames of his ego--to assign me to go in her place, making it feel as if a bounty had been put on my head. Never mind that I, myself, had had plans for my only niece’s first birthday party. Now I am left with visions of pink balloons evaporating into thin air like a distant memory. And never mind that I had a hot date to boot (which in my world is as rare as a bona fide live Unicorn, rainbows, glitter, and all). For starters, I’m much too dedicated to my career as an interior designer for luxury homes. Coupled with the fact that, as much as I despise admitting it, I have a propensity of being categorically socially awkward when it comes to half of the human race--particularly the opposing gender. Therefore, it’s safe to say my dating life is practically non-existent. To miss out not only on a date but a hot one at that, is getting my Irish up. Declaring that I am miffed about the sudden turn of events would be a gross understatement. The under-exaggeration of the decade, quite frankly. Feeling silly for having crossed the street in an attempt to ditch my imagined stalker, along with regaining a sense of safety (my spewing disdainful thoughts towards Jan and Mike excluded), I make my way back to the opposite sidewalk. Immediately, the same click-clack of fine Italian leather soles on the concrete returns sending prickling chills up my spine. Out of primal instinct, I spin around so fast to confront whoever is tailing me that I nearly lose my balance. Fear is now replaced by a palpable anger thick as mud. An eerie sensation mixed with the fragrant aromas of nearby restaurants, the fumes of car exhausts, and the stench of alleyway dumpsters hijack every cell of my being. I’m frozen in place of the lack of comprehension that not a soul is remotely to be spotted behind me. I tense in confusion because my intuition keeps flashing its warning lights from the deepest well of my gut. My attempts at shaking this off and chalking it up to the last few exhausting days bustling from vendor to vendor are obliterated as a man dressed all in black steps out from behind a lamp post. My heart lurches back into overdrive. “Miss, pardon me for startling you,” his tone is warm and matches his charming demeanor. From the flickering, buzzing light above, I’m able to discern his handsome features. He begins to take a step forward, however, upon observing my unease, remains rooted in place. He extends his hand slowly, “You dropped this back at the conference hall.” he says, producing a kind smile. In his open palm lies my business card wallet that I could swear I had slipped into my pocket, leaving the venue. My hand impulsively shoots up to pat the empty side of my trench coat. On closer inspection, I notice his all-black attire--slacks, buttoned, collared shirt, vest, and tie--is the same uniform as the catering professionals working the award gala. Suddenly, the memory of taking a mini quiche hors d’oeuvre off his tray earlier in the evening hits me, quieting the distrust and assuaging my nerves. “I don’t understand how I could have dropped that. You wouldn’t believe how lost I would be without it. Truly, thank you.” I manage to force out the words that had been lodged in my throat, yet my voice is breathless and low, registering barely above a whisper. Reaching to retrieve the wallet, I let out a small light hearted laugh. His reaction is to flash me a nonchalant smirk as bright as a thousand-watt neon sign, the effect further settles my jitters. “This may sound foolish but I thought I was being followed. Then I started to ponder if I was merely overcome by a case of paranoia. I apologize for being so jumpy.” I offer, not knowing what else to say in this bizarre situation. “It was my fault, I should have called out. My intention wasn’t to scare you.” With his hands in his pockets, his eyes glance down to his feet in a sheepish manner. He seems almost embarrassed to have inflicted fear upon me. He looks up with a dimpled grin and with slight hesitation, generating the effect of innocence, and offers to walk me the rest of my route. After a tiny beat, I accept, being that I don’t sense the smallest inclination of menace exuding from him. The walk back to the nearest corner of my hotel whirls by in a flash with easy small talk exchanged between us. I feel like I’m in a daze as if my body has turned liquid or is gliding under the surface of water. I figure it’s probably from the rush of emotions and the spike of epinephrine swimming in my veins, all in just the last half hour. As we arrive, a small voice chastises me for allowing him to escort me. I hush the voice, reminding it that this guy is harmless. “Well, this is me. Thank you again for chasing after me to return my wallet. And for accompanying me back.” “Without being too direct, would you care to continue our conversation over a nightcap?” He ventures shyly. “As much as I would love to, I am spent and have an early flight in the morning. Potential raincheck for the next time I’m in town?” His composure begins to change, he hardens in a way so imperceivable that it could easily be missed. His smoldering gaze darkens right before my eyes as he pulls something shiny from his pocket. I figure it’s his cell phone, wanting to exchange numbers. As he stammers insidiously that he had hoped for a different outcome, I realize too late that he is holding a taser gun. Everything fades to black and my last thought is Fucking Jan, I hope Mexico was worth it.