Read Final Destination III for Free Online Page B

into the lobby. He was perfectly groomed as always in an expensive, pale gray suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie. My tired, teary eyes met his.
    “Jesus Christ.” He sprinted over to me.
    My body convulsed with sobs. Anguish, raw and ruthless, shook me.
    Just as I thought I might collapse, he swept me into his arms and carried me away, holding me tight like a child.
    I wrapped my arms around his neck, and buried my tear-soaked face on his shoulder. My body heaved against his taut chest. His intoxicating manly scent rushed into my nose, assuring me that I was safe again in his strong arms.
    I had no idea where he was taking me until his voice, firm and authoritative, said, “Miss Thatcher, no phone calls please.” His office.
    Gently, he laid me down on a white leather couch, placing a pillow under my head. My bleary eyes were not yet ready to take in my surroundings. Sobs kept rocking my body.
    He sat down beside me on the edge, cradling my head in one arm and caressing my tumbled hair with the other. Alarm flickered in his beautiful blue eyes.
    “Baby, tell me what happened?”
    Words stayed trapped in my throat. I noticed that I had gotten blood all over his lapels and collar.
    “I ruined your suit,” I spluttered.
    “Stop it. I have a dozen more just like it. Just tell me what happened.”
    “Someone attacked me,” I sobbed.
    “Did he—?” Rage filled Ari’s eyes. I knew where he was going and cut him off.
    “No, he was after my wallet and cell phone. He took them both.”
    The memory of the vicious assault swarmed me. The wild look in my assailant’s eyes as he pointed his weapon at me. The terror that filled every crevice of my body.
    “He had a knife.”
    “Oh, baby!” He took me in his arms and cuddled me. He let me cry until the pain I felt everywhere melted.
    Brushing loose strands of hair off my forehead, he said, “We should file a police report. Do you remember what he looked like?”
    “I just want to move on.”
    “But he could do it again to someone else.”
    “Please, Ari, I want to forget about him.”
    His face hardened. “Fine.” Blinded by my tears, I was not sure if he was mad at me or sorry for me.
    Slowly, his face softened; tenderness filled his eyes. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Gently lowering my head back on the pillow, he rose to his feet. My eyes followed him as he crossed the room and disappeared behind a closed door.
    My sobbing reduced to erratic heaves, and I mustered the strength to sit up. My eyes took in my surroundings. I was in his corner office—a bigger, even more elegant version of the lobby, with floor-to-ceiling windows on every side. Everything was sleek, state-of-the art, expensive. A modern, high-tech version of his Park Avenue penthouse. Unusual pieces of abstract art lined the walls along with various degrees and awards. What most stood out, however, was his massive desk. The one antique among all the contemporary treasures—a highly polished blond art deco console that looked like it might have come off the Titanic. For a busy CEO, there were few things on it. A large, state-of-the-art computer, a black leather folder, and several framed photos.
    Ari returned carrying a silver tray, with a glass of water and an assortment of first aid items. Placing it on the glass coffee table in front of the couch, he sat down next to me.
    “Drink,” he ordered. He held the glass to my lips.
    Not having the energy to fight him, I gulped down the cold, refreshing liquid, surprised how thirsty I was. He placed the glass on the table, next to the first aid stuff.
    “Let me see your hand,” he ordered, his tone now gentle.
    Slowly, I flipped over my right hand so that my scraped palm was in full view. The blood was already caking.
    “Nasty.” He opened the peroxide and grabbed a square piece of gauze. “This is going to hurt.”
    After soaking the gauze with the peroxide, he dabbed it on my wound. I wasn’t prepared for the brutal sting and yelped.
    He