He props his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on his hand. “Do tell.”
“I’m a lightweight,” I preface. “So, by the third brewery, I was hammered. My friends were peddling for me. I was wearing wedges, and my foot slipped and I stumbled off. I would’ve stayed on my feet, but my ankle twisted and I fell in a bush.”
Smith is laughing now, a chortle deep and throaty.
Makes me want to get on my back again.
Smith’s next question ups the ante.
“Are you dating anyone?”
Giddiness joined my nerves.
“Um…no, I’m not,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
He’s not ready for this conversation. How men have disappointed me, one after another, and how I pledged to live alone forever. How celibacy is my new version of power and control.
How no one can live up to that shy and beautiful man Alex Trebek, may he rest in peace.
“I’m a lone wolf,” I say. Then, I howl to make a point, but I feel like the biggest idiot. “I don’t date.”
“Interesting,” he says. I let myself look at his face, turned away from me. I can’t read his expression. Is he making small talk? Is he actually interested if I’m single or not?
I pause before I ask. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he says, his jaw tensing again.
“Okay,” I say, looking down at my hands. “Do you know what time it is?”
Smith lifts his arm and readjusts his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. We have over an hour to go.” His stomach rumbles again, and he looks down. “Wow, I’m sorry.”
I have a granola bar in my purse, a snack I keep for emergencies. I fainted once when lunch was delayed so I always keep food on me. Hunger hasn’t found me yet, since I ate a late lunch when I got wrapped up with editing a video this morning.
A granola bar is the least I can do for this man who is redeeming himself by the minute.
The wrapper rustles as I pull it out of my purse. “Here.”
He looks down at it and then back up at me.
“Thank you,” he says, holding out his hand. His hands are large and smooth so I pretend like it’s a game of Operation and I do not brush my fingertips against him.
He rips open the green wrapper and breaks off a crumbling piece, dropping it in his mouth.
Smith breaks off piece after piece, offering me some in between his bites. I shake my head, and he happily continues.
“I haven’t had one of these since college,” he says.
“They’re the best,” I say. “Although they get everywhere.”
“I think that’s part of their charm,” he says. He groans in satisfaction, and I bite my lip involuntarily. He rests his head back, his eyelids heavy with bliss.
My mind wanders to whether he looks like this after taking a woman to bed, after making love to Daniela, a woman so beautiful that he had to be stupid to let her go. How did it get so bad that someone cheated? What if it was him? That makes me stop whatever crush spiral I’m currently riding on.
“Thank you,” he says, patting my knee. My breath catches. It’s not sexual or inappropriate, but it tightens my chest and I exhale. There are those tingles again, my body responding to his touch.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Did you have a boyfriend when you worked for me?”
“Why do you assume it’s a boyfriend?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to assume…”
“It’s okay. I’m unfortunately and dismally one hundred percent heterosexual,” I say. “Creates a lot of problems for me.”
“Why?” he asks. When he turns his head, our eyes catch, and there’s my body being a thirsty hoe again. I honestly thought celibacy was making me stronger, but maybe I wasn’t testing it properly.
Smith is not an option at all, even if I wasn’t celibate.
“I did have a boyfriend. We broke up. Dating has been nothing but misery and I’m done chasing men. Three years ago, I tried singlehood on and haven’t looked back. I’ve never been happier,” I say, although I’m not sure it’s true. I press my lips together and then offer, “Although, sometimes it gets lonely.”
Expressing this is almost safe, to a man I will never see again.
Maybe this elevator is the only place I can be honest.
“I’m feeling the same way right now,” he says, folding the wrapper between his fingers. “Daniela and I got divorced.”
“Oh no!” I exclaim, pretending this was news to me and giving what is definitely the best performance of my life. And I had my college boyfriend going for a full year that he was giving me orgasms from missionary.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Nessa and Arlene told me,” I admit.
Smith rubs his lips together again, his tongue slightly wetting them. For a brief moment, I thought what it would be like to touch my lips to his, but no. He sees me as a really good former employee. Nothing more.
“What else did they tell you?”
I tilt my head. “That someone cheated.”
He nods again, his eyes anywhere but locked with mine. “Our divorce was finalized the week you quit.”
That makes sense. How on edge he was, how his mind was probably somewhere else. I don’t know why, but I scoot closer to him. Smith runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s so sexy, I have to look away.
“I wanted it to be her so badly. The one. I wanted to be happy and have a family and live in Marin. Now, I don’t know if that will happen.”
Oh, Marin County. That beautiful and expensive suburb. I would love to live there too.
“I love San Francisco, but I don’t see myself living here much longer. It’s really noisy for ASMR purposes. You should see my apartment and the set-up I have. You would think a vampire lives there.”
He smirks and I continue. “I really want space. Maybe some goats. I want to have children. I’ll probably have to do it alone.”
“Why alone?” When I turn to look at him, he stares at me, like I’m a mystery he’s trying to solve.
