by Amy L. Gale
I grip the handle of my briefcase and make the long trek from the parking lot to the building, Ali Whitman, reporting for work. I swing open the heavy door and walk toward the elevator. A few people nod toward me as I make my way across the marble floor and to the elevator. For once I’m actually early and I’m the only one waiting. I press the button and wait for the elevator doors to open. I fidget with my fingers. Oh God, what if Jane hates my article? She is the one who decides my fate.
The bell dings, pulling me from my negative thoughts. There’s no need to jump to conclusions, and I can’t possibly read Jane’s mind. I can only hope for the best. I walk inside the elevator and lean against the back wall. Within seconds all the blood in my body rushes to my head. Oh my God, it can’t be him. I stare out from the open elevator doors at the man walking toward me, gripping a copy of the magazine, his knuckles white and his eyes cold. I push back against the elevator wall, but I’m trapped, nowhere to run. My heart thrashes in my ears. Please let the doors close. The doors start to close at the speed a tortoise runs. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Thank God.
He holds out his hand, placing it in between the elevator door a second before they’re about to close. The sensor notices the movement and the doors open again. I gasp as Tyler steps inside the elevator, staring at me with hellfire in his eyes.
CHAPTER 4—REPERCUSSIONS
Six feet of pure muscle blocks me from any chance of escape. Okay, he clearly isn’t thrilled with the article. I’m a reporter, and it’s my job to tell it how it is, right? I stand up straight against the cool wall, gripping my briefcase for dear life. Ugh, from the look on Tyler’s face I doubt he’d agree with my logic. God, please let get me out of here unscathed. Beads of sweat form on my forehead and my body begins to shake. Why is he here? I mean, he knows where I live. Is he trying to make a scene?
The elevator doors close, and we begin our ascent. My stomach flip-flops worse than the time I almost hurled on the Tower of Terror at Disney World. Tyler turns around and presses the stop button. What’s he doing? Jesus, it can’t be legal to stop an elevator without a legitimate reason. I’ve got to try and hit the call button. I mean, I hardly know him. What if he has a violent temper? If I was watching this unfold on television, I’d be screaming at the girl for being so stupid. Yet, here I am in another bad situation. I either have terrible luck or need to make some major life changes. He turns toward me and steps forward. Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the vein bulging from his forehead. There’s nowhere to run.
He shakes the magazine in front of my face. “What the hell is this?”
Okay Ali, think. No need to piss him off any more than he already is. “You don’t like it?” Why did that line sound so much better in my head? Great. Now he probably thinks I’m being condescending.
He holds the magazine up and flips through the pages, crinkling and ripping the edges as he frantically makes his way to page seventeen. “Devil’s Garden is all about sex and rock and roll. They love this city because the chicks come to them and love spending time with their fans, especially backstage. Even those of the group who are married or engaged can’t get enough of their backstage fans.” He throws the magazine on the elevator floor. “What’s your problem? Are you trying to use us to make a name for yourself or do you like ruining people’s lives?”
Oh God, the words coming out of his mouth burn through me like a firestorm. That’s pretty much what I got out of the interview and from my firsthand experience with Tyler; my take on Devil’s Garden seems pretty accurate. “I just report what I see and hear.” The briefcase falls from my clammy hand.
He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Guess you need a hearing aid because you got it all wrong, babe. You twisted around everything we said and made us sound like all we do is party and bang girls.”
Uh, yeah. Isn’t that what goes on? He’s no innocent struggling musician. I’m sure I’m not one of his most memorable endeavors, but he should at least remember partying with me and then waking up in my bed. Yep, partying and banging girls. That’s pretty much ripped right from Chaz’s mouth.
I fold my arms across my chest. “The line stating ‘I love this city, the chicks come to us’ was a direct quote from your drummer. Don’t blame me for using the answers from your bandmates.”
He steps closer. His jaw clenched so tight it trembles.
