Okay, so it’s not the sexiest job. I’m not Gretchen, booking celebrities, but I am the one responsible for making sure the production elements are all in line. I make sure the set is properly decorated, the guests arrive on time, the green room is set up, and they have their sound checks before the performance. I am the one who knows the length of each song performance and how many people will talk before we go to commercial break. And if we don’t go to commercial on time, the network will cut us off. The thought scares the life out of me. It also gets my adrenaline pumping at the same time.
After a meeting with Harvey, to go over the first draft speeches he prepared for the event, I time them out to fit the rundown and make my way to the common area for a coffee.
God bless the Keurig. Seriously. There is no better invention than a machine that makes a gourmet blend coffee with the push of a button. Long gone are the days of the percolator and traditional grinder. I pop in a Guatemalan Roast and wait for it to produce my afternoon jolt.
I’m standing at the counter, my arms crisscrossed in front of me, as I stare at the piece of paper taped to the cabinet, informing everyone about a blood drive in the sixth floor infirmary.
The sound of heels clicking down the concrete hallway signal someone is walking toward the break room. I turn around as Heather enters the room. She stops for a second when she sees me standing by the counter.
“Oh, hi.” Her disdain for me resonates through her big brown eyes. Due to her tight pants and form-fitted button-down, I’d like to think her disdain is merely from discomfort. Nope. This chick just doesn’t like me.
Heather stands at the other side of the room as I wait for my coffee to stream down. Her tiny frame in sky-high heels and oversized chest fill the room with negative energy. I want to say something to her about Trish, but I can’t break the confidence I’ve earned from my new friend. If Heather knew Trish was reading Erik’s emails, she would have her job.
The tension between us could crack a window. It’s an odd feeling when you can’t stand someone so much you can’t even find it in your heart to make small talk. I wish someone else would just walk in and cut it with a knife.
The last bit of hot water empties into my cup, so I grab it and exit the room. Sometimes I wonder if my dad made me too passive. Sometimes I don’t want to “just breathe.” I want to speak up even if it would lead to unwarranted confrontation.
Why can’t I just say something to Heather? Ask her, “Why are you so mean?” Just the thought of it sounds so childish. Malory would never let Heather intimidate her like this.
I make my way back down the hall toward my office. Taking a sip, the coffee tastes beyond drab.
Crap. I must have put the wrong pod in the machine. This coffee is weak and watered down.
Refusing to go back into the kitchen, I stop at my office, grab my bag, and head downstairs. I’ll go to Starbucks.
Trish is still at her desk, talking to Kevin, when I walk through reception. I press the elevator call button. The room is permeated with the smell of roses and vanilla. The elevator pings and the doors open. I place one foot inside the car and find myself face to face with golden eyes.
Double crap. I should have just drunk the damn coffee.
“Mrs. Monroe.” He greets me with a wicked smile.
“Mr. Asher.” My nod is polite yet unassuming.
Trish lifts her head from talking with Kevin, and I catch a glimpse of her surprised expression as the elevator door closes.
Black pin-stripe suit, black shirt, and matching tie, he looks impeccable. His golden highlights shine under the pin lighting, and with long deft fingers, he hits the L button on the control panel for the lobby floor.
Memories of our last encounter in this elevator flood my brain. I feel him survey me from head to toe. Asher doesn’t say a word, but I feel as if I can read his thoughts from three feet away. The numbers on the elevator bay change from twenty-four to twenty-three. A million thoughts swim through my head but all become cloudy from this overwhelming energy I feel just being in this elevator with him.
The last time we were in here, he had his hand on my back and the slight touch sent shivers through my entire body. Wild, warm electricity currents down my spine. I didn’t know a human’s touch could do that to someone.
Then I remember my dream…
There must be something wrong with the elevator car because a chill runs through my body. I start to shiver.
I risk a glance in his direction and he’s smiling at me. Or is he laughing?
“Something amusing?”
He places a well-manicured finger along his lower lip and draws in a breath
“I was thinking about the last time we were in this elevator.”
Damn, can he read my mind?
“It was an unmemorable occurrence.” I stare at my reflection in the elevator door. My green eyes stare back at me, saying, Keep your cool, Kat.
“You look lovely today, Mrs. Monroe. Although, I must say, I prefer you wet.” He laughs while placing his hands in his pockets and rests his weight back on his heels. Does this man always say whatever is on his mind? What is wrong with him?
From Malory’s inquisition to Trish’s tears and Heather’s complete takeover of my backbone, I’m frustrated and pissed off.
I lean forward and pull the red elevator stop button. The cab jolts and we both lean for the walls to brace ourselves.
Shit! That was a little scary. I’ve never done that before.
Asher looks at me with confusion, humor, and if I’m not mistaken, dread.
“What is wrong with you?” It’s the only thing I can get out of my mouth.
“What’s wrong with me?” Despite my nerves, he looks calm, notwithstanding my very dramatic move. “This is a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”
I cross my arms over my body. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Then why did you do it?” His eyes penetrate into mine.
I meet him green for gold. “Because…” I’m exasperated. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Like what?” His voice is smooth and controlled. Daring me to incite myself.
“The way you talk to me… It’s so… so…” Of course, at the very moment, I’m at a complete loss for words, making me sound like a whiny twelve-year-old girl.
“Inappropriate?” He leans against the elevator wall and crosses his arms in a stance that makes him look like he’s posing for GQ magazine.
“Yes!” I shift from one foot to the other. I don’t know what to do with myself.
“Tell me. What did I say that was so inappropriate that you’ve taken the liberty to trap the CEO of a major corporation in an elevator?”
Triple crap. He’s right. My day just keeps getting… Ugh!
Oh my God, this is ridiculous. I lean over to release the stop button on the elevator but am blocked by strong hands.
“No, please, Mrs. Monroe. I’d like to hear this out, since it was worthy enough of halting us mid-ride.” His comment oozes with sexual innuendo.
Maybe it’s just my imagination.
“You can’t say things like that.” I feel the heat radiating on my neck. Oh what I wouldn’t do to take back the last five minutes of my life.
“Like what?” He is challenging me.
“Like, ‘I like to see you wet.’ It is completely uncalled for.”
He looks back at me with an amused grin. “Well, then, my apologies. And if it makes you feel better, you look much better dry and tepid.”
“Dry and tep—” My mouth stops midsentence. I can feel my ears turn red and my eyes furrow. Does this man really just say whatever comes to his head? And what does that mean…? Dry and tepid! Was that a dig at my personality? He’ll claim it’s not.
“Relax, Kathryn.”
Oh, we’re on a first name basis now.