by Laura Kaye
"I'm an accountant, and, before you die of boredom over there, I do forensic accounting, so it's not as bad as it sounds."
He found himself laughing, though he wasn't sure why. Something about her just made him feel good. “Well, that's very...interesting."
"Shut up.” She chuckled again.
He grinned broadly. “Good comeback."
She huffed and her voice sounded amused. “If I could see you, I'd smack you."
The sudden reference to the darkness chased the smile from his face. He gulped down a deep breath through his constricting throat.
"Hey, where'd you go?"
"Nowhere.” He couldn't help the shortness in his tone, though his frustration was more at himself than her. He didn't like losing his shit, certainly not in front of other people.
"I'm sorry. Um...I wouldn't really hit you, you know."
And just like that, she refocused him, and he was flirting again. “Oh, well, I feel better now,” he said. It was true. He rolled his head on his shoulders to release some of the tension in his neck. She was quiet for a while, making him wonder if she really thought he'd been upset about her comment. He didn't like the idea she might be feeling badly. “Um, I'm a little claustrophobic is all. So, if you could, maybe, stop mentioning it's dark in here, even though...shit."
"What?"
"Well, obviously it's dark, but I can avoid thinking about how tight and...close it is in here when you're talking—just, talk about something else.” He rubbed his hand roughly over his skull trim knowing he sounded like a complete idiot, which was why he didn't often get to know anyone beyond his small circle.
But her reply sounded completely earnest. “Oh, okay. Well, then, what should I talk about?"
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Chapter Two
"Well, hell. I don't know. How about that game of Twenty Questions?"
Makenna smiled at his gruffness but couldn't blame him. She'd be freaking out if she were claustrophobic and thought he had to be strong to sit there so calmly. She wondered if that was why he'd been so quiet earlier and decided to help him through their hopefully temporary confinement.
"Okay. You go first."
"Okay.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “What's a forensic accountant?"
"An accountant who analyzes accounting and business practices as part of an investigation, like for litigation."
"Oh, well, that actually does sound interesting. Like detective work."
She appreciated his effort, but was so used to people developing narcolepsy at the mere mention of being an accountant that she wasn't sure if he was being serious. “Are you making fun of me?"
"Not at all,” he replied. The speed of his words confirmed his sincerity.
"Okay, then. My turn?"
"Fire away."
Makenna smiled. “Did I see a tattoo on your hand?"
He didn't answer right away. “Yeah. It's the head of a dragon."
Makenna didn't have any tattoos—she was too afraid it would hurt to get one—but she'd always been a little fascinated by them. “Is it just the head?"
"Hey, it's my turn now."
"That wasn't a new question,” she argued, “that was simply a clarification of my previous question."
"I thought you were an accountant, not a lawyer.” He chuckled. “Fine. The whole dragon's on my arm and its head's on the back of my hand. Now, is it my turn, counselor?"
Makenna couldn't help but smile at his sarcasm. Growing up with three brothers had taught her the fine art of banter. “You may proceed."
He laughed and she liked the ring of it. “How very magnanimous of you."
"Ooh, pulling out the sat words now, are we?"
"What? A guy with a tattoo can't use a four-syllable word?"
Makenna sucked in a breath, then sighed. “I wish I could see your face so I could tell if you're being serious or not.” Then, just in case her indirect reference to the darkness bothered him, she hurried to add, “That's so not what I was saying. Just yanking your chain. It's your turn, already."
His low chuckle made her smile in relief. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. What made a girl like you become an accountant?"
A girl like me?
"A girl like me?” Makenna frowned and awaited his explanation. She couldn't begin to fathom what he meant. Growing up in a houseful of boys turned her into a tomboy from as early as she could remember. Although her college roommates introduced her to girly things like dresses and skirts and lingerie and makeup, she still thought of herself as just one of the guys. Nothing remarkable. Certainly not the kind of girl her brothers drooled over.
"Just...” Caden sighed and murmured something she couldn't understand. “You're pretty."
Makenna went from flattered to perturbed and back again. In the end, she couldn't decide which emotion to settle on.
"Um, shit, that didn't come out right either. I mean, you are pretty, but of course pretty girls can be smart. I mean—shit, I'm just gonna stop talking now."
Makenna finally settled on amused and burst out laughing. “Yes, now would be a good time to put down that shovel.” Getting more serious, she said, “Well, and this will no doubt up my geek factor to you, but I was always very good at math, and numbers just came easy to me. I didn't really want to go into the theoretical side of it and teach. And then my oldest brother became a cop. He told me about forensic accounting."
Caden didn't respond, and Makenna was almost certain she'd put him to sleep. Then he said, quietly, “I really like the sound of your voice."
Makenna's flush ran down into the neck of her silk blouse. Saying she was pretty hadn't gotten to her, but his saying he liked her voice set butterflies loose in her stomach.
"Me, too. I mean, your voice. I like it, too. Your voice, that is.” Makenna bit her lip to cut off the spectacular stream of nonsense coming out of her mouth, then pretended to thunk herself in the forehead. In that moment, she was glad for the darkness.