Oh no, I better watch what I’m saying. What the hell am I doing? I’ve spent one night with Tyler and know nothing about him. He could go crazy and beat the crap out of me. No need to press my luck.
He steps forward so close that his breath blows around a few stray strands of my hair. “I’m going to ask you one more time, what the hell is this about?”
I close my eyes tight and breathe heavy. A stray tear slides down my cheek. Dear God, please let me get out of here in one piece. I’ve got to use my creativity to calm Tyler down. At least enough to have a mature conversation. “Just trying to make you guys sound cool.” At least that’s an answer he might like better than telling him the truth, that I think they’re all a bunch of partying womanizers.
He steps back and slides his hand down the elevator wall alongside my body. “Really? That’s what you think is cool?”
I shrug.
“Then you’re in the wrong business, babe.” He leans against the elevator wall next to me and turns his head toward mine. “This stuff,” he kicks the magazine across the elevator floor, “ruins careers.”
I bite my lip. “Sorry.” Maybe my emotions did get the best of me. I’ve read that article like a million times before I submitted it and a million more after it was published. I never realized how harsh it sounds until those quotes came out of his lips. I bet Jane is going to rip me a new one when I get upstairs.
He turns my chin toward him. “Is this about me?”
My heart skyrockets into overdrive. No fair, how can he do this to me, especially now? He probably thinks I went all PMS on him like a scorned high school girl. That I made him and his band look like man whores because I’m pissed off from what went down with us. Everything I wrote was taken out of the context of what was said in the interview. He was sitting right there.
I tilt my head. “What are you talking about?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Guess I’m still trying to figure out why you hate me so much.” He picks up the magazine from the floor. “You’re the one who gave me the wrong phone number.”
He clearly has me confused with one of his other conquests. I don’t make up phone numbers. If I didn’t want him to have it, I wouldn’t have given it to him.
I touch the base of my neck. “Hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
He slides his wallet out from a back pocket. “Ah, cause of all the partying and banging chicks that you mentioned.” He pulls a piece of paper out with my writing on it and hands it to me.
I squint, holding the paper up to the dim elevator light. Crap, he’s right. Why the hell did I write a two instead of a seven? Amazing what waking up with a strange man in my bed can do to my brain. A tingle sweeps up my back and across my cheeks. All this time he thought I was the one blowing him off? It’s like a verse ripped from Murphy’s law.
Heat flushes across my face like wildfire. “I promise that was not intentional.”
He smirks. “Yeah, right.”
I’m such an idiot. All this time I’m holding a ridiculous grudge over something that’s my fault, and I unconsciously let my emotions get in the way of my debut article. I deserve what I get from Jane and Tyler.
He blows air out of his puffed up cheeks. “Maybe you should write an article about chicks who use guys and give them fake numbers.” He smirks.
I nibble at my nails. “Seriously, not intentional.” Like he didn’t admit in the interview that he and the other guys have one night stands with groupies all the time. Why should I be any different? “I figured you only wanted to hang out for one night and th
at’s why you didn’t call.”
“Not even close.”
I try and hold back a smile. Dammit, I’ve got to get over this silly infatuation with Tyler. Maybe it was easier to hate him than admit I have feelings for him. He’s an exact replica of everything I need to stay away from, but I can’t seem to shake him from my mind. It really doesn’t matter. It’s never going anywhere, especially now.
He presses the run button, and the elevator begins its ascent. “Not everything is always what is seems.” He turns back toward me and waves the magazine. “Hope you can do something about this, or at least apologize to everyone.”
I’d rather run a whole new article than face the wrath of Jenna. Psychotic clowns were the scariest image I could concoct in my mind until I met her. I nod.
What am I thinking? Even if Jane hates this article, she’s never going to let me write another one on Devil’s Garden. If I recorded the interview, then Tyler couldn’t accuse me of embellishing. I mean, he was sitting right there, and ninety percent of the interview was about Devil’s Garden’s need for girls and parties. Right? Note to self, always record interviews in the future.