He will find too much truth if he keeps searching so I turn away.
“I’m not sure I want to,” I say. “Love doesn’t last.”
He says nothing, looking at his hands. I notice the stripe of white on his ring finger where his ring used to be.
“I have a hard time believing in love too,” he says. “Especially lately.”
“What happened? Between you and Daniela?” I ask.
He looks at his hands again. His silence tells me he has no desire to talk about it, the way he swallows hard, his jaw clenches. My question won’t be answered.
Am I feeling sympathy for him? Was I wrong?
“I have an easier question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you still eat a Greek chicken salad every day?”
His face breaks into a grin. “Yes. Every day. I have to go get it myself now, though.”
I used to get him one every day from the Mediterranean place around the corner from our office building. It became so consistent the owner had my order ready when I arrived. Smith barely looked up at me when I placed his lunch on his desk.
To get his attention, I started putting it onto the table in dramatic fashions. I once got a bunch of balloons to deliver it and…nothing. He never reacted; he just took the fork and opened the plastic bag without a word, without a thank you. When I first started, I wished him a happy lunch, but I stopped once I realized he treated me like I was invisible.
It doesn’t matter that Smith is being nice to me now. He’s only talking to me because he’s stuck with me in an elevator and it’s super boring.
This attraction I feel is because I haven’t had sex in a really, really long time.
Smith fiddles with his cufflink.
The million-dollar question lingers between us, the bedazzled elephant in the room. He ignored me, he dismissed me. Now, he’s acting like he likes me
and his gaze is confusing the hell out of me.
I’ll kick myself forever if I don’t ask.
“Smith.”
“Cassie.” His gray-blue eyes grab mine, and I swallow.
Be brave.
“Why did you always ignore me? You never talked to me in the office.”
Silence fills the elevator. Smith is struggling, looking everywhere but at me.
“It’s complicated,” he says.
“How so? I was always friendly toward you. I worked so hard for you. A ‘thank you,’ a ‘good job’ goes a long way with me. I messed up once. In five years. That was it.”
“You didn’t mess up,” he says. “I have a hard time admitting I’m wrong. Just ask my ex-wife.”
He looks at me with an impenetrable gaze. Is there hunger there? Does he want to kiss me?
Do I want him to?
“I wanted to talk to you tonight to say I’m sorry,” Smith says. “I take full responsibility for the mistake with that case.”
I didn’t know I needed to hear that until the words left his lips. Those perfect lips.
His swallow is audible as he looks down and then back up.
I don’t think about the consequences. All I want is for him to touch me.
He rubs his palms together. “I’ve missed you every day since you quit.”
What? I laugh nervously. “Because I did such a good job?”
He pauses, and my body goes rigid. I brace for the impact of his words, but when they come, they still jolt me.
“More than that.”
4
Aghast. I am aghast.
“That makes no sense,” I blurt out.
His stare bores into me. “I know.”
“You missed me.”
“I did,” he says. “Very much.”
The way he says it is more than “I miss your salad delivery.”
Right?
“Missed me how?” I regret asking the nanosecond I say it.
“I could trust you. I don’t trust many people in my life.”
I relax, but also my stomach churns. Okay, it wasn’t a romantic “I miss you,” just “I could trust you to do your job. I could depend on you.”
It’s totally different. And totally devastating for some reason.
“I was a dick to you,” Smith says. “I was under an incredible amount of pressure. My personal life was disintegrating, and I took you for granted. I’m so sorry for yelling at you.”
“Apology accepted,” I say, trying to keep the tears at bay. I swallow them down. I’m not sure why I’m getting so emotional that I got the apology I was craving and the vindication that feels anything but satisfying.
Feelings swirl within me, confusing me, and I stand up to avoid being close to him. This is why I don’t put myself in situations where I get close to men. There’s too much risk for me since every relationship I’ve attempted has failed at a hundred percent.
My heart cannot take another pummel so it’s best to get out of this elevator as soon as possible.
“I’m going to ask for an update.” I hit the bell button again.
The intercom crackles on. “Uh, hello?”
“Yes, I wanted to get an update on the technician?”
“Still an hour and a half. Maybe two.”
I check my watch. “We’ve already been in here for an hour.”
“I’m sorry.”
Another apology I’m not excited about.
The intercom quiets, and the silence in this elevator is so loud.
My pacing begins again, my arms tightly wrapped around myself.
“Are you going to sit down again or…” he asks.
“I’ll stand, thank you,” I say. I move from one side to the other, three steps and three steps the other way.
I have to ask it. If he thought I was such a good employee, that he could trust me, why did he treat me like I was invisible?
“I have one question.” I hold up a finger for emphasis. “Why did you ignore me the entire time I worked there? If I was such a valuable asset and you trusted me, why didn’t you tell me that?”
Smith looks at the ground, reaching for his cufflink again. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
I sit down, draping my skirt over my knees as I stretch my legs out. “What’s complicated?”
