SEE HOW SHE RUNS
Book One:
The Chronicles of Izzy
Michelle Graves
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See How She Runs, Book One: The Chronicals Of Izzy
Published by Michelle Graves
Copyright © 2013 by Michelle Graves
All rights reserved
Cover Art: Syd Gill/Syd Gill Designs
Cover Photo: Hot Damn Designs
Edited by: Neeley Bratcher Editing
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Published in the United States of America
This book is available in ebook format.
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Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the help of some very dear friends. Regina and Wendy, the two of you listened to me endlessly ramble about make believe people for months. You were there to help me when I got stuck and made me believe that I could finish this. The two of you were able to look past all of the typos and see the real story. I will never be able to thank you enough. Without the two of you, this never would have been completed. I love your faces.
I want to thank my parents who always encouraged me to be myself, even if that self was a completely weirdo. To my daughter, who always helps me see the bright side of things, I hope you never lose your optimism. To my husband, my life would not be the beautiful journey it is without you. You sir, are the very best thing that ever happened to me.
I want to thank two of the most amazing teachers a person could have ever have. Melanie Hazen and Maria Uffelman, the two of you taught me the love of literature. Because of that, I am forever indebted. Oh and to Ms. Uff, your don’t use ‘you’ speech has stuck with me all of these years.
To Belinda Boring and Lacey Weatherford, thank you for helping me when I felt like I was drowning The endless messages will slow down eventually, I promise.
To Ali, my friend from down under, your enthusiasm and love of Kennan and Izzy drive me to be a better writer. To Charissa, Dianne, and Susan thank you for supporting me even in the early days. Without having read a sample of my writing, the three of you believed in me. Your faith in me is humbling. To Betsy, you are the best kind of fairy godmother!
And thank you, readers, whoever you might be for taking a chance on me. I hope you enjoy the story and love these characters as much as I do. Their journey is just beginning and I can’t wait to see where it will take them.
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ONE
I dreaded this time of year. The onslaught of memories, painful enough to choke out any happiness, always seemed to pull me out of my typically cheerful normalcy. Seventeen years ago, before my life completely changed, I loved it. Back then, I was a kid living in LA. No, I don’t mean the one in California. I am talking Lower Alabama, where I lived in a no name town best known for its peanut and cotton crops. That was all before both of my parents died, leaving me to be shipped off to what I considered Siberia, and before Grams died. Now, this time of year just brought back memories of the things I’ve lost.
“Izzy, get your head outta your ass and out the door!” yelled Mike, pulling me from my reverie.
“Where am I going this time, Mike? Let me guess, the Loop, right?" I asked him, barely waiting for the answer.
“Back to the Loop, Iz! Don’t complain about the meandering tourists either. You know damn well as I do that most of the big offices are down thattaway.”
Mike was a burly man in his late fifties who’d been raised in Tennessee before he joined the Navy way back when. So, much like me, he had a lingering accent and a plethora of southern euphemisms. Mike might be brusque with the demeanor of a bulldog, but he was always fair. He was sort of my surrogate father.
Did I mention that I’m a bike messenger? Or what I like to refer to as an information transference specialist. I spent entirely too much time alone. That combined with an overactive imagination and a general lack of quality sleep proved to be a bad combination.
I rushed out the door on my bike to make the pick-up and delivery. Our office was conveniently located just outside of the Loop. This time of year was the worst for trying to navigate the congested area. The Loop was where everything was as far as tourists seem to be concerned. The whole of Chicago was amazing to me, but most everyone that came to visit stayed in the Loop and on Lakeshore. Then there were the few boneheads that decided to spend their entire trip on the Magnificent Mile. Don’t get me wrong, at Christmas time, I loved the Magnificent Mile. But why come from hundreds if not thousands of miles away just to shop? I didn’t get it.
I got to my destination fairly quick like. It was one of our regular clients, a law office that needed signed papers hand delivered to another law office. “Sign this before my client demands more money and then decides to sue your pants off” kind of things. I tried to keep my nose out of it. I just plugged in my ear buds and listened to whatever music fit my mood at the moment. After the pick-up from Sherrie, my all-time fave secretary, I headed down another couple of blocks to the package’s destination. Two blocks! Seemed like they could walk the durn thing down themselves. I guess if they did that, I wouldn’t have a job though.
I locked my bike up to the nearest pole and headed into the behemoth of a building. It had recently been bought by some foreign company and we’d just started transferring information for them in the past couple of months. Typically, I did’nt care who I delivered to, but this company had some of my fellow couriers talking and that had piqued my curiosity. Apparently, the guy at the top of the food chain was a real piece of work. Like my Grams would’ve said, “It’s none of my never mind.” I got paid to pedal, and that was it.
