Page 43

“What the hell?” Tuck mutters, pushing the button again. Nothing happens.

“What floor are we on?” I ask as he pushes the open-door button. Nothing.

“I think we are between two floors,” he says.

“Are we stuck?” I let out, suddenly panicking a little.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, pushing another floor button. Then another. Then a whole row.

“Oh my God, stop,” I tell him.

“We aren’t moving,” he says, still punching numbers.

“And lighting the board up like a Christmas tree isn’t going to help,” I say.

“You got a better idea?” Tuck asks.

And despite the fact that he’s as big as two of me and probably weighs three times as much, I shove him away from the board and hit the red call button. Nothing happens. I hit it again. Wait. And nothing.

“Why aren’t they answering!?” I snap, hitting it over and over and over again. “What’s the point of an emergency button if no one is there?”

“They usually are,” Tuck says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“Security,” he answers.

“And where the hell is secure–oh. Shit.”

Tuck smiles and waves and then puts his hand down. “I got this,” he says, punching a number into his phone.

“Who are you calling?” I ask.

“The elevator repair company. There is an automated message. We might be here for a while.”

“Well,” I sigh. “I guess I won’t be making that meeting.”

“There is good news,” Tuck says. “They’re next door. But apparently, a lot of people are having issues today.”

“Really? Did their Hulk of a security man break their elevator too?” I mutter. Then I feel bad. “Sorry,” I tell him.

“No worries,” Tuck says, sitting down on the floor. It’s funny watching a man his size fold himself in half to get comfortable sitting on the floor of a box-shaped room. “Ash said you were sassy. He wasn’t wrong.”

I finally give up, accepting I’m just going to be late, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I sit down with him.

I hate small talk. The idea of being locked in an elevator with someone I don’t know and forced to make conversation is something that would normally induce a panic attack. Even as a kid, I wasn’t afraid of the boogeyman, or the closet man, or even Krampus. I was afraid of having to talk to people I don’t know. And yet, I find myself wanting to fill the space with something.

“What else did he say?” I ask.

“Who?”

“Ash. Marcus, I mean,” I say, and Tuck’s eyes slide from his phone screen to me. “You said he called me sassy. What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him. “A lot of things. He’s my best friend. We talk a lot. Hard as that may be to believe.”

“He’s not exactly known for being the chattiest person,” I admit.

Tuck laughs again. “See? You get him.”