"NO! OH NO!" She shrieked, as they floated toward the floor. Standing in the path of a tornado couldn’t have done as much damage as Ben Cross slamming into her.

She glared at him and gestured toward the floor. "I’ve spent days working on this proposal, and in two minutes I’m supposed to be handing these out at the client meeting!" Becca spoke through clenched teeth. "Judith’s gonna go postal."

Becca was a project leader working for a financial consulting firm, and Judith, her boss, was a tenured witch. Ben retrieved his glasses and propped them on his nose, reminding Becca of the fumbling Clark Kent from "Superman".

"This is completely my fault. I’ll explain to Judith and take all the blame," he insisted.

"You won’t be the one she fires—and puts a hex on." Becca raked a hand through her wavy chestnut hair. "This is hopeless," she added, her smoky gray eyes surveying the carpet of copy paper.

"Do you have this on your computer?" Ben asked.

"Of course."

"Well then..."

"Right!" Becca nodded, annoyed that he’d come up with the obvious solution before she had.

"Print one out and make new copies, while I hold down the fort."

"Now wait a minute, Ben. Just what do you intend to tell her?" Becca wasn’t about to let this klutz trash her job, as well.

He shrugged. "I’ll say that the machine is down, but not to worry because you, Becca Shemansky—her brilliant resilient project manager—is on the job!" He grinned idiotically.

Becca blew out a weary sigh. "Just say the machine is down, and that I’m handling it, okay?"

"You got it, Becca." He gave her a thumbs-up, and rushed off.

On her way home that night, Becca thought about Paul—blond, blue-eyed Paul, who claimed her as the one true love of his life, who doubted he could survive one day without her, who had promised almost two weeks ago he would call. But that was Paul. Time was a foreign concept, as were most concepts, where his cognitive ability was concerned. But the man was gorgeous, and an Einstein when it came to engines. Becca’s car got plenty of attention, even if she didn’t.

Walking into her building, she frowned over at Anthony, the super, who was hanging an OUT OF ORDER sign on the elevator. Adjusting packages on either hip, she snapped, "Not again!"

"Sorry, Ms. Shemansky," his hands lifted in supplication, as she trudged toward the stairs.

After climbing what felt like Mt. Everest, Becca kicked aside the size 13 work boots outside her door, boots meant to convince the rapists and robbers that a burly man was in residence.

Fur Ball attacked the second she unlocked the door, meowing louder than a screeching freight train. This is my life, she mused, coming home to a pissed-off cat. Dumping the groceries, she kicked off her shoes, and was half undressed before reaching the bedroom. Comfy clothes were her first priority; shutting Fur Ball up was a close second. In the kitchen, while opening cat food, she gave the phone a side-long glance. The blinking light brought a satisfied smile. So, Paul had finally gotten around to calling. But as she listened her smile evaporated.

Someday -2 (Continue)