by Abby Brooks
Sarah lets out a short little laugh. “Now you’re just being foolish. There’s plenty wrong with me. Just ask anyone who knows me.”
At some point, we get tired of standing and sit, side by side, leaning against the wall. Her body presses against mine, her scent, so sweet and spicy, envelops me. Wonderfully terrible thoughts invade my mind.
...my body pressed against hers, my hands sliding under her skirt…
“So, do you really think I’ll have the job by the beginning of next week?”
…my fist in her hair as her lips wrap around my cock…
“Um…” I clear my throat. “Definitely. I mean, as long as you didn’t blow the interview.”
Sarah bumps her shoulder against mine. “Hey! This is me we’re talking about. Of course I didn’t blow the interview.”
…her dress around her waist, her head thrown back as I drive myself into her, sweat running down my back…
I turn to her, her face just inches from mine. “You think?”
“Oh, believe me, Wilde. I know.” Her gaze flickers to my lips.
I want to kiss her. Holy shit do I want to kiss her, but considering the thoughts in my head and the fact that there’s no place for us to be but here, I couldn’t stop at a kiss. I’d ravage her. Debase her. I’d bury myself in her and make her scream my name until I knew I owned her.
Sarah adjusts so she’s facing me, puts her hand on my thigh, and leans in.
Her eyes find mine, desire burning like twin flames.
I lick my lips and run a finger along her arm.
She shivers, expelling a breath through parted lips.
“You guys still in there?” The voice comes through the shitty speaker. Sarah and I jump back and she scrambles to her feet, blushing furiously. “Sorry. Just a little stuck elevator humor,” continues the asshole on the other end of the line.
I roll my eyes. “We’re definitely still in here.” And he couldn’t have picked a worse time to come to our rescue.
Or maybe it’s the best time.
Because I know without a doubt that I won’t be able to stop.
Not with Sarah.
When we finally come together, it’ll be an explosion of passion and heat.
Of skin and lips and tongues and teeth.
“Just wanted to let you know that help has arrived and we’ll have you out of there before you know it. And this time, before you know it actually means you’ll be out of there and back to your regularly scheduled lives soon.”
While the jerk from the call center laughs at his own joke, I turn to Sarah. I consider grabbing her by the waist and kissing the ever-living shit out of her, but I show monumental restraint and keep my hands to myself. What with Bree being crazy and spreading rumors, and Vi quitting and spreading truths, the last thing I need is to be found, trapped in an elevator, with my body pinned against Sarah’s, our mouths clashing, her legs hooked around my waist.
And if I kiss her, hell, if I touch her at all, that’s exactly where we’ll end up.
Sarah
After two hours of being stuck in an elevator, the panic attack I’ve been fighting begins to consume me the moment I step onto solid ground. I manage to control myself long enough to say goodbye to Frank as he heads back to work, then rush out of McDougan & Kent and gulp air once I’m on the sidewalk around the corner.
My heart races. My blood boils. My chest burns. The piercing sunlight stabs at a headache forming at the base of my skull and the stench of exhaust makes me want to wretch.
Deep breaths, I tell myself. Deep, calming breaths.
I place a shaking hand flat against my stomach and focus on breathing, but the trembling continues. The panic attack rages on, full speed ahead, ready to push me over the edge of barely in control to a full-on breakdown. I fumble with my purse, my quaking hands searching serenity in the shape of a little orange container, the clatter of pills against the bottle both comforting and terrifying.
When was the last time I needed them like this? This frequently? This consistently? I struggle with the cap, then swallow one down before stepping to the curb and hailing a cab.
It’s too much.
It’s all too much.
Between my dwindling savings, my broken car, a fricken job interview, learning a new city, and whatever it is that’s going on between Frank and me, I’m barely able to keep control of myself as it is. But getting stuck in an elevator for two long hours? What cruel god is directing my life? What have I done to earn myself this shitstorm of problems dropping into my lap?
A cab stops in front of me and I tumble in, pulling my phone out of my bag as I give him the name of my hotel. We lurch into traffic, and I remind myself that I need to stop thinking about moving to one of those sketchy two-star extended stays and just do it already. Instead of listening to my own advice, I pull up Colton’s contact info and call him.
“Two calls from you in less than a week? What happened now?” Colton’s friendly voice brings the sting of tears to my eyes. I swallow hard and beg the medication to work sooner rather than later.
“Why does something have to have happened? Can’t I just want to talk to my brother?” I ask, as my eyes land on a woman striding down the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear, chin up, jaw set. If only I could have a fraction of her strength, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. I wear confidence like body armor, but it’s all an act. Each sarcastic word, each condescending look, all of it is contrived to keep people from seeing how much it hurts to be me. To keep them from getting close enough to be another reason I hurt.
“Well, in that case, I’m so glad to hear from you again, dear sister. How are things in Denver?” The sarcasm dripping from Colton’s voice is oddly comforting.
“I got stuck in an elevator today.”
He snorts. “And that doesn’t count as something that happened to you?”
“Okay, fine. Something happened to me today. I applied for a job and got stuck in an elevator and now, I’m talking to my brother and he’s kind of being an asshole.” The tears that were threatening recede and I dab a finger at the corner of my eye.
