He's cute, that's for sure.
And also,waytoo young for me.
I belt out the chorus as I rummage through my desk drawers in search of the master key.Where is the damn thing?
I ransack the top two before discovering it buried in the back of the bottom one, hidden beneath a pile of documents.
With the key in my hand, I dash out of my office and jog across the store, not wanting Darby to be locked in there for one second longer than he needs to be.
"I'm back," I announce, a little out of breath.
"Damn," he says. "You were just getting to the good part of the song."
"The good part of the song is when I stop singing," I say, my cheeks lifting in a smile as I slide the key in, looking forward to getting to see Darby close up.
Despite the key turning, the door stays stubbornly shut. There's no beep, no click to restart the electronics. I don't get it. The same thing happened a few months back, and the master key worked fine. Why isn't it working this time?
"Is something wrong?" Darby asks, the lightness in his voice vanishing.
"The key isn't working," I reply calmly. "But don't worry, I'll call building security. My good friend Mitch is working today. He's got override keys and emergency tools. We'll have you out of there in no time, Darby."
"Okay. Thanks," he says in a way that makes me think he's trying his best not to sound defeated.
I pull out my phone from my back pocket and call Mitch. As I wait for him to pick up, I say to Darby, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'll be with you the whole time."
He lets out an audible breath. "Thank you."
"No problem. Hey, Mitch. It's Kip. I need your help." I turn away from the frosted-glass doors and explain the situation, hearing loud, frantic screams in the background. My heart sinks when he responds. "How long do you think you'll be? Right. Okay. No, I understand. It's all good. Thanks. Bye."
"Kip?"
"Yeah."
"Why do I get the feeling it's notall good?"
I tilt my head back toward the overhead lights. I feel terrible that Darby is locked in the dressing room, and I feel even worse that I'm not able to do a damn thing to help him.
"Mitch is a little busy at the moment."
"With what?"
I come right out with it. "Taylor Swift just pulled up at Gucci. As you can imagine, there's a crowd control situation."
"Oh."
He sounds so deflated it makes my chest twist.
"You a Swiftie?" I ask to buy some time as I mentally run through other options of how to get him out of there. If I had a hammer or a baseball bat, I'd smash the damn door down myself.
"Actually, yeah. Sky and I are both massive Swifties. We've been to her last three tours together."
"Sounds like you guys are good friends."
"We are. Sky is the best."
I nod in agreement even though Darby can't see. "Yeah. He's a good guy."
Sky is a regular at the store, and over time we've become friends. It's hard to find real people in LA. He's one of the rare ones—successful, down-to-earth, and genuine.
