Why Me?

Oooh, nice.
Natalie craned her neck to see around a rickshaw that, naturally, chose that moment to pull up and stop right in front of the shop window her gaze was aimed at, impeding her view of what had to be the loveliest pair of Christian Louboutin's she'd yet to see. She bent back a little more -- red satin? Oh, yeah. Beau-ti-ful. Maybe she'd stop by after work and try them --
Boom!
The sadly familiar, very sickening sound of crunching steel and popping taillights proceeded the painful jerking of her body against the seatbelt that was suddenly trying to saw her in half. The top of her left ear and temple smacked painfully against the hard steering wheel as her foot jerked off the gas pedal, knocking her own bargain basement heel right off her foot.
Oh, shite! Not again --
Through the ringing in her ears and the bright yellow finch she could have sworn was flying around her head, Natalie blinked the stinging tears from her eyes and peered through the windshield; through the steam rising into the frigid morning air from her crumpled hood -- into the rear window of the sleek, silver Lamborghini in front of her. A Lamborghini that was now a good few inches shorter than it had been just a few seconds ago.
Oh, no, no, no -- please, not this again. Quickly spinning around, wincing as that freakin' bird went wild, she checked behind her, hoping to see the idiot who'd caused the accident -- nadda. Not another car in sight. Damn. She was the idiot.
Natalie slowly brought her head back around, the dizziness dissipating as her shoulders slumped. Her fault. No. Not really. Christian Louboutin's fault. Damn the man for making such mouthwatering footwear. If it weren't for him, and that muscle legged rickshaw puller, none of this would be happening --
She wilted a little more. It was her fault.
Her stomach dipped and churned around the bagel she'd wolfed down for breakfast when she saw the driver's door to her latest victim open. Her hand slid off the wheel, her thumb jamming the button to release her seat belt. With a weary sigh, she popped her own door handle, stuffed her foot back into her shoe, and scrambled out of her already overly patched up beater. At the last second, she leaned back in to quickly turn the key to kill the ignition.
Oh, she was so screwed, she thought as her periphery caught a tall, dark shape coming toward her. She yanked on the key. Stuck. Again. Changing her focus, she reached for her purse instead, which had spilled its contents between the seats at the impact of the crash.
Knowing what she'd be faced with if she looked up -- a royally pissed Wall Street Rat who, no doubt, had more brains and money than she ever would -- Natalie kept her eyes on the task at hand.
The man reached her side and she was off, her spiel so practiced it was rather like singing the Star Spangled Banner without the music. "I'm so sorry. It was totally my fault." She flipped her still-damp-from-the-shower mahogany hair out of her face, feeling it slap down the back of her coat. "I wasn't paying enough attention." She cringed at her words just as her fingers bumped her wallet just out of reach. Straining, she tried her best to grab the effin thing. "I probably shouldn't be telling you that, huh?" she laughed nervously, feeling her temple throb from where she'd bumped it.
"Sweetheart?"
Her head reared up in astonishment, whacking the ceiling with a solid thump. Sweetheart? She'd just damaged this guy's three hundred fifty thousand dollar car -- and he was calling her sweetheart?! She rubbed the back of her now pounding cranium as she straightened from the car and looked up into --
Whoooaaa -- the most beautiful face she'd ever seen.
Natalie's world tipped, shifting right on its axis as her awed gaze met a pair of stunning ochre eyes. They were framed by thick black lashes and set within features so spectacularly handsome, she was surprised she didn't melt into the slush freezing her toes and slide down the city drain. Ho-ly guaca-mole --
Um -- where was that whole-lotta-pissed she'd been expecting?
"Finally, we've come to the part where you give me your information," her apparition said in a voice so deep and smooth she was instantly reminded of slow moving molasses. "Name, address, phone number -- "
Natalie nodded dumbly. No problem. How about bra size? "Uh -- sure." Was that breathless, wannabe phone sex voice hers?!
He smiled with something akin to satisfaction and pointed down to the front of her car. "But before we get to the good stuff -- "
Turn and look, Natalie! her frustrated pride bellowed.
Oh, right. Turn and look. Right. Look away from him. Today. Like -- now. Sure, easy-peasy-lemon-squeazy. Alright, now. No? Not yet? O-kay -- uh, now. Oh, not then either. Alrighty then, on three. One -- two -- three.
By sheer force of will, she ripped her gaze from a now boyishly crooked smile -- man, his teeth were white as bone -- and peered at the damage she'd caused to his quarter million dollar car! Her limbs started shaking. God, she hoped her insurance was up-to-date --
Hey. Hang on a sec. She frowned in confusion. What -- the -- ?
Why were his reverse lights on?