I’m about to take a deep breath when we finally start to move, only for the elevator to ping and slow after only five seconds. Dropping my head back, I whimper pitifully, “The universe hates me.”
“Why? What did you do to it?” a voice I recognize wonders lightly, and I drop my head suddenly just as Ryan steps aboard the metal tin that needs to be programmed to move faster. He looks as fresh as spring dew after a night of rainfall, his chestnut-colored hair slicked back and styled to perfection. His deep-brown eyes are clear as crystal, his flowy white shirt crisply ironed and tucked into neatly pressed slacks. It suddenly sickens me to realize this man might actually be a morningperson like I assume Caiden is, and I shake my head at the beautiful man in disgust.
“What? What’s that look for?” he questions, holding out one hand toward me.
I look down and notice for the first time that he’s carrying two large takeout cups, one outstretched toward me in offering, and I look up in surprise to find his handsome features morphed into an expression of confusion.
Laughing somewhat hysterically even as I cringe internally, I accept the cup filled with what smells like sweet coffee and slump against the wall behind me. Offering him a sheepish smile, I say, “Sorry I was loud again. I’m running late for work, and I don’t function well when I’m rushing.”
Ryan chuckles, shuffling over to stand beside me, and says, “Everyone was already awake, so it’s not a big deal. Heard you coming and thought you could do with some caffeine this morning. Hope you like cookie dough-flavored lattes.”
My mouth waters instantly, the sugary drink in my hand now resembling gold to my frantic mind, and I smile appreciatively at him. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” he assures, bringing his own coffee to his lips before he pauses. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he runs his gaze over me slowly, and I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses as he notes, “That’s an interesting fashion choice.”
Nodding before taking a sip of my own scalding-hot latte, the nectar spiked with just the right amount of sugar, I declare, “Not the weirdest outfit I’ve thrown together. I implemented Suit Up Day every month, and whoever wears the wackiest or boldest suit wins a prize.”
“Hm,” Ryan notes, eyeing my suit again with a sprinkle of mirth. “I hope you win.”
Nodding seriously, I mutter, “Same. I should have won last month, but the system is rigged.”
I’m surprised when he laughs, but he asks, “How so? Isn’t it your system if you implemented the competition?”
I side-eye the pretty man, holding the coffee cup in front of my mouth, before I dutifully inform him, “That’s not the point. I was wearing neon orange all day, and a guy in a butler suit won.”
“What did he win?” he curiously prods, sounding much too intrigued.
Sighing deeply, I grumble, “One of those funny little floor vacuums that wander across the floor by themselves. It should have been mine. I had a name picked out and everything. I would have dressed it in a party hat.”
Okay, even to my own ears, that sounds pathetic. I can literally buy one myself, but there’s a certain giddy enjoyment in winning something high-value that you simply don’t think to buy yourself, even if I have one sitting in my digital cart ready to check out.
“Oh, yeah? What name did you pick for your nonexistent robot child?” Ryan playfully queries, the teasing note in his voice not going unnoticed.
I open my mouth, ready to share, but think better of it. He’s enjoying my misery too much. So, instead, I look away from him and mutter, “I’m not telling. You’ll laugh.”
Sure enough, I hear the jackass trying to dampen it before he clears his throat and promises, “I swear I won’t laugh. I want to hear the name you chose.”
Slowly, I turn to look at him, finding that gorgeous face trained into an expression of sincerity and seriousness, even though those cocoa-toned eyes are filled to the brim with amusement.
Apparently, I’m a sucker for it, because I answer with twitching lips. “Captain Link Licker.”
I watch intently as the man before me, dressed smartly with one hand tucked in the pocket of his pants, fights for his life not to laugh. He fights it so hard, like a man delving headfirst into a war of wills, to the point where a funny little pink hue creeps up his neck. True to his word, though, he doesn’t laugh. He wins this round, a pro in combat, even if it takes him three swallows, two throat-clearings, and what looks to be a muttered prayer on his lips as he shuts his eyes and begs for restraint.
“I’ll buy you the floor vacuum,” he offers, wiping a hand over the lower half of his face in an attempt to wipe away the smile that almost broke free.
Rolling my eyes, my own lips drawing up in a smile, I decline the offer. “I have one already waiting to be bought, but I appreciate it. Captain Link Licker will be mine eventually. I just really wanted to win it.”
“Competitive?” he guesses, standing upright as the elevator pings and the doors open on the lobby floor.
Shaking my head, I answer honestly, “Not really, no. I just like the little rush you get when you win something, and that something was a vacuum I’ve had my eye on since it was added to the claw machine.”
“The what?” he asks, gone from amused to confused again.
I flash him a grin, walking side by side as we leave the elevator. As we pass Callie sitting at the reception desk, I throw her a big wave that she returns before answering Ryan. “It’s where the prizes are. My assistants and I rolled a whole bunch of papers with the prizes printed on them into those little plastic balls you can pop open with a squeeze. Every prize is different, ranging from a paid week off to the newest digital camera on the market. The winner gets a turn on the machine, and whatever they pull is the prize they receive. It’s been a hit in the studio for the past three years.”
He pulls a face that almost looks impressed, and a flicker of pride swells in my chest. If there’s one thing in this world that I pride myself on, it’s taking care of others, and sometimes that comes in the form of wacky wardrobes once a month just for a bit of fun. It’s proven to be a great way to show my appreciation for my employees at Static.
“Anyway, if you’re free at some point today, you should come check it out. Someone wore one of those inflatable dinosaur suits last year and wrapped a necktie around it. Give a creative team a challenge and they never fail to rise to it,” I randomly offer, my mouth running faster than my brain. I stop that bitch by taking another sip of my drink, and I turn toward the garage where my baby is parked, hopefully still unaffected by any possible Decepticons.
