My phone rang, hammering through the trip down memory lane. I pulled it out of my purse, frowning when I saw Jackson’s name on the screen. The dude was pushing it with encroaching on my only thirty minutes of solitude in a ten-hour workday.
“Hello?” I balanced the phone between my ear and shoulder as I readjusted my purse on my shoulder.
“Two lattes, extra foam. Be in the conference room in ten.” His haughty tone sent a jolt of annoyance down my spine.
Before I could say anything, the line went silent. I glared at my phone and shoved it into my purse, muttering under my breath. What a jerkoff.
Ten minutes. It took at least five minutes to get to the fortieth floor with a crowded elevator. Which meant I had to find the nearest coffee shop and get two lattes made in half that time. Okay, no big deal. There were a dozen Starbucks in a one-mile radius.
I got my order and sped back to the building. Five minutes until whatever was going on in the conference room. I was totally golden. To top it off, the elevator was empty, which meant I’d have a straight shot up forty floors.
Just as the elevator doors were in mid trash-compactor mode, a hand stuck between the two slabs of metal, and the doors retracted. Just yesterday, I saw a secretary from another company get hammered by the doors. They had no mercy except, apparently, for my boss.
My heart sunk faster than a penny in a wishing well as I eyed Brogan. He gave a tentative smile, one that seemed polite, but I could really tell he would rather be anywhere else but here. (Because you called him the devil, you idiot!)
The doors closed and “Tainted Love” softly played in the elevator. I stared at the coffee cups in my hand, my purse on the ground, the smudges on the elevator door, trying to keep my mind busy, but the silence was too much to handle. I couldn’t just ride up forty floors saying nothing to the man who’d hired me.
“We meet again,” I said, and cringed at how stupid I kept sounding in front of him. Seriously, a Master’s degree, and that was the best I could come up with. Cheesy chitchat usually only made an appearance with red wine and too many shots of tequila. The guy had hired me to help with the basics, and this wasn’t exactly showcasing my competence.
“Yep. Just out for a quick walk.” He nodded and picked at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve.
Did he pass by me in the park on his walk? Oh God, had he seen me chewing? My mom’s chiding about my eating habits suddenly didn’t seem so stupid.
I chanced a quick glance his direction. Since that awful encounter in the break room the other week, his hair had been neatly trimmed into a stylish cut that accentuated his face. Brogan was all strong angles and broad shoulders. Normally my reaction to forced proximity with a hot guy in an elevator was that of a) glee b) praying I didn’t have horrible coffee breath, and c) the obvious hope of said hot guy jamming the big red stop button and proceeding to give a mind-blowing elevator romp.
A completely irrational, unfair thought process since he was really the only person I was not allowed to go for. Besides the thirty other men that worked for Starr Media. As the old adage went, the person you embarrass yourself in front of the worst is the person you want the most. And Mr. (anti)Antichrist was looking particularly appealing today.
He shifted and took his hands out of his pockets as I stared straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact in the mirrored doors. Oh, this was going to be a very long ride in silence.
I stared at the little red numbers climbing, each one taking its time. Should I say something else? It’d be rude not to, but then again, I was the one that made an ass out of myself and insulted him. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut like Jackson instructed.
“Nice day, huh?” Okay, so I failed at taking my own advice. Awkward silence gave me hives, and I always felt the need to fill it.
He clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at me. “Yep. Enjoy it while it lasts—supposed to be a rough winter.”
“I don’t mind rough,” popped out of my mouth even as Noooooo don’t you dare say that! tried to lasso my tongue. If I wasn’t carrying coffee, I’d be pulling the hood of my cardigan over my head and pretending I’d melted into the elevator.
The dimples made an appearance, and I could tell he was using every bit of restraint not to laugh. “Is that so?”
“That was way too far down the ‘that’s what she said’ rabbit hole to even begin to redeem myself. Can we let that slide?”
“My duty as CEO entails letting comments like that go.”
I didn’t get it. He seemed friendly enough, social, so why did this guy have so many rules to abide by? I’d expect it from someone who hated people, enjoyed making them sweat—not a guy who was still kind to a person who insulted their character. Then again, my dad had thousands of rules in our household and was well-liked by the community, and look how he turned out.
“About the other day…” I started and trailed off. Somehow “I’m sorry for calling you the Antichrist to your face” didn’t feel appropriate here.