He says nothing and then I ask differently. “What happened?”
I expect him to retreat, to deflect. Instead, he speaks instantly.
“I had a lot of things going on in my personal life. My ex-wife and I didn’t fit quite right, and honestly, we never did. But the final nail on the coffin was that she had an affair with someone else,” he says, his lips pursing with the confession. “I thought she would be the mother of my children, and now she’s nothing. We’re not even friends.”
That is a lot more information than I was expecting. His anguished face makes him look vulnerable, like those sad dogs I feel sorry for and then cry at in the animal shelter commercials.
I pat his folded hands. The touch sizzles, but I rest my hand there anyway, since I apparently haven’t learned anything. A mature man flashes his baby blues at me, and I’m Jell-O.
“You could’ve talked to me,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest. “And your divorce still doesn’t explain why after five years of working together, you never talked to me. Why you never told me how much you trusted me or depended on me. It would’ve made my working experience a lot better, and I wouldn’t have had to quit and you wouldn’t have to miss such a stellar employee.”
“I told you, it was more than that,” Smith says, turning back toward me. His pupils are fire, staring me down. His lips press into each other and I don’t know what to do. What this is.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.
“I’m just going to say it,” he says. He pauses and lets out a huff of quaking breath. “I was ridiculously, irrationally, insanely attracted to you.”
My mouth drops for the seventh time tonight.
I’ve been called cute. I’ve been called pretty. But there’s no way a man who’s had a woman like Daniela could be attracted to me. Her hair is black silk, a freaking hair commercial success story. Her skin barely has a blemish while I have a volcano brewing on my chin under a layer of makeup.
Daniela always seemed like a poised, classy woman while I’m the opposite. I take up space. A man or two has called me “mouthy.”
Me being me, I need answers.
“Was?” I ask.
“Still am,” Smith says. He flips my hand over and drags his fingertips along my turned-up palm.
I bite my lip. It feels so amazing to be touched by someone other than myself. My parents hug me and my friends hug me, but I forget how the touch of a man is different, more sensual.
Especially a man who is ridiculously, irrationally, insanely attracted to me.
“Why?”
“You’re intelligent, kind. I saw you around the office, caring about everyone. You have so much fun and are so…joyful. I knew I needed to keep my distance. I shoved my attraction down so far and pretended like you didn’t exist. If I did that, maybe I could save my marriage. I knew if I got close to you, I would be a bigger fucking asshole than I already was.”
He drags his fingers along my forearm and my eyelashes flutter closed.
“Do you think I’m an asshole?” Smith asks.
“No, I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I whisper, turning my head. My breath is heavy and loud. A tiny moan escapes my lips.
“Cassie,” he says. I can feel his breath mingle with mine. “I…”
I grab his shirt and pull him to me. His lips slam into mine. I taste the sweetness of the granola bar I gave him and smell the spice of his cologne. His lips are soft, just like I knew they would be. His fingers touch the base of my skull, lace through my hair.
Everything is firing.
My face grows hot with this kiss, his tongue dipping in to find mine. It’s passion, a simmer that explodes. My
stomach churns with the rabid butterflies, my skin singing with his touch.
I’m making out with my former boss, and damn, it feels good.
He pulls me onto his lap so I’m facing him. My legs wrap around him as he runs his fingers down my spine, hot streaks of pleasure where his touch burns me. I buck against his hard cock straining against his pants, my sex molding to his as we devour each other.
The world moves around us in this tiny elevator, our connection drowning out the noise of the machine.
Everything falls away, and all that matters is Smith’s hands on me, his lips on my neck, his hand lifting my hair.
I don’t notice the elevator doors opening behind me. With one strap of my dress off my shoulder, straddling my ex-boss.
“Called it,” Vincent, one of the grooms, says from behind me.
I turn slowly, like a heroine in a horror movie. I turn to see Vincent, my best friend and man of the hour, standing in the middle of a sea of his wedding guests, all who witnessed me sucking the face of the man I hated an hour and a half ago.
5
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, dismounting from Smith’s lap. My legs are wobbly when I stand up, and Smith stands as well, wiping something on his black dress pants.
“You have to cover me,” Smith whispers. I shiver from his breath on my ear. “I have an issue.”
I look back quickly and stifle a laugh. Pretty proud of myself since Smith has a raging, noticeable hard-on.
Smith follows me closely out of the elevator, and we pass a man in a gray jumpsuit and a ballcap with the hotel’s logo on it.
“Thank you for getting us out,” I say politely to the technician.
“You’re welcome. It doesn’t look like it was too bad in there. You probably wish it was longer,” he says with a wink. Once he registers my grave expression, his smile disappears. “I’m sorry I said that. Please don’t get me fired…”
“I won’t. You’re kinda right,” I say, smirking.
Smith is standing so close to me to calm himself down. Meanwhile, I am anything but calm.
“Do you have to stand so close to me?” I say under my breath.
In Case of Emergency Page 3