I hit the button on the elevator and waited for it to make its long ascent. I wasn’t such a fan of elevators, or closed spaces for that matter. I looked down at the package. Figured, my delivery was at the very top of the building. I sucked it up as the elevator "dinged" and the doors closed announcing my impending doom. After enough stops to almost throw me into a full on panic attack, the elevator finally made it to the top. I stepped out and took my first deep breath in what felt like an eternity. I quickly composed myself and made my way over to the reception desk.
“Hello dear, could you hold on just one second?” asked the cheery receptionist.
I couldn’t help but notice her bright red suit that stood out in stark contrast to the bleak black and white décor. She finished her conversation turning her attention my way once more.
“Alright love, what can I help you with?” she asked, with a slight British lilt to her voice.
“I’m here to deliver a package to,” I had to look down to get the name right, “one Mr. Xavier Xander." Yeah, I wished I was kidding. What kind of a name was that anyway? And why not just spell it with Z’s if that was how it was to be pronounced. Then again, I had no room to talk. My parents didn’t name me Isabelle. They named me Izzy. I guess I couldn’t blame him for his parent’s lame name choice.
“Go right in. He’s been e
xpecting the package and is anxious to get it back before closing time today." She smiled amiably before hitting some button that allowed me to go through the giant doors. I half expected there to be a sign saying, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
I stepped through the doors and my eyes were greeted with more black on white. Or was it white on black? Hm. Were there more black things or white things in the room? This place was as uninviting as a party at the local coroner’s office. There was something decidedly cold and menacing about it that gave credence to the rumors. I approached the desk with trepidation as the chair started to turn in my direction. I was almost afraid that someone would start bellowing, "Who dareth disturb me in my domain?" I really needed to get my overactive imagination under control.
My curiosity was piqued by what sort of person would enjoy such a sterile environment. As the chair finally came to rest facing my direction, my jaw dropped. A god, or perhaps he was a demigod, sat in the chair. The man made drop dead gorgeous look straight, street urchin. He was all broad shoulders and carefully contained menace. His face was like that of a Greek statue, made up of hard lines and severe angles. He had dark Mediterranean features and seemed to be all of thirty five, if that. He raised his dark, almost black eyes to me and flicked an eyebrow up in question.
“May I help you? I don’t have all day for you to stand there gawking you know." His voice resonated somewhere deep inside me, stirring something ancient. It was yelling for me to beware of this man but compelled me to come closer all the same.
I finally got a grip on my internal insanity and silently approached his desk with the envelope outstretched. He gave me a once over and began talking in a voice that seemed to echo and fill every corner of my soul.
“What’s your name? You aren’t one of the normal people they send." His voice sent tremors down my spine. He kept looking down his nose at me as if I were something disgusting he stepped in out on the street.
I suddenly had to reign in my auburn-haired temper. I was used to politeness from most Midwesterners. It wasn’t quite like the southern charm I was raised on, but it was certainly better than mister snippy pants here. Plastering on the best charming smile I could, I did my best to politely explain; even if all I wanted to do was throat punch his stupid arrogant self.
“My name is Izzy Boone, sir. This isn’t one of my normal runs, but most of the other couriers were busy when the call came in. I apologize if it is an inconvenience to you. I hope that the delivery is still up to your satisfaction." There, the official line of the company had been spouted and I didn’t have to speak anymore.
“Not an inconvenience. Actually, you arrived much faster than the others have in the past," he said, raisinghimself out of the chair to his full height of six foot seven. I craned my neck up at him. I stood at about five six, five seven on a good day, but this man was almost as tall as the building itself and just as imposing. Sheesh.
He gently took the package out of my hands, brushing my fingers in the process. Something in his countenance suddenly shifted. He looked at me as though I were the answer to some great mystery. I was becoming more and more unnerved as the seconds passed. I felt as though someone were in my head yelling at me to run. I wanted to get out of there.
“Listen,” he said slowly, “please allow me to apologize for my rude behavior. It is unpardonable and unprovoked. I’ve had a rough day and I took that out on you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sign these quickly and let you get back on your way, Miss Boone." The way he said my name was like taking a sip of hot cocoa on a freezing day.
I had no idea what had sparked his sudden change. To be quite frank, the whole situation was giving me a migraine. I just wanted to get this delivery over with so I could go home and continue my moping about the suckage that was this time of year.
Mr. Xander finished signing the papers in record time and handed them back to me with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
“I hope to see you again Miss Boone, and I hope that in the future you won’t judge me based upon your undoubtedly unfavorable first impression."
With that I was unceremoniously booted from the office to plummet to the bottom of the building in my own personal death box from hell, the elevator. I got back to the law office and returned the documents. Having fulfilled the delivery, I hopped on my trusty, or rather rusty, steed and headed back to the office.
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TWO
I instantly headed into Mike’s office, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I should never make that delivery again. The entire time I ranted, Mike was getting more and more amused. Something told me I wasn’t going to like the next words out of his mouth.
