Chapter 6: Collisions and Close Calls

Early Monday morning. I showed up in a black suit at the Collins Group building—well, at the Starbucks next door. After half an hour of anxious waiting, the system finally replied:

[Ten minutes till the target shows. Host, you can go in now.]

I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and walked into the marble-and-glass lobby. After flashing my interview notice, the security guard handed me an access card. Classic Fortune 500 vibes—security so tight you’d think the President worked here.

I wandered through the lobby, watching the big screens play glossy ads for their latest tech. I caught my reflection in the polished floor and forced a smile—fake it till you make it, right?

Suddenly, a commotion at the entrance. I looked up and there he was—dark gray suit, deep-set eyes, black brows. Senior execs in their fifties trailed him like backup dancers, nodding and smiling at everything he said.

I’d never seen Derek look so intimidating—like the moon surrounded by stars, almost too bright to stare at directly. But hey, he was the Collins heir. That tracked.

[Host, what are you daydreaming for? They’re about to get in the elevator—hurry up!]

The system’s voice snapped me out of it.

I hesitated. "Isn’t this a bit much? There are so many people around him."

[What are you afraid of? You’re already here. This is your shot—get in front of him!]

I shook my head. The system must binge too many K-dramas.

But as the elevator doors started to close, I rushed over, flashing my access card with a nervous little wave. The guard just nodded, like this happened every day.

"How’s the Smart Tech Park project coming along?" Derek’s voice echoed in the elevator.

While the execs answered, I snuck a glance at him. It had only been two months since that night we parted. He looked thinner—maybe work was busy. He was really tall—at least 6'1". Sharp brows, high nose, strong jaw. Honestly, he hadn’t changed much since high school.

I remembered when he grabbed my hand and ran with me through east Maple Heights. His words echoed in my mind:

"I never hit girls, so don’t make me break my rule."

"Back off—she’s with me. Mess with her, you mess with me."

Time flies. Eight years gone in a blink.

The next second, I met Derek’s eyes. For a moment, the elevator felt too small, the air thick with memories I couldn’t share.

I looked away quickly. Like he could recognize me now. Get it together, Natalie.

But I’d stared too long. All the execs were watching me.

"Miss, which department are you from?" asked a bespectacled exec.

I had no choice but to answer honestly:

"I’m here for an interview."

"Aren’t interviews on the 3rd floor? This is the 26th—you went way too far."

The elevator dinged. Three golden letters gleamed: "Executive Office."

Embarrassed, I apologized and stepped out. After Derek left, the others followed. I vowed not to let my nerves get the best of me again. At least, not until after the interview.

Even though I saw him, it was like we never met.

The system grumbled in my head:

[I think Derek Collins is just as tough as Caleb Foster.]

"Prepare for the interview. Just being close ups your odds by fifty percent."

But fate wasn’t on my side. Three days later, I got the call: I didn’t pass the interview. Not surprising, really. The competition was fierce—two-thirds studied at Ivy League schools, the rest at the top three universities. Me? Just a regular state school grad. Not exactly impressive.

No big deal. After five lives chasing Caleb, I’d picked up plenty about Derek’s habits. Bumping into him "by accident" wouldn’t be hard.

I deleted the rejection email, sighed, and opened my notes app. Time to make a new plan—coffee shop run-ins, gym memberships, maybe even that charity gala I’d seen on Insta.

On my sixth night waiting at Bluebird Lounge, I finally got results. Caleb and some other rich kids showed up, and soon after, Derek arrived too. Of course—this was their scene.

But then came the problem: every time these guys came, they stayed in private rooms upstairs. Tonight was no different.

So I parked myself in the first-floor lounge to watch. I ordered a cocktail and sat at the bar, bored. The air reeked of cheap cologne and spilled vodka, and the bass thumped so hard it rattled the ice in my glass. The bartender chatted about the local college’s football drama. I pretended to check my phone, eyes glued to the elevator.

Suddenly, I saw Caleb come down alone and sit by a window. The place was packed—lights flashing, people dancing wild. Weird. He usually hated crowds. Why was he here?

Caleb was so put-together he looked like a walking LED sign. Any girl would’ve gone for him. Sure enough, a girl tried her luck. He didn’t refuse, but soon cooled. She left, disappointed. The cycle repeated. I wondered if Caleb had some kind of illness. A serious one.

I shook my head. Whatever. He’s not my target anymore.

I looked away—wait, when did Derek come down?

No time to lose. I got ready to approach, but saw him bump into a girl’s wine glass. He apologized, she smiled, they started chatting. I watched, dumbfounded. Was Derek into her? She was cute, and I’d seen her try her luck with Caleb earlier. So, same taste?

I slumped back, off to a bad start. Did Derek like sweet, obedient girls?

I scrolled my phone while watching. Ten minutes later, the girl left, looking bummed. I breathed a sigh of relief and got ready to make my move.

But Derek was already chatting up another girl. Seriously? She’d just tried to flirt with Caleb too. Was this some new playstyle?

I gave up for now. Who knew these guys were such players? Even Derek... so disappointing.

I listlessly scrolled my phone, still watching. Eventually, girl number two left too, looking like she wanted his number but got shut down.

Derek looked a bit lonely after that. He wandered the crowd, gaze lost and sad, like he was searching for something. I followed him with my eyes as he headed for the elevator—probably going back upstairs. If he did, it’d be hard to talk to him.

I hurried over, planning to catch the elevator with him.

Just as the doors opened, a server came out with a tray. Maybe his grip slipped, and the glasses started to tip. Before they fell, the server caught them, but as Derek dodged, he stepped back and bumped into me.

I wasn’t holding my phone steady. "Crack—" My brand new iPhone hit the marble, the screen shattering.

Sometimes, fate really does lend a hand.

I picked it up, heart aching. The server stood there, flustered—it wasn’t his fault. Derek had bumped me.

Derek didn’t blame the server, just waved him off.

Just as I was about to gracefully and politely start a conversation, I heard him make a call:

"Lillian, you got any cash?"

Two minutes later, Lillian came down and handed Derek a wad of bills.

"Sorry," he said, handing me the cash. Message received.

Not a word wasted. Then he and Lillian stepped into the elevator and vanished.

Nothing like getting reimbursed for heartbreak. Maybe I could Venmo him next time.

At this point, I had to admit what the system said before—maybe Derek Collins is even harder to win over than Caleb Foster.

Damn. Is there any hope for me at all?

I stared at my busted phone and the wrinkled bills in my hand, feeling the weight of Maple Heights and five lifetimes pressing down. Outside, the city kept spinning, neon lights blinking like nothing had changed at all. But for me, everything had. And this time, I was out of second chances.