Maybe the band is blaming him because of what went down with us, and he just needs something done to keep the peace. Apparently, it’s easier to blame someone else than take a good, hard look at yourself. Even if I did let my emotions spew into the article, it’s not like the band exhibits the most professional behavior. Don’t they realize they were hanging all over each other while Chaz bragged about his conquests? Amazing they didn’t offer me a shot of whiskey as I walked in the door.
I glance up at the numbers lit above the elevator door, floor two, almost there. Hope his plan was to demand answers from me. I may as well just pack up my desk and head back to the mail room if he plans on taking his concerns up with Jane. It’s probably just what she’ll want to hear, my debut article sparking all this drama. Please let this disaster of a day fly by, I’ve had enough aggravation for the whole week.
Waves of vibrations spread across the elevator floor. Weird. That’s never happened before. I bet I’m off balance from getting myself all worked up. It’s probably another Tower of Terror flashback. I take a deep breath and nibble on my lip. I swear it’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Why is every second lasting an hour? Ear-piercing screeches emanate through the small space. I hold on to the railing, but it’s no use. The elevator sways, and flashes of light blink repeatedly. It’s like I’m standing on a bus that just took off at fifty miles an hour. What’s happening? Oh God, I’m about to plummet to my death in an elevator shaft with a hot one night stand who’s pissed at me because of my article. I can see the headlines now, ‘Scorned reporter groupie meets her demise with disparaged bass player.’
I fall forward and smack right into Tyler, who’s acting like nothing is even happening. Maybe he’s used to these kinds of special effects on his stage show. Hate to break it to him, but this is real life, and we’re probably about to die. I might as well make my last seconds on earth memorable. I press myself against him, gripping his shirt for dear life. I don’t care what happened between us. Right now, I need him more than anything.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me close. He gets it. At this moment nothing matters but the fact that we’re together. Horrible tragedies seem a little better if you’re not alone. I’ve got to do something… anything to get my mind off what’s about to go down. I bury my head in his chest and focus on his heartbeat, strong and steady. It’s like the world suddenly disappeared and the two of us exist in this safe haven. Everything is silent, like the moment before a nuclear bomb hits. I take a deep breath and let the aroma of his musky cologne flow through my body.
I close my eyes tight and try to balance myself on my heels. Please God, let us get out of here in one piece or at least guide us to the afterlife. I rest my body weight against Tyler’s rock hard chest. He stands tall and strong, like his feet are rooted to the floor.
In an instant, everything stops. Is it over? Are we dead? I loosen the death grip on Tyler’s shirt but keep my head buried in his chest.
He rubs his fingertips along my back. “You okay?”
I take a step back. That seems like a loaded question. Nothing about this or my life in general at this point is okay. “Yeah.” The silver walls are illuminated by dim blue lights. In a strange way, it’s kind of beautiful. “What the hell happened?”
He lifts my chin. “You haven’t been in L.A. too long have you?”
I gaze into his clear blue eyes like a lost puppy. What is it about him? It’s like everything I fear disappears when he’s with me. Kind of like he’s an angel. Now that image is beyond ridiculous. Even so, never in a million years did I expect to find someone who can do that… definitely not twice. “About a year.”
“Looks like you’re no longer a virgin. You just made it through your first earthquake.”
Oh my God, that was an earthquake. I never thought I’d actually experience one. Sure, the likelihood of an earthquake occurring while I’m living in L.A. is extremely high, but I never thought it would happen to me. Clearly, an immature way to deal with the possibility of being involved in a disaster. I run my hands over my face and tuck a few stray hairs behind my ears. Okay, it’s over, I’m alive. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. Time to get the hell out of here. I press the button for floor three, but the buttons for every floor are flashing. I press it again. No change.
I turn toward Tyler. “It’s not working.”
He steps forward, extending his arm. His sculpted bicep brushes against me. “Looks like we’re stuck in here.”