“Funny you should say anything, darlin’. He seems to be quite taken with you. In fact, he says he will pay double the service fee to guarantee that you’re the only courier to bring his documents from now on." I could just see the dollar signs tap dancing behind Mike’s eyes. My hackles were raised and there was no repressing my temper.
“Cheese on a cracker, are you seriously going to pimp me out to this man? He gives me a royal case of the heebie jeebies. Not to mention he is like the poster child for bi-polarity. Are you telling me I am now the designated step and fetch for that man? Did you agree to this?" The rage building inside me was about to make me explode. Meanwhile, Mike was about to pee his pants laughing at my outburst.
“While the money is tempting, doll, you know I don’t do designated runs for anyone. I told him that if he wanted to continue using our service I would provide any available courier to get the job done as quickly as possible, but that if you were available I would send you. He seemed to accept that little scrap I threw his way. I’m not going to have one of my best couriers waiting around just in case he needs a document pronto. No worries. Now go home before I have to pay your skinny little ass overtime." That, in a nutshell, was the way I knew Mike loved me.
I made it back to my grandmother’s old house around seven. She left me everything when she passed away. The house itself was two stories and sat on a street where most of the houses had been converted into apartments. Grams liked her house whole and so did I. What I didn’t like was having to pay the ridiculous property taxes all on my lonesome every year. So, I took in a roommate about a month after she passed. Plus, the house was just too dang quiet with no one else there.
I’d known Kennan, or as everyone lovingly called him K.O., almost as long as my Grams had been with our Maker. I started going down the way to a pub several nights a week just to escape the quiet of the old brick house. He just happened to bartend there five nights a week and thus we became quickly acquainted. One night he mentioned that his roommate was getting married and he needed to find some new digs and quick.
The cartoon light over my head clicked on and I thought, ‘I have a giant house, why not?’ It had been awesome ever since. Granted, we worked opposite schedules, but when we were both off we were dang near inseparable. He was wicked awesome in a completely platonic sort of way.
As soon as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the best smelling thing I’d encountered all day; deep dish pepperoni pizza. I was in love. With my nose leading me into the kitchen like some ridiculous cartoon character, I ran smack into the chest of one Kennan O’Malley. He was about six foot three and built like a thick Irish boxer; barrel chested with thick muscular arms that stood out against his narrow waist and thick legs. According to his driver’s license, he was almost thirty-three. I’d snuck it out of his wallet one night to check. I supposed most girls thought he was alarmingly handsome with his smiling blue eyes and jet black hair. Hence the nick name, K.O., as in knock out. But he was Kennan to me; trusty roommate, confidant, and purveyor of drink. He snickered at me and steadied my shoulders with his large, beer-opening calloused hands.
“Let me guess, Iz, you smelled the food?" His deep voice rumbled through him and there always seemed to be just a bit of laughter in everything he said. He was like a jolly tric
kster leprechaun guarding his pot of gold. Yeah, if only I’d known about his practical joke streak before he moved in.
“Hey, don’t judge, I had to skip lunch today. And besides, you know that is my favorite. Please tell me you saved me at least one piece. If not, the cheese stuck to the box will have to do." Even to my own ears I sounded pathetic. If he didn’t feed me half the time, I didn’t think I would eat.
“I got two pizzas, Red. You know I wouldn’t let my favorite girl go hungry. Anyway, I’m out the door to work. See ya on the flip side, homey." He leaned down and kissed me on top of my head, like he had a million times before, and would probably do a million times more. He effectively turned me into someone that must be all of thirteen and not the twenty-five year-old woman I really was. Well almost twenty-five, in less than a week.
“You are so not gangster, K.O., give up while you’re ahead. Are you off tomorrow? We need to veg, and I seriously need to tell you about the creeper new client!" I hoped that the desperation in my voice wasn’t obvious. In reality, Kennan was my only real friend. Pathetic. I really should get out more.
“Come by the bar later and tell me about your creeper. I’m off tomorrow so we can veg tomorrow night, barring I have any hot dates." Keenan winked at me and was out the door.
I sat on the couch, eating my weight in pizza, debating whether or not I should go down to the pub. It was a Tuesday night after all, so they wouldn’t be that busy. After a twenty minute internal debate over the merits of time spent in society versus the comfort of the couch, I decided to suck it up and go.
I ran upstairs to take a shower and change into something a bit nicer. Not that I was out trolling for guys or anything. But it had been a while. Okay, it had been two years since my last real date. Ever since Grams died, I hadn’t been asked out once. But who’s counting?
After taking the most amazing shower, I turned on some Arcade Fire and started getting ready. Kennan hated my music, so I took any chance available to blast it while he wasn’t around. I got to my closet and immediately realized why it’d been two years since my last date.