I’m about to kiss her again when the elevator suddenly jolts, the metal box shuddering around us. We freeze, startled out of our bubble. A crackling sound fills the space, followed by a tinny voice over the intercom.
“Hello? Anyone in there? We’re working on getting you out now. Should be just a few more minutes.”
I clear my throat, reluctantly sitting up straighter. “Uh, yes, we’re here. Two of us. We’re fine.”
“Great,” the voice responds. “Hang tight. The rescue team is on its way.”
The intercom goes silent, and Cheyenne and I look at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes my heart skip.
“Perfect timing,” she says, shaking her head.
“Impeccable,” I agree, helping her stand up.
She smiles. “We should probably look less ... disheveled when they open those doors.”
“Probably,” I agree, though I can’t bring myself to move away from her just yet. “Though I kind of like disheveled on you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling as she runs her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it. I reluctantly give her some space, straightening my tie and attempting to smooth down my own hair, which I’m sure is sticking up in all directions thanks to her fingers.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cheyenne
As if on cue, the doors begin to part, forced open by metal tools inserted into the seam. Light from the hallway spills in, harsh after the dim intimacy of the elevator.
By the time the doors are fully open, we’re standing suspiciously far apart, like two teenagers getting caught by parents. A maintenance worker in a gray uniform peers in, flashlight sweeping across the elevator before landing on us.
“Everyone okay in here?” he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly as he takes in our appearance.
“Fine,” I say, a little too quickly. “Just glad to be getting out.”
Dylan clears his throat. “Thanks for the rescue.”
A second worker appears behind the first, extending a hand to help us climb out. We’re stuck between floors, the elevator doors opening to reveal the hallway about two feet above the elevator floor. Dylan insists I go first, his hand at the small of my back as I navigate the awkward step up in my heels.
One of the technicians glances at his watch. “You folks trying to make it back for midnight? Because you’ve got about three minutes.”
“Three minutes?” Dylan’s head snaps up, alarm clear on his face. “Until midnight?”
The technician nods. “Power surge knocked out half the building’s systems. We’ve been working on it for almost an hour.”
An hour? We were in that elevator for an hour? It felt like minutes. Like seconds.
“We need to get back to the roof,” I say, reality rushing back in. Genna must be worried sick.
Dylan grabs my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Thanks again,” he calls to the maintenance crew and tugs me toward the stairwell. “Happy New Year!”
And then we’re running, his hand warm and solid around mine, our footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The stairwell door bangs open under his push, and we’re confronted with what seems like an endless spiral of stairs leading upward.
“What floor are we on?” I ask, looking up at the daunting climb.
“Tenth,” Dylan says grimly. “Rooftop’s the twentieth.”
We start climbing, taking the stairs two at a time. For the first two flights, adrenaline carries me. By the third, my calves are burning. Halfway through the fourth, the straps of my heels are cutting into my skin so painfully that I have to stop.
“I can’t do this,” I gasp, leaning against the wall. “These shoes are instruments of torture.”
Dylan, who’s a few steps ahead, turns back. Without hesitation, he crouches down in front of me, back presented. “Climb on.”
