16
“You said the elevator was fixed and the poster was fake,” Ambrose huffs out from next to me.
We are supposed to be on the fifth floor for a meeting with the board members in thirty minutes. And now we are stuck in this elevator, which has suddenly shut down.
How fucking great.
Just my luck to be stuck with her. Except the thought isn’t as maddening as I thought it would be. Not after what I know now.
“Well done for being so smart and still using a broken elevator and making me use it too,” she grumbles.
She’s glaring at me as if it’s my fault. I only purposely set that sign outside the elevator to make her job difficult and gave her the work to keep going up and down.
Except, now the broken elevator is actually broken, and I am stuck with her, of all people.
“Are you putting the blame on me?” I point to myself.
She crosses her arms, narrows her sharp eyes, and turns to face me.
“Yes. I am.”
From here, I can clearly see the deep chestnut colour in her eyes that I never noticed before and a small mole right on top of her upper lip. Her eyes hold a familiar annoyance towards me.
It feels so familiar, so soothing, and yet chaotic.
We fit like this. Always arguing, always against each other, yet still have that feeling of familiarity.
And I hate to admit the fact that I truly look forward to having a moment alone with her.
“I could fire you for running your mouth with me like this.”
She crooks a brow, as if daring me to. “Yeah? Go ahead, I would love to see you try.” She looks so cocky right now, as if she knows I can’t simply do that. And it’s true, a small part of me doesn’t want to let this little plaything go.
“I can send you a letter stating you are fired just like I did before. So don’t test me, Ambrose.”
She huffs, looking to the side before sliding those champagne-coloured eyes back to me.
“Right, and you think I won’t fight back? Remember that I, too, am a board member.”
I take a step closer to her, getting in her personal space, eyes narrowed. The urge to bend her over my knee to shut that sassy mouth of hers is pretty strong.
“Why didn’t you just settle for that? Why make both of our lives difficult and be here?”
She clenches her hands into fists; a sign that she is very angry and trying to control it.
“Why would I when this company was supposed to be mine?” Her jaw tics, but her voice is firm and laced with loathing.
“And where is that written in your dear father’s will?”
She blinks, and her eyes burn brighter than ever.
“You—” She jabs a finger into my chest, but I grab hold of it and pull her, making her smash against my chest.
“Let go!” She struggles, but she can’t match my strength, and I smirk.
“Stop fighting, Emerald. Let the company go, and we can both live peacefully.”
She rises to her tiptoes and narrows her eyes at me. She’s five-foot-nine and doesn’t come close to my six-foot-two, even with her heels.
“You will never win, Mr Nashwood.”
I lean forward, dangerously close to her. Our lips hover right next to each other. Our breaths mingle. Her perfume dances with my cologne. And I catch her pulse throbbing on the side of her neck.
“Let… go,” she whispers. Her eyes drop to my lips for a fraction.
“Never,” I murmur, letting her feel the words against her lips.
Something electric stings my lips as they graze against hers. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch her, to rake my hands through her hair, wishing those perfect lