by Megyn Ward
The elegant receptionist clicks after us in her stilettos and pulls a card from an invisible pocket and inserts it into a slot and an elevator door slides open.
The girl pressures my arm and I step inside. Okay. I’m in trouble now. My mind whirls as the doors snick closed and she punches the only button. While I wait for the world to crash around me, I take a moment to consider. If Mom made different choices, would this be my life now? Would I ride in exclusive elevators to top floors to meet with people who required gatekeepers?
The second the doors are closed, the arrogant starch seems to drop from the girl and she grins. “Sorry for that. I have no idea why I interfered. I just, kind of, felt something, you know?”
I stare at her, having no idea what to say.
“Sorry.” She seems almost pleading. “You probably have something important to do and I hijacked you by saying you were my assistant.”
“No, really. That’s okay.” It’s not okay. We’re rapidly approaching the top floor and I have no plan.
She speaks quickly, as if wanting to get it out before we reached the top, too. “It’s going to sound all woo-woo and ridiculous, but when I saw you there, I just had this feeling. Like we’re connected. You know? I get these feelings sometimes.” She gives me a lop-sided half-smile that seems vaguely familiar. “And, well, I know it sounds crazy but there it is.”
My nerves are stretched to their breaking point, but this girl seems even more nervous.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” She asks.
Yeah. A little bit.
The elevator stop going up and settle with a ding. Trying to stop my hands from shaking, I cleared my throat. “No. It’s fine, really.”
She smiles. “I have to meet with this guy, but will you hang around? We can, I don’t know, go for coffee or something after I’m done?”
Before I can answer, the door opens and she steps out, instantly regal and haughty again, as if she’d slipped into her ultimate Power Suit.
I watch her retreating back and feel like a mangy alley cat compared to her panther-like suave. The sweat on my face has dried to a crackle and my feet aren’t slipping around in my pumps since I’d stepped into the air conditioning. I give myself a second to take in the top floor office suite. Encased in glass, it insulates all its inhabitants from any of the uncomfortable bits of the environment. They only get the sunshine and sparkling water from this vantage point, not the cloying humidity and wilting heat. No hair destroying wind, nothing to mar the perfect appearances money provided.
The upstairs receptionist looks nearly identical to the one downstairs, but then, all the model types looked the same to me. She stares at me with startled eyes, uncrossing legs the length of a football field and jumps to her feet. She disappears behind a set of tall, wooden doors.
Within seconds she emerges and on her heels, a guy about my age appears. I barely notice him since my vision has narrowed to pinpricks. Jonas Knightly will come through those doors. It’s a moment I’ve imagined a million times. Would there be instant recognition? In my mind, I’ve come up with every scenario imaginable. He’ll gasp and tears will fill his eyes. He’ll be paralyzed and stare at me, finally whispering, “You.”
Or not.
The guy coming out of the office pauses before he walks past me. He looks at me just a second longer than what’s considered polite and his mouth opens in surprise. “Ky…?”
It catches my attention and I focus on him.
Scruff-face. The asshole who got me fired. The one who ran out on my $65 dollars.
What the hell? Why can’t I get away from this guy?
He seems surprised to see me and maybe just as confused as I am, his gaze traveling from the other girl to me. He looked so grim before he saw me, it makes me wonder if he’d had bad news. Maybe getting some kind of karmic justice for wrecking my life. Except I don’t think anything short of stretching on the rack will be justice.
Why then, did a tiny pinprick in the very back of my brain spark with excitement when I saw him. Why did my lungs flutter in my chest when he said my name?
Because he’s hot and you’re horny, remember?
Horny and stupid.
Deep blue eyes and almost black hair bring out the deep tan of his face, no longer covered in two-day fuzz, those adorable dimples hints in his serious expression.
My mouth opens in surprise, ready to accuse him of his crimes or maybe offer to have his baby—the way my life is going lately, it’s anyone’s guess. Before I can embarrass myself, I’m saved.