Caden felt lucky Makenna was as easygoing as she was, because if he put his foot in his mouth one more time, he was sure she'd make good on her threat to smack him. First, he jumped to conclusions, assuming she'd judged him when she learned of his tattoo. He'd just been so disappointed she might disapprove of him even without seeing him. Then, his verbal filter failed, and he'd called her pretty. He'd been thinking of her red hair again and, without a doubt, it was pretty, beautiful even, but it slipped out without him thinking about the caveman way he'd phrased the question. And then he'd actually admitted he liked her voice. It was true, but he didn't need to be saying that shit out loud.
But then she'd said it too. And the dynamic shifted back in his favor. She'd stumbled over her own compliment. He thought maybe, just maybe, she enjoyed him saying he liked her voice.
He searched his mind to think of another question, one that ran less risk of him encountering bodily harm at her hand. He finally came up with “How many brothers do you have?” He probably should've thought of something else, but the words were out of his mouth.
Her voice sounded like she was smiling. “Three. Patrick's the oldest. He's the one who became a cop. Ian's next. And Collin's a year younger than me. Do you have any siblings?"
"His name was Sean. He was two years younger than me.” Caden waited, suspecting Makenna would pick up on his use of the past tense.
Finally, her response came. “I'm sorry. I can't imagine losing one of my brothers. That must've been very hard. Can I ask how long ago he...you lost him?"
Something about the darkness made it safe to share some of this story. She couldn't see his grimace, or the glassy brightness of his eyes. She couldn't wonder about the way he flexed his right shoulder so he could feel the skin over his shoulder blade move where Sean's name was inked. And she couldn't see the crescent-shaped scar on the right side of his head he always fingered when he got tangled in memories of his brother.
"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."
"Don't apologize.
I don't talk about him often, but maybe I should. He died when I was fourteen. He was twelve. That was fourteen years ago.” As he said the words, Caden could hardly believe he'd been alive longer without Sean than he'd been with him. He'd been the best friend Caden ever had.
Makenna burned to reach out to him. She shoved her hands flat under her thighs to keep from seeking out a hand to hold or a shoulder to squeeze. She didn't know this man from Adam, but she hurt for him. Two years ago when Patrick was shot in the line of duty, she'd experienced a kind of terror she never wanted to feel again. And she could only imagine the way that feeling would've been amplified if he hadn't pulled through. She could hear it in Caden's voice.
But she couldn't resist some small gesture, so she said, “Thanks for sharing that, Caden. That's so damn young. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks,” came his whispered reply. “So"—he cleared his throat—"how old are you?"
Makenna figured he'd appreciate her lightening things up, so she said in her most haughty voice, “Why, Mr. Grayson, what kind of question is that to ask a lady?"
"You're fascinated with numbers, so I'd think you'd be happy to tell me about this one."
She smiled as the good humor returned to his voice. “Fine.” She exaggerated a sigh. “I'm twenty-five."
"A mere babe."
"Shut up, old man."
He barked out a laugh that made her grin.
A comfortable silence enveloped them. But now, without the conversation to distract her, Makenna was hot. It might've been the end of September, but the daytime temperature still felt like the middle of the summer. The lack of air conditioning was starting to make a difference inside the old elevator, and her silk blouse clung uncomfortably.
Makenna shifted up onto her knees and shrugged out of her suit jacket. She folded it as neatly as she could and tossed it gently in the general direction of her bags.
"What are you doing?” Caden asked.
"Oh, just taking off my jacket. I'm getting a little warm. I wonder how long it's been.” She untucked her blouse and shook the hem to fan air onto her abdomen.
"I don't know. Maybe an hour, hour and a half?"
"Yeah,” Makenna agreed, figuring it was somewhere around 8 p.m.
She settled back into her corner, but turned on her hip a little. Even though it was carpeted, the floor was hard. Her behind was falling asleep.
"So, whose turn is it?” she asked.
Caden chuckled. “No idea. You can go, though."
"What big plans did you have for tonight?"
"No big plans, really. I was just going to meet some buddies to play pool. I work a lot of night shifts, so I don't get to hang out with them as much as I'd like."
Makenna thought that sounded nice. Except for her college friends, only one of whom was in the D.C. area with her, she didn't have many girl friends to hang out with. For some reason, she'd always had an easier time making guy friends. She blamed being surrounded by her brothers and all their friends growing up.
"How ‘bout you?"
"Oh, I had a very important date with my couch and a bottle of wine."
"Well, I'm sure they'll reschedule."
"Yeah.” Makenna chuckled, then sighed. “They're pretty much always available. Okay...moving on from that depressing topic..."
"Are you seeing anyone?” Caden asked, not getting off the depressing topic at all.
"Obviously not. You?"
"No."
Makenna took more pleasure in his answer than she thought she should. Maybe she was just happy she wasn't the only single person left out there. All her friends seemed to either be getting married or engaged. It was like a line of dominos falling, only she didn't seem to be in line.
"Okay,” Caden said with a clapping sound that rang loud in the small space, “favorite color."
"Seriously?"
"Down to basics, Red."
She smiled widely at the nickname so many others had called her but she'd never really liked until now.
"Blue. Yours?"
"Black."
She smirked. “How very boy of you."