I lean against the elevator wall. “Oh my God, we’re trapped.” My heart races and my eyes fill with tears. “We’re going to die in here.” What’s worse, a quick and easy demise or one that lasts forever? Starving to death surrounded by thick metal walls is pure torture.
“Relax.” Tyler runs a hand through his hair. “Elevators have cameras. Learned that the hard way.” He flashes a sexy half grin.
I stare at the silver walls that seem to be closing in on us. I get it, he’s trying to cheer me up, but the best comedian in the world can’t shed any light on this situation. I take a few deep breaths, but there’s no air. “We’re going to suffocate in here by the time they find us.”
I slide down the elevator wall to the floor and suck in as many breaths as I can. Oh God, I’m probably using too much oxygen. I cover my face with my trembling hands. Please find us and get us out of here soon.
My hands and feet tingle like they’re about to fall asleep. I suck in a few more shallow breaths and close my eyes tight. My heart thumps against the walls of my chest like a sledgehammer. I blink repeatedly, and look around my silver tomb. This is it, I must be having a heart attack. It’s like I’m dying a million different ways in a matter of seconds.
Tyler kneels in front of me and holds my head with his hands. “You’re fine, just relax.” He pushes my head down toward my knees.
I take a few more deep breaths and wipe the tears streaming down my face.
“There’re vents in here. We’re not going to suffocate.” He tips my chin up toward the ceiling. “And look, you can see light through the slit in the doorway so we’re somewhere near a floor.”
I sit back and sweep my hands across my face. Guess I’m not dying, yet. Maybe only of embarrassment. Wait, isn’t he pissed at me? Maybe facing a dark fate changed his whole outlook. I must be pretty pathetic if he’s pitying me.
He slides over and sits against the wall next to me. “You think this is bad, try waiting out a tornado.” He raises an eyebrow. “Now that’s some scary shit. Feels like a freight train just ran through your house.”
No thanks, those fifteen seconds seemed like it took hours. I had more than enough thrill seeking for the rest of my life plus I’ve already seen The Wizard of Oz and although Emerald City looks awesome, I’m content here. Well, I was until now.
I cup my hands together
, making a circle and breathe into my makeshift version of a paper bag, trying to reduce my heart rate to an acceptable level. I close my eyes and pretend I’m on a sandy beach with the warm breeze blowing in my hair while I dig my feet into the gritty sand, gazing upon the open space filled with pink sunsets and soft waves. My brain seems to think I’m in a happy place. The trembling in my hands subsides, and my breathing rate slows. I take one last deep breath and lower my hands.
Tyler places a hand on my thigh. “We’ll be out of here soon. Worst case a few hours.”
My heart starts racing again. Is it from his touch or the realization I’m not getting out of this anytime soon? Great. What are we supposed to do in here for the next few hours? Thank God Chaz isn’t in here with me answering that question.
Tyler brushes my skin as he pulls his hand away. He takes his cell phone out of a pocket and slides a finger across the screen. “What made me think we’d have reception?” He leans his head against the wall of the elevator. “Looks like I’m missing a recording session.”
I turn my head toward him. “You’ve got a pretty good excuse.”
“Yeah, the guys are going to freak when they hear I’m stuck in here with you.”
My muscles quiver. Yeah, and I’m pretty much Satan to Devil’s Garden. How ironic. “Yep, same here.”
He flashes a sexy half grin. “Musicians and the press, natural enemies like cats and dogs.”
I squint my eyebrows. “Never heard that one before.”
“Sad but true.” He nods.
Doomed before we even start. Well, if anything would’ve started. How did one night of celebrating spin off this disaster? Maybe my next article should be about the dangers of drinking too much, car accidents and health issues aren’t the only consequences. Jenna probably has wanted posters with my picture hung all over town by now.
“Let’s play devil’s advocate. If you were the press, what would you write about Devil’s Garden differently?”