“Wait, back up a second. You applied for a job?”
The cab lurches around a corner and I steady myself with a hand on the door. “Yeah. Remember the part where I wrecked my car and I’m stuck in Denver? I’m going to need money before I can leave, so, you know, employment seemed necessary.”
“You are something else, aren’t you?”
“I’m not even going to ask you what you’re talking about.” My lips still tingle from the receding panic attack. I chew on the bottom one and suck air through my nose.
In for four.
Out for four.
In for four.
Out for four.
Repeat…
…and repeat…
…and repeat.
I lock eyes with a homeless man leaning against a building. There’s a moment of connection and then we’re past him and he’s gone.
“Sarah?” Colton sounds worried.
I press my hand against the window and imagine I can see all the bits and pieces of my life through it. “Remember how we used to play in the apple orchard when we were kids? We’d run through the trees, playing hide and seek. Sometimes we’d skip the seeking part and just hide. We’d spend hours in there while Dad and David worked.”
“We’d get in so much trouble when we finally came out,” Colton says quietly.
I close my eyes and conjure up more memories. “Didn’t we, though?”
“Remember how good it smelled in the spring? When the blossoms were in bloom? It was like a whole different world in there.” His words are soft, nearly a whisper. Leave it to Colton to know what I need.
Something beautiful and wonderful.
Something soothing and constant.
A memory from before things went to hell.
“I miss it sometimes,” I say before I can think better of it. “Being a kid. I wish I could go back and fix everything that went wrong
.”
“There’s nothing we can do about the past, but the future is one hundred percent in our control.” Colton pauses. I’m sure he’s about to ask what happened all those years ago, but as he always has, he moves on to safer topics. “Mom sends her love.” His words bring a lump to my throat. “So does David. And Tessa.”
I swallow my emotions and wipe at my stinging eyes. “Tell them I love them, too.”
“Mom’s still here for you, you know. If you’re really in trouble, I’m sure she’d send you money if you needed it.”
I shift as my chest tightens. “I might be a selfish jerk, but even I realize how shitty that would be. I’ve only talked to Mom twice in the last five years.” I glance at the driver, suddenly aware he can hear everything I say. We lock eyes through the rearview. I scowl. He looks away and I lower my voice. “I will not be that person who finally calls her because I need something.”
“I get that. In fact, I respect that, and I don’t respect much of what you do, so, take that for what it is.” Colton laughs to take the sting out of his statement. “I’ve got some money set aside. If you need help…”
“Thank you for that. Really. But, I got myself into this situation. I’ll get myself out of it.” I draw a finger down the window. “Did Dad say anything?”
I regret the question as soon as the words leave my lips. Whatever the answer is, I’m not equipped to handle it. Not on my best days, and certainly not on a day like today. There aren’t enough pills in the world to smudge the pain I feel when I think of my father.
Colton clears his throat. “No, Sarah. He didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s okay. It is what it is. It might have been too much to handle if he had, you know?” I force a laugh. The cabbie pulls to a stop in front of my hotel and I pinch the phone between my ear and shoulder while I pay him. “Thanks for letting me vent,” I say to Colton as I scramble out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
“Any time, sister. Really. I’m here for you.”
I pause in front of my hotel, sucking in air and swallowing back tears. “Thank you,” I murmur before ending the call. “I love you,” I whisper to the dark screen.
The trip to my room is an exercise in control.
One step.
Then another.
And another.
Keep moving through the building. Head up, chin lifted, face stoic. Don’t let them see the swirl of panic in my belly. Don’t let them see the deluge of tears behind my eyes.
Don’t let them see me fall apart.
The moment the door swings shut behind me, I fall to pieces, shaking and quaking on the bed, the cheap comforter scratching my cheek.
“You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay.”
But I’m not.
I’m stuck here and I’m running out of money. I need to move out of this hotel and into one I can afford—just thinking about the pictures I saw online makes me cringe. I applied for a job I may not be qualified for and I’m definitely not equipped to handle. My car is in the shop. I spent two hours in an elevator, terrified I might fall to my death, while staring at the one man I’ve ever spent an evening with who didn’t take me home, fuck me, and disappear.
The one man I’ve ever wanted to see again.
And again.
And again.
And with all that on my plate, all the heavy emotions pressing down on my shoulders and spinning in my stomach, with the aching hole of fear throbbing in my chest, I decided to ask Colton about Dad.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Do I like feeling this way? Why do I keep making choices that only make things worse?
Lungs burning, eyes throbbing, body quaking, I push myself into a sitting position. Grab my purse. Fumble with my prescription bottle. And swallow another pill.
Frank
There isn’t enough coffee in the world to fend off the exhaustion I’m battling this morning. Between the late night with Sarah on Wednesday and the brand-new series of elevator themed sex fantasies that kept me up last night, I’m a mess.
I can’t stop yawning.
I can’t focus.
I have zero interest in work.