“Liesa! I see you’ve met Zach Lowery, our newest associate.” The voice, like a kindergarten teacher on the first day of school, startles me from my skin. I jerk toward the open office doors.
A solid man with thick, dark hair and an enthusiastic grin greets me. He’s so much shorter, too informal and jovial. Not elegant and stuffy at all. This is not the Jonas Knightly I expected from the few comments Mom accidentally let fall over the years.
I can’t make the connecting between the man I imagined and the man grinning like he’s just run off the soccer field and looks like he’s about to give Scruff-face a high five. I stand with my thumb up my ass, unable to force any words from my throat. Certainly not what I’d planned on saying.
No one moves for about an hour. Well, probably a couple of seconds as his gaze slide from the girl he’d called Liesa and falls on me. He studies me with an open, friendly face and I think I see a light of recognition. People always say I look like Mom, especially when she was younger. He’d known her when she was about the same age I was now. A spark of hope lights deep inside of me. He remembers. I wait for his reaction.
His bushy eyebrows slide down to shield his eyes. His grin drops over his white, even teeth and his gaze slides to the upstairs receptionist. He raises his arm and pointed at me. “Who is this?”
My hope crashed, splintering my insides, causing me to lose my breath.
The receptionist’s smile looks strained. “She came in with Liesa Temple.”
Liesa Temple! That brings air back in a rush. Damn. I might not watch enough TV or read tabloids to recognize her face but I sure as hell know the name. Super rich, legendary brat. I glare at her. “You’re Liesa Temple?”
Despite her arrogant demeanor, something seems to fall in her face. “Who else would I be?”
The guy—Scruff-face, Blue-Eyes, Hottest Guy on the Planet, Zach Lowery, whatever his name—laughs. His face has lost that drawn look and something like relief washes over it. Stupid to even notice now, with Jonas Knightly glowering at me and I’m missing my opportunity to do something. But I do notice and I suddenly forget what that something I ought to be doing is.
Jonas eyed me a moment. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I wish I could melt into the creamy carpet and leave nothing but a shameful stain. I don’t know how I manage, but I thrust my chin out. “I’m here for a job.”
Now it’s Jonas’s turn to laugh. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” He shakes his head at me. “You’re not nearly pretty enough for admin and if you’re here for an analyst position I can only wonder what the hell you’re thinking? This isn’t Burger King. We don’t hire. We recruit the top graduates from Ivy League schools—not someone with a two-year certificate from Bum Fuck Community College.” He waves me toward the elevator with as much dismissal as the receptionist.
Mother. Fucker.
“Cum laude.” I find my voice and raise my chin, the way Liesa did with the downstairs receptionist. “Harebridge College.”
He pauses and his eyebrows lift. He studies me a moment. “Well, good for you, honey. Now, run along, will you?”
He locks eyes with Zach. “See you bright and early tomorrow, eh Bub?”
Zach’s face falls again. “Sure.”
The receptionist sways before us in her tight skirt, her black hair in an updo, showing off her swan-like neck. She pushes the elevator button and the doors slide open.
I have no choice
but to step inside with Zach. At least I’ll have a few seconds to beat my sixty-five bucks out of him.
Chapter 12
Zach
The doors shut, leaving me and Kylie.
She smells like lemons. Clean and cheerful, the scent of it rising from her warm skin. I’ve been around women doused in expensive perfume my whole life, but this seems so natural and faint it’s almost a tease.
I like it.
The first thing she does is slip out of her cheap, businesslike pumps. Well, only one. I wait but it seems the proverbial other shoe isn’t going to drop in this case. Guess she doesn’t feel like maintaining professional decorum after Jonas cut her down. Can’t say I blame her. Beneath his I’m just like you demeanor, the guy is a total dick.
“He’s a total ass.” He really humiliated her. It makes me want to take another trip to the top floor and beat the shit out of him.
