The elevator rises in silence. It isn’t a huge elevator, and Ice Man and I are standing too close to each other for comfort. He smells like cedar and vanilla, which has the unfortunate effectof making me either want to burn him or bite him. Instead, I busy myself with sliding my heels on, twisting my hair back up into its bun, and tugging my blouse and skirt into place. Mission accomplished, I glance at the wrap-around mirrored wall to make sure I’m presentable. Shoes, check. Skirt and blouse straight, check. Mascara not smudged, ch?—
Holy bananas.
Ice Man is staring at me in the mirror, those impossibly dark blue eyes fixed on mine. When he realizes I’ve caught him in the act, he drops his gaze to the floor and scuttles backward. If he could press himself through the opposite wall of the elevator and come out the other side, he probably would.
Sweet Jesus. I know I’m sweaty, but I can’t smellthatbad.
A strange tension hovers in the air between us. Or maybe it’s not that strange. Maybe he’s not just rude, but a stalker, too. Or maybe I should invest in higher-quality antiperspirant.
I cannot with this day.
The elevator car jerks to a stop and the doors open. My reluctant companion launches himself through them like he’s jet-propelled, as if he can’t get away from me fast enough.Don’t worry,I think, following in his cedar-and-vanilla-scented wake.The feeling is definitely mutual.
Smashbox’s lobby looks exactly like it did every time I’ve seen it: ocean-themed art that probably cost more than my worthless car, fish tank filled with exotics, white couch with patterned pillows in aquamarine, cerulean, cobalt, cornflower, and turquoise. Fifty Shades of Blue.
It’s probably meant to be soothing. But I am late. I am not soothed. And I can’t turn off the designer part of my asshat brain, which is occupying itself with trying to pinpoint the exact shade of Ice Man’s eyes.
Ice Man, who is all but sprinting down the hallway that leads to?—
“Rune!” Ethan’s too-hearty voice fills the air. I turn and there he is, neatly trimmed beard and short dark hair, coming out of his glassed-in, ultramodern office. “There you are.”
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I blurt.Please, God, don’t fire me.“My car died on Orchard Street—and then I ran, but the security guard?—”
“Not a problem. You’re here now.” He’s honest-to-God grinning, like he doesn’t care that I’m late at all. Maybe he’s had a personality transplant. Or maybe I whacked my head when I tackled that cop and I’m unconscious in an emergency room somewhere.
Ethan looks in the direction of Ice Man, who, true to his name, has frozen and is staring at the two of us. “Donovan? What are you doing over there?”
Looking like he wishes he were somewhere, anywhere else, Ice Man sets his shoulders and strides back toward us. He looks down his nose at me, and I fight the urge not to shrink.
“Rune,” Ethan says, “this is Donovan Frost. That new project I was telling you about? He’s the other half of your team.”
Unbelievable.
I’m not just cursed. I’m screwed, too.
Chapter
Three
I may not workin the office at Smashbox, but I do interact with other employees. And I’ve heard a lot about the company’s premier data engineer and developer, Donovan Frost.Sexy as sin but cold as ice,from Jill in accounting.Has to have everything his way,from Georgia in marketing.Never talks to anyone, prefers coding to conversation, brusque, brilliant but demanding, probably has sex according to a color-coded spreadsheet, wouldn’t be surprised if he starches his underwear.
Well, now I’ve met him, and I can imagine his reputation is well-earned. Except for the brilliant part. I suppose that remains to be seen.
“We’re going to be working together?” I say, pasting on what has to be the world’s sickliest smile, just as Donovan blurts out, “Just the two of us?”
You don’t have to sound so horrified,I think, shooting him a disgusted look. He ignores it, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Well, there will be other people involved, of course. A team of app developers, for example,” Ethan says, frowning as heglances between me and the aptly named Mr. Frost. Talk about growing into your name. “Is there a problem here?”
I need this job. I need this job,I repeat to myself, trying to ignore the prospect of working every day alongside a man who can’t be bothered to hold the elevator for me, hides in the corner of the car, and then flees from me as soon as the doors open, like my very existence is poison. “Not at all,” I say, resurrecting the sickly smile.
Donovan’s eyes fall on my face, and he grimaces at the sight of the smile—or maybe, just at the sight ofme.“Of course not,” he says, each syllable ice-tipped.
God, what is hisproblem?“So,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice, “what’s this project all about?”
Ethan grins. “Why don’t we talk about it in my office?”
Donovan and I trail after him to the office at the end of the hall. I haven’t been in here in quite a while, but it hasn’t changed much either, other than the addition of a new baby to the family picture on his desk and an expansion of his inexplicable Marvel bobblehead collection to include Doctor Strange. Same floor-to-ceiling windows comprising one entire wall, fake plants trying too hard to look real, bookshelves displaying Smashbox’s awards and accolades, walls displaying Ethan’s degrees. This high up, we have an excellent view of the mountains that surround Sapphire Springs. The sky over them is darkening, portending a storm.