I also doubt I’ll be able to step into an elevator again without imagining Sarah screaming my name in ecstasy. Heaven help me if I ever have to ride in one with her again. I won’t survive. Not after last night. All the blood in my body will flow straight to my dick and no one will ever know what happened.
I carry my newly filled coffee cup back to my desk and check my IMs. There are a few from Jason, a handful of work related questions from coworkers, and a request for a meeting from Brian Kent, the man whose name is on the sign above the door.
As in, McDougan & Kent.
As in, Brian is only one of the most revered men in this office.
As in, the one man other than my father whose opinion of me actually matters.
I swallow a hefty dose of scalding coffee and put the mug on my desk before I accept the request. I’ll have to rearrange a couple things in my afternoon, but so what. When Brian Kent asks you for a meeting, you do what needs to be done to accommodate him.
The day passes in a blur of caffeine, phone calls, and thoughts of Sarah. I can’t get that woman out of my head. Scratch that. I don’t want to get that woman out of my head. It was all I could do not to kiss her outside of Derby’s on Wednesday.
I wanted to dig my fingers into her hips, run a hand down her ass, smash my lips to hers, and drag her to my apartment.
I wanted her head thrown back on my pillow, her back arching in ecstasy as I drove myself inside her.
I wanted her nails scratching down my back, her screams waking my neighbors. I wanted to bite and slap and lick and suck until we collapsed in a sweaty heap on my bed.
And maybe, if she’d been any other woman, I would have done any of those things. But there’s something in Sarah’s eyes. Something in the way she looks at me. Something in the way I feel when I’m with her. I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it. I want to savor her. She’s not the kind of woman you spend a night with only to disappear.
Sarah is…different.
My mind wanders around yesterday. The two of us stuck in the elevator, laughing, talking, learning each other. I would have kissed her then, if we hadn’t been interrupted by being rescued.
Talk about bad timing.
Or good timing.
I’m still not sure.
So much for getting work done today. There’s only one thing on my mind and it’s her. I sit back in my chair and pick up my phone, resting my feet on the edge of the desk, my legs crossed at the ankles. I have to see her tonight. I can’t keep feeling this way, wanting her and not having her. Do I invite her over to my place? Cook her dinner and then keep her hostage for the weekend? Finally stop fighting whatever this is between us and fuck her senseless?
“Mr. Wilde?”
I look up to find Trish Juniper, Brian Kent’s administrative assistant, poking her head through my office door.
I drop my feet to the ground and sit forward. “Hey, Trish. What’s up?”
“Mr. Kent has a free space in his schedule now and wondered if you had time to fit him in.”
“Of course.”
And by of course, what I mean is that I rearranged my schedule to fit him into my afternoon, so I actually have a great many things on my plate right now. But not only do I never say no to Mr. Kent, I’m also doing a terrible job of focusing on work.
“Great.” Trish smiles. “He’s in his office, if you’re ready.”
I slide my phone into my pocket, adjust my tie, and follow Trish through the maze of desks and offices that make up McDougal & Kent. She makes a few attempts at conversation, polite observations of the weather and a congratulations on my last project, a pain in the ass that ended up earning a platinum LEED certification. I smile, nod, and let her jabber away, turning her questions around so she’ll fill the space by talking about herself. We stop in front of Br
ian’s office and she flashes me a wide smile.
“It’s always nice talking with you, Mr. Wilde. Mr. Kent is waiting for you.” She gestures toward his door. I thank her and step into his office.
“Ahh. Frank.” Brian Kent stands and extends his arm over his desk, his cufflinks flashing in the recessed lighting.
I grip his hand. “Good morning, Brian.”
He releases my hand, smooths his jacket over his ample waistline, and then sits. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, his jowls wiggling and wobbling as he speaks. He smiles, though his eyes look anything but friendly. They pin me to my chair, hard, cold, and judgmental. It’s not a look I’m used to seeing aimed my way.
“Of course,” I say, with a carefully neutral smile.
Brian leans back in his chair. “When Bree Marshall lodged her complaint about you, we listened, of course, but knowing the kind of man you are, we decided to transfer her, separate you two, and move on without taking any punitive action against you.”
I start to speak, but Brian holds up his hand.
“You aren’t the first man Ms. Marshall has accused of inappropriate behavior in the workplace. We’ve investigated in the past and have found very little information to corroborate her stories. So, again, looking at your stellar record and your upstanding behavior over the last several years, we believed Ms. Marshall to be in the wrong. However—” Mr. Kent lifts a furry eyebrow “—when Violet Dunham walked into this office at the beginning of the week and quit, naming you as the one and only reason, we had to question whether or not we made the right decision regarding Bree Marshall.”
I sit up to my full height. “I can assure you that nothing happened with Bree.”
Brian holds up his hand again while I choke back a hefty dose of righteous indignation.
“And now…” He presses his palms together and rests them under his chin with a long sigh. “Not two days after Ms. Dunham quits this firm because of a failed relationship with you, we receive a resume from a charming young woman. Beautiful. Witty. Obviously intelligent. We were excited to find such a wonderful replacement so quickly. However, at the very end of her interview, she mentioned your name.” He lifts his brow, sending a tremor of activity across the loose skin on his cheeks and neck.