She narrows her eyes. “Yes.” She pauses and nearly spit at me. “Yes, he is.”
I’d decided to go back to the dive shop today and trying to get her address out of Blake, and now here she is, her blue eyes flashing at me. Silky blonde hair, practically begging me to tangle my fingers in it. Body firm and tight, like she’s ready to spring into battle.
She grips her shoe and glares at me.
Something tells me if I try to touch her, I’m going to get a shoe smacked across my face for my trouble.
How fucked up is it that knowing she’s so angry at me turns me on a little.
I stare at the spot above the door where the floor marker should be but isn’t, since this elevator only goes to the top floor. I turn to her and try again. “You seem to be having a run of bad luck.”
She holds her shoe by the toe and slaps the short but sharp heel into her other palm. She stares at me and keeps slapping.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
I catch her eye, impossible not to really, since she’s staring at me with such venom. “Did I do something wrong?”
Pop. Pop.
“Aside from making me lose my job, you did about sixty-five things wrong?”
“Wait a minute.” I turn toward her and shake my head. “I talked to Charlie. I convinced him to have the shop owner rehire you. Until you dumped us in the drink.” I shrug. After I hauled him out of the water, I was lucky I was able to convince him not to call the cops on her ass and have her arrested for assault. “That one is on you.”
She hesitates a second then those eyes flash with fire and ice. “Too little, too late.”
Pop. Pop.
“So what?” God, I’m trying not to smile but she’s so fucking adorable that I can’t seem to manage it. “Are you going to maul me with your granny shoe?”
“Granny shoe?” Her eyes fly open in rage. “These are professional dress, you know, for people who want to work.” She sticks the shoe in my face and I realize they’re cheap but practically brand-new. She couldn’t have worn them more than once or twice. “Because, news flash, some people have to work.” She finishes her tirade and drops her shoe.
“I have to work.”
Work? Yeah, as a stud-for-hire.
She acts like she doesn’t hear me. “And yeah, I’d like to beat the shit out of you.”
“I’m sorry about your job.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “But I fixed it, until you unfixed it.”
She glares at me. “And what about my sixty-five bucks?”
“What?” That stumps me. “Did Drew not tip you for the dive trip?”
“No, Drew didn’t.” She narrows her eyes and her lip turns up. “But I’m talking about the bar tab you and the rest of those assholes stiffed me on the other night.”
I get a blurry flash of memory. A hot blonde arguing with Drew. Me reaching for my wallet. Him telling me he’d take care of it. Me, face down in the sand before being dragged down the beach.
“You’re the hot waitress?” It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it and my cock stirs at the memory of the dream I had of her riding me. “I mean, Drew said he took care of the tab.” I sound stupid saying it and she seems to agree because she rolls her eyes at me.
“Yeah.” She nods. “He took care of it alright—by pulling a drink and dash on me.”
Shit.
I reach for my wallet. “I’m really sorry.” I count out four twenties and then four more for the dive tip. “I never would’ve let him do that if—”
“If you hadn’t been fall-down drunk?” She grabs the cash and flicks open the top two buttons on her blouse. “Thanks now I can eat this month.” She glares at me while she sticks it in her bra, giving me a flash of smooth, firm skin cupped in delicate lace. I have to grit my teeth to keep my cock from jerking in response.
“You came here looking for a job?” God, I’m an asshole. I got this girl fired, stiffed her for my bar tab and here I am thinking about fucking her. “Want me to talk to Jonas?” It’s the least I can do.
She lowers her hand and the shoe dangled. “No. I didn’t really want a job.”
“You snuck into JK Investment’s corporate offices to ride the elevator?” She’s lying—or at least not telling me the whole truth.
She raises her eyes to look at me. Blue, like the Caribbean Ocean on a sunny day, they swim with tears.
