“Elevators are on your left. Studio is on level thirteen,” a bored-looking woman drawled from behind the concierge desk.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Tatum turn her gaze from the woman to the elevators to me, before sweeping the lobby for a plan B.
“Wait here if you want. I’m not waiting for you to climb thirteen flights of stairs.”
I told myself I was trying to make her angry to give her the courage to use the elevator, but there was a self-destructive part of me that wanted more of this morning’s fight. I wanted to hurt, and I knew if I pushed her buttons, Tatum could be the one to give me exactly what I needed.
“Fuck off, just press the button. Let’s get this done already.” Her voice was heavy with resignation, and a flash of memory—Toby and me holding her in bed while she told us about the source of her claustrophobia—made me feel like more of an asshole than usual.
I didn’t miss her flinch when the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, but she still shouldered past me to enter first.
With her back pressed against the wall, palms flat on the metal surface, she braced like she was ready for the floor to drop out.
“Are you coming?”
Shit.
I hit the button for the thirteenth floor and leaned my ass against the back wall, close enough that we were almost touching. My stomach dropped as we began our ascent, and I resisted the urge to count the floors as we passed. We’d arrive soon enough;the car was moving at quite a speed. A metallic grinding lanced through the car like a curse as we lurched to a stop.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I murmured.
Tatum let out a whimper. The lights flickered.
“We’ll start moving any second now.”
We didn’t.
Tatum folded her arms around herself, and I hit the emergency intercom, waiting through several rings before the speaker fell silent.
“They know we’re in here. They’re probably already trying to get us out.”
“Calix, don’t take this the wrong way, but shut the fuck up.” Her face was rapidly losing color, and a fine tremor shook her shoulders. She was trying for her usual fire, but even to a self-centered asshole like me, it was obvious she wasn’t coping.
“What do you need?” I asked, moving closer to her.
She slid gracelessly down the wall, curling into a tight ball as her breathing picked up speed. Her knuckles were white where they gripped her knees, and when I crouched in front of her, forcing eye contact, her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Panic didn’t listen to reason, and my hardass manager was seconds away from an attack unless I could ground her.
I pried her fingers free of one knee and pressed her palm to my chest, cupping her face with my other hand. “Stay with me, princess. We’re going to breathe. Okay?” I sucked in a deep breath, squeezing her hand as it rose, then blew the air out on a long exhale.
No response. Her eyes became unfocused as sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Tatum.”
I fisted her hair, tight enough to send a small pain signal to break through the fog. On the next inhale, her breath slowed to meet mine. For a few long minutes, we just breathed. In and out until the world narrowed to the space between us. The next heartbeat.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
Something flared in her eyes at the compliment, and I filed it away to examine at a later date.
“Calix—”
A loud crackle cut her off as a disembodied voice filled the space. “Mister Quinn? I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. We have emergency services en route to get you out of there.”
The intrusion brought the world back into focus.
My skin crawled beneath her palm, and I flinched away before I could catch myself, turning away from the tear that tracked down her cheek.
