“Get in,” he says, his voice taut and cold.
“Give me my purse back.”
“Say please, Jane.”
I jump and try to get it, annoyed that he’s back to calling me Jane, but he only dangles it higher. He’s too tall and I’m too short.
The doors start to close, so I give up and block them with my arm, stepping inside. He follows me and taps his keycard on the panel before pressing the eight button. The doors slide shut, and the elevator lurches into motion, taking us up to my floor.
He’s still dangling the purse. “You know, if you can’t ask for it nicely, I’m not sure if you should have it.”
“I think you got it backward and I’m the one who’s supposed to be babysitting you. Because it’s obvious to me which one of us is the child.”
He moves toward me suddenly, invading my space. I have no choice but to scramble backward to avoid him, which I do because coming into direct contact with this man in an empty elevator seems like the best and worst idea I’ve ever had.
My back hits the wall. And he’s there, right there. Towering over me. Exuding menace and sex. Crowding me. His face is cast in granite, harsh and annoyed. I’m a fly buzzing around the lion’s head, and he’s about to smash me with one graceful paw.
“Say it.”
He wants me to sayplease. And for some reason, the more he prods me to use my manners, the less I want to use them.
I glare back at him. “I’m not going to thank you for stealing my clutch.”
“I didn’t steal it. You left it on the table and walked off with nothing but your bouquet.”
Fine. I believe that he didn’t take my purse. And yes, I am tipsy and probably forgetful. I likely never even picked it up. Just grabbed my bouquet and ran. But if I did, I blame him for it. If he hadn’t been unsettling me, I wouldn’t have been so eager to get the hell out of there.
“I was going back for it,” I tell him defiantly. “I didn’t need your help.”
He shakes his head. “Guess I’ll be keeping it, then.”
I jump up, my breasts bouncing in my dress. He notices.
“Careful, Jane. You’re giving me quite a show.”
“You jerk.” I shove at his chest. “Give me my purse.”
“All you have to do is say one word.”
“Dick,” I snap, lunging for it again.
“Wrong word.”
The elevator stops, but the doors don’t open. A new wave of alarm hits me.
“Oh my gosh, are we stuck in here?”
Being trapped in a confined space with him is not how I’m going to spend the rest of my evening. Oh no. I’ll pry those doors open myself if it’s the last thing I do.
“I’ll let you out when you say please like a good girl.”
There it is again. Something is wrong with me, because I want to wrap myself around him when he says it.
The rum. Has to be the rum.
“Please give me my clutch, you dick,” I grit out. “What did you do to the elevator, anyway?”
I have no clue how he managed to get it to stop but keep the doors closed.