Christ. I don’t know her, but the look nearly tears my heart from my chest. Right now, I’d do anything to keep those tears from falling. “Shit. Hey, look… don’t—”
The elevator settles, and the doors slide open. She reaches down to pull her other shoe from her foot. She steps through the doorway and her feet smack on the marble floor. She takes off so quickly I have to jog to catch her.
“I’m sorry. Really.” I resist grabbing her arm to slow her down. “I’ll talk to Charlie again.”
She ignores me, zipping through the front door.
On the sidewalk, she pulls the chopstick holding her hair up and lets her hair loose. It tumbles free, blonde curls bounding down her back. Dumbstruck, I watch the wind snatch strands of it, lifting them to dance around her head.
She might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She whips her head to the north where a bus idled. A heavy black woman in a colorful turban lumbers aboard.
“Wait,” Kylie shouts and starts running. The bus doors smacks shut and the air brakes burp. A puff of exhaust filled the air and it pulled into traffic.
“Goddamn it,” she shouts in frustration before throwing her shoes across the sidewalk. One skips like a stone across the cracked concrete before landing in the street.
I’d give anything to make the world turn right for her. Instead I rush after the stupid shoe. I’m seconds away from jumping into the street when a black Porsche zooms by, smashing it.
I pull up short and wait for a BMW to pass, then a Mercedes, each one taking a whack at the decimated shoe. Finally, I’m able to jump out and retrieve it.
When I get back Kylie’s gone, leaving the other shoe abandoned on the sidewalk. I walk over and pick it up, searching for her. I don’t see her, but I catch sight of a pile of gray fabric at the corner of JK’s building. When I get to it, I recognize the suit jacket she’d been wearing.
Picking them up, I swing my head to the left. No sign of her. To the right. I catch a glimpse of golden hair dip down the hill toward the canal.
With my hands full of her discards, I sprint after her. Stopping at the crest of the hill, I spot her standing a few feet ahead of me. At the bottom of the hill in front of a cement seawall that blocks off a sandy spot. Not exactly a beach, but a barrier to keep out the undesirables all the same. At low tide, it would create a damp entry to the sea.
Kylie’s shoulders hitch.
I finally catch up to her.
Shit. She’s crying again.
“Um.” As far as pickup lines go, not my best.
She startles like she had no idea I followed her and turns toward me. “Oh god.” Her mouth tightens, and she looks away again, aiming her tear-filled gaze toward the water. “Go
away.”
I wish I could. I wish I could walk away from her and go back to the way things were before I met her, but I can’t. I hold discarded clothes out to her. “Here.” God, I’m smooth.
She spins toward me. “I’m not fucking Cinderella. And those are granny shoes, not glass slippers.”
“I’m sorry I said that.” I feel like a complete asshole. “You looked—look—very professional. I’d hire you.”
She glares at me.
“If that’s what you’d want, I mean.” Shit. It’s like I’ve never talked to a woman before. Ever.
She slaps the bundle out of my hand before giving me her back again.
We stand here in silence, her staring at the ocean beyond the seawall. Me, staring at her back.
“Fucking rich people.”
Her words sound more sad than bitter.
She plops down on the grass, still facing the ocean.
I sit next to her, making sure to leave two feet between us. The shoes were close enough for her to grab and attack me. “I really am sorry.”
She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Stop saying that.”
“Okay.” So far, I’m doing a lousy job of making her feel better and an even lousier job of fixing this situation for her. “I know some people—well, my dad knows a lot of people—and I bet I can get you another job.”
“Who’s your dad?”
She doesn’t look at me when she says it but she’s not trying to blind me with the heel of her shoe, so I see it as progress. “Niles Lowery.”
“Niles Lowery.” The corner of her mouth lifts, more grimace than actual smile. “He sounds important.”
I’d never really thought about it before but something about her tone tightens my jaw. “I guess.”
“People like your dad and that jackhole in his ivory tower—they’re what’s wrong with this world.” The jackhole in the ivory tower can only be Jonas Knightly. I don’t disagree.