Page 4 of Tough Luck

Nova swore they were only friends, but after being around them for just five seconds, I knew that they both wanted something more but were too afraid to move on it.

* * *

I usually dreaded Monday mornings, but today the crisp mountain air had invigorated me. I stood in the lobby of the five-story brick building that held Gold Standard Media, smoothing down my top. I was trying to channel a version of Sofia Ferreira that didn’t exist—one who was perfectly happy to head up the elevator, smile, and act like this was her dream job.

My boss had called a surprise meeting for first thing this morning, and I wanted to make sure I was dressed for success. After all, I wanted everyone to realize that I knew what I was doing and could handle a client on my own. Without Leonard Whistler hovering over me.

The man was… an asshole. To put it short and sweet.

I couldn’t type an email without him looking over my shoulder and dictating every word. He took credit for any of my designs that were approved and blamed me for anything that needed changes.

I did enjoy the work, but god, I really needed to get a real goal for my life. Something I could get one-hundred-percent behind forever and not lose interest in a year down the road. I had thrown my whole existence into the job, but the excitement that always comes with something new was already starting to wear off. Like with everything else I’d ever thrown myself into.

Maybe that was Leonard’s fault, like Nova had suggested.

Still, I was hoping that this morning’s meeting would change things up. It was possible that today was the day I would be taking the lead on a suspected new client I had been working on ideas for over the past few weeks.

Clear Creek Brewery, or CCB, was a large local brewery that had taken off in the past year. They were looking to revamp everything from their website to their can designs. I’d given Leonard several of my preliminary sketches and had heard through the grapevine that James and the board had liked them.

Nova had hinted that James wanted someone new to spearhead the account.

The idea of taking charge on an account like this excited me. I liked my job well enough. I was typically free to express my creative side. My only real grievance so far working here was working under Leonard.

But even so, most of the time I was just messing around with fonts, colors, and graphics for clients’ websites or marketing material. The thought of being in charge of a whole account thrilled me. Website, marketing, scheduled adverts, business cards, can designs, the whole works. That excited me but also scared me.

Is this what I wanted for my life? At least I could give it a try, right?

God, why was I so nervous?

As I approached the elevator bank, a tall figure stepped up and pressed the button. He was built like a tailored-suit advertisement—broad shoulders and longish sandy-dark hair that was perfectly styled. He carried himself with the kind of effortless confidence that usually belonged to people who didn’t have a negative balance in their checking account. Definitely a client. A big one.

The elevator doors slid open with a metallic groan that sounded like a dying whale. The stranger stepped inside.

I scrambled in right behind him, my heart doing a nervous little flutter. Be professional, I told myself. Impress the client. Look like a leader.

The doors began to slide shut, and that’s when the man reached his hand out toward the control panel. His finger hovered directly over the button for the top floor.

My internal alarm bells didn’t just ring; they went off like a nuclear siren.

No, no, no.

He was going to press it. Straight up. Without the secret handshake the old elevator demanded.

He didn’t know. How could he? He didn’t work here. He didn’t know that if you didn’t press the lobby button first to reset the internal relay before hitting your actual floor, the ancient electrical grid would short out and trap you between floors three and four for a minimum of ten minutes. Eight if you were lucky.

Normally, clients were warned of the situation normally ahead of any meetings set up in the building. Apparently, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy hadn’t gotten the memo.

I had that meeting with James that I absolutely could not miss. I could not be stuck in a metal box with a gorgeous stranger while my new career aspirations died a quiet, claustrophobic death.

“Wait, don’t—!” I gasped.

Panic overrode every single ounce of my brain power. I didn’t just reach out to stop him; I launched myself across the small enclosure. My hand slapped his wrist away from the panel with a loud crack, but my momentum was already totally shot. Then, my heel caught on the edge of the floor mat.

Of course, I was too late. He had already grazed the button, and I watched in horror as the light lit up. When the car started moving up quickly, the motion knocked me off balance and I fell against the elevator’s glass-paneled wall.

Groaning with embarrassment, I closed my eyes. “Why did you do that?” I mumbled, more to myself than to him.

At that exact moment, the elevator passed the third floor. Right on cue, the entire car violently dropped six inches before jolting to a dead stop.