Since I’m the last one up here. That thought sends a chill down my spine.
What if itisn’tjust a drill?
Stepping inside, the metal door slams shut behind me, and I realize the fire alarm is much quieter in here, and there’s not a single whiff of smoke. The heavy, steel door mutes the soul-shattering alarm down to a mere hair-raising level.
Breathing deeply for the first time in several minutes, I step out of the doorway toward the top step.
Nothing could have prepared me for the freight train that plows into me. My life flashes before my eyes as I propel toward the flimsy metal railing between the flights of stairs.
My body is moving too fast to stop. I’m tumbling toward the open space that goes all the way to the ground floor.
This is the end. No trip to the Grand Canyon. I will never learn to watercolor. My dream of opening a distillery and bakery—gone.
My dream of falling in love and having a family—that definitely won’t happen because the only falling I’ll be doing is to my death.
The manila folder in my hands sails in front of me overthe rail and down to the landing a floor below, scattering papers everywhere.
They foreshadow what my body is about to do. Wearing my pink high heels on a day when the building caught fire was a terrible idea.
I frantically try to regain my footing, but I’m still sliding toward the railing.
With one more desperate attempt, I plant one foot, but with zero tread on my heel, my body continues forward.
CHAPTER 2
Magnolia
My imminent deathis stopped short.
A thick band wraps around my waist, pulling me back before my hands even reach the banister. My back presses against something solid and warm.
Comforting words that don’t make sense are being whispered into my ear.
Whoever holds me rocks me from side to side as though to calm me. The strange part is it’s actually making me feel safe. The reassuring words finally form a coherent thought in my mind.
“I’ve got you,” a deep voice says close to my ear. “You’re safe.”
A hand gently brushes my hair from my face. Long, manly fingers flash in front of my eyes as the man catches the last strand, tucking it behind my ear.
“Did I scream?” I ask.
The man behind me chuckles as he loosens his hold on my waist. He steps back, releasing me, and I immediately feel cold.
He replies, “No. Not a single sound.”
“Oh good.” I straighten my cropped pink blouse. It matches my perilously high heels to perfection. I flex my toes to see if I can still feel them—just barely.
I’ll wear mid-rise heels tomorrow if the building is still standing. Maybe running shoes. I’m sure those would look nice with my business attire.
“I didn’t think anyone else would use this staircase.” His voice is like warm caramel, and my stress is the ice cream melting under it.
I’m in control again. No longer at risk of screaming. Shoe choices don’t matter right now. I need to save the Very Important Papers and get out of the building.
I turn around to meet my assaulter turned rescuer.
It’s not the villain I was expecting. Although, maybe he is, because he is good-looking, and usually, those are the ones you least suspect.
He’s clean-shaven and wearing a suit. There is no tie, and his top two buttons lay open. I can count each beat of pulse in his neck.