He chuckled. And launched into at least another twenty questions of the kind of minutiae you learned about a person after a couple months of dating: favorite band, favorite movie, favorite food, favorite place, favorite everything-else-he-could-think-of, most embarrassing moment, and best day ever, though he skipped asking about worst day ever. Makenna was glad—she didn't think she could resist touching him if he talked about his brother again.
Makenna enjoyed the conversation. Some time in the middle of discussing favorites, she stretched out on the floor and propped herself up on her elbow. Despite being trapped in a pitch-black elevator for a couple hours with a stranger, she felt surprisingly relaxed. The smallest niggling thought snuck into the back of her mind—she was kind of not looking forward to when the power came back on and they'd go their separate ways.
And, even more than that, they had a surprising amount in common. They both loved Italian and Thai food. She could even overlook his love of sushi since he was such a huge fan of Kings of Leon, her absolute favorite band. They both enjoyed going to baseball games, more to sit out in the sun and drink beer with friends, and neither understood the point of golf at all. And they shared a love for stupid humor movies, even though they couldn't agree on ranking them.
It was the most entertaining conversation Makenna had had in a very long time. Caden seemed genuinely interested in her answers. And he debated and argued every little point in a way that made her want to kiss him to shut him up. She liked the way she felt around this man, despite the fact she'd never laid eyes on him.
Caden couldn't remember the last time he'd had such an easy conversation or the last time he'd laughed or even smiled so much. It felt...good—which was remarkable. He tended to operate somewhere between “fine” and “pretty good” most days. And he'd long ago made peace with that. It was worlds better from where he'd spent most of his teenage years.
"I gotta stand up and stretch,” he said out of nowhere.
"Yeah, I know. This floor leaves a little to be desired."
"At least it's carpeted and not marble or tile. Your legs would be cold if it was.” Caden reached his arms over his head and twisted his torso back and forth while he remembered the way her little gray suit skirt hugged her shapely bottom. His spine cracked when he turned to the left.
"Cold might feel good right now."
Makenna was right. It had gone from that over-air-conditioned feeling most office buildings had in the summer to comfortable to warm. It wasn't hot yet, but it was heading in that direction.
As Caden settled back on the floor and tried to find a position that didn't aggravate the tingles in his ass and hips, Makenna reopened the questions. “So, I work in this building, but what landed you in this fine elevator today?"
"Settling my father's estate. His law partner's office is on the seventh floor."
"Oh, I'm sor—"
"Don't be. My father was a very unhappy man for a very long time. And we didn't get along. He's gotta be in a better place now. Anyway, I just had to sign some paperwork."
He just barely heard Makenna's soft, “Oh."
"So,” he said, wanting to move away from yet another depressing topic, “first times—who, when, where, how good."
"What?” Makenna choked out an incredulous laugh. “Uh, I think not."
"Why not? We've talked about just about everything else. I'll even go first."
Makenna was quiet for a minute and then started moving around. She sounded closer than she'd been.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm not entertaining the idea of talking about this until I've at least broken bread with you. And I'm starving over here."
He'd been trying to ignore his stomach for the past...hell, he didn't even know how long. But her mention of food had him salivating.
Makenna was muttering, “Come on, come on, where is it. Not that bag.” She nearly sta
rtled him with her triumphant, “Ha! All right, Mr. Grayson, would you prefer a granola bar or a little bag of trail mix?"
He grinned, not expecting her to share with him, and he certainly had no intention of asking her to. “No, no. All yours."
"Come on, you have to eat something. I've got two, so there's one for each of us. Since this is my building, it's kind of like you're my guest. So you get to pick—granola bar or trail mix.” Caden could hear her shaking the bags as she continued to say in a sing-song voice, “Granola bar or trail mix, granola bar or trail mix."
He smiled. “Okay, I'll take the trail mix."
"Done. Um, here?"
The package crinkled against the carpet as Makenna slid it in his direction. He reached his hand out in search of it. When they finally met somewhere in the darkened middle, Caden dragged his hand over hers. It was small and soft. He surprised himself by thinking he wanted to keep holding her hand more than he wanted the food. She didn't pull away. They both laughed nervously.
"We'll have to share the water, though. I only have one bottle."
"How much stuff do you have in there?"
"Hey, don't be knocking my bags. Without them, we wouldn't be sharing this gourmet meal right now."
"Agreed. Sorry,” he said as he threw back the first handful of nuts and raisins.
They ate in silence, and the salt from the trail mix made him thirsty. He felt awkward asking, but the idea of the water tortured him. “Can I have a drink now?"
"Of course. Let me make sure the cap's on tight so it doesn't spill.” They executed the mid-elevator hand-off. Caden smiled as they once again paused with their fingers touching before pulling away.
He unscrewed the lid and tilted the bottle to his lips. “Oh, God. That's good."
"I know. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I took a sip."
"Thanks for sharing your stuff with me."
"Of course. What was I going to do? Sit here and eat in front of you? Come on, you know me better than that. I think."
Caden agreed. Every story she'd shared with him revealed some part of her character—and everything he'd learned told of a person who was friendly and compassionate and giving. “You're right,” he finally said. “I do."
