“Case of beer, looks like,” Tyrone answers.
“Harper!” I stomp away faster, feeling his dark, grumpy presence following behind me like a cloud. He grumbles, “Does anyone help around here other than you?”
I throw open the backdoor of the big catering van that has…seen better days. I climb up, ignoring the billionaire huffing my name.
“Woman! Let me help you!” He calls up and then he’s in the tiny space with me.
“Wait! The—”
Slam!
“What?” He asks, following my line of sight to the door. I brace myself. “What?” He repeats, but it sounds like he’s starting to understand what just happened.
“It jams,” I say out loud.
“Nonsense,” he dismisses the thought likeI’man idiot who doesn’t know this town and its businesses and trucks like the back of my hand. He turns and, of course, cannot get the door open.
We’re stuck.
In here.
Together.
CHAPTER 17
Harper
“It can’t be jammed,” he murmurs.It is.And I’ll give it to him, he is really trying. I can see his muscles shift under his button up shirt as he pushes, shoves. He takes those garage workouts seriously and it shows. Not that I’m noticing. There’s just a lot of grunting and panting going on. “Wecannotbe stuck in here,” he says to the door.We are.
Then I see it.
He actuallyispanicking.
“Hey,” I say. He locks wide, terrified eyes with mine and I ask, “You’re claustrophobic?”
He unbuttons his shirt collar, “What? No, just…just don’t like confined…I…shit.Shit shit shit,”he goes off and has a bit of a mental breakup, I think. He says all the expletives I know to exist, then finally sits on a crate and lands back on the first, “Shit!”
“Tyrone will come get us,” I say quietly.
“He will?” Aiden does not sound like himself.
I nod, wincing. He catches the expression. “Eventually…” I say.
“Can you text him? Text him! Right now!”
I sayHey, watch it!with my face, then soften when I catch the tremor in his hands. I explain, “I left my phone on the table. But you can try texting Steven?”
“Right. Yes. Okay,” he gets out his phone. Service is terrible here, but I’m not about to point that out. He discovers the fact quickly. “Bloody hell, there’s no service!”
“He’ll get it in a few minutes, maybe an hour.”
“An hour!” He stands quickly, hits his head on an overhead shelf, re-releases all the expletives he knows, untucks his dress shirt, and sits again. He keeps pulling at his collar. Like he can’t breathe.
“I’ll try Ben, he’ll get us out,” he mutters.
“Aren’t they in Europe somewhere?” I ask but he’s tapping away like a madman.
I understand panic. Not this variety, maybe, but similar.
