“Oh, thank god,” she whispers.
“Sir, I’m gonna have you give the lady a boost up to me, and then we will get you out of here, alright?” the man asks.
I nod.
“Of course,” I say. We walk to the center of the car, and she moves in front of me. She turns around and backs toward me slowly, and my breath hitches in my throat. Great. Can’t wait for them to pull me out of this thing with a raging fucking hard-on.
I put my hands on her hips, and I feel her body tighten.
“Ready?” I ask. She nods. “One, two, three,” I say, hoisting her up. The man grabs her around the biceps and pulls her out. I reach up and hand her the blazer before the man reaches down to lend me his hand. Another man is also waiting, and they both pull me up. They guide us to the emergency escape ladder, and we follow their directions out the emergency door, which dumps us back onto the twentieth floor. Finally, both men get out into the hallway.
“Sorry about that, folks,” one of the men says. “That car’s been giving us some trouble.”
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
“Unfortunately, it’s still not in service. You can wait for the second car,” he says, motioning back toward the elevators. But before Wren can say anything, I shake my head.
“I think we will take the stairs,” I say. “Thank you.”
I guide her down the hall to the stairway, and she lets out a breath.
“Thank you, Brooks,” she says. We walk down the twenty flights of stairs slowly and quietly. I imagine she’s coming down from her panic attack, but me…I’m reliving that last half-hour. Stuck on that elevator with her. Touching her. Holding her. Smelling her.
I want more.
Just preferably not while she’s in the midst of a mental breakdown.
But now that we’re back on solid ground, I remember who she is and why she’s here.
And as if she’s reading my mind, she turns to me as we get to the ground level.
“I know you don’t trust me, Brooks,” she says, “and I definitely don’t trust you. But unfortunately, it sounds like you’re my only hope for making this work. I may not be able to handle broken down elevators, but I promise I can handle you. I would really like for this to work, but I’m not intimidated by your name or your money. It’s important to remember that one of us has the story, here. And it’s not you.”
And with that, she walks out the door, her heels click-clacking against the marble floors, leaving me speechless for the third time today.
WREN
Islam the door of my apartment shut as I lean up against it. My nervous system is still a wreck from the fucking elevator—and also from being stuck in there withhimof all people. I am still reeling from having been so vulnerable in front of him. The one person who I need to take me seriously, and there I was, having a panic attack in a goddamn elevator.
And what did he do?
He took care of me.
He protected me. Shielded me. Helped me through it.
And the little zings I felt every time he touched me didn’t go unnoticed. My whole body felt them, and my raging hormones mixed with my anxiety was enough to put me over the edge.
Despite my panic, there were a few moments in that elevator where I forgot that we were stuck. I was enthralled in him. In his scent, his honey-colored eyes. His scruffy, square jaw, his perfect lips. I wanted to let go and let him take control.
But that’s exactly what Brooks Everett is used to. Women laying down for him—in every possible way, I imagine—and doing whatever he wants because of who he is.
I tried to let him know where I stood before I left that building. While I appreciated what he did for me while we were in there, he needed to know that nothing had changed. I’m still dedicated to getting to the bottom of this. I’m still a journalist. I’m still looking for the truth. And no devastatingly handsome billionaire is going to throw me off.
But the truth is, I don’t know if I said all that for him…or for me.
I probably could have used the convincing just as much as he did. But it’s not going well. And before I am able to cool down with some self-care, I’m at my tiny little dining room table, in my pajamas, with a cup of water, one foot up on the chair, and my laptop, searching away.
The headlines should make me feel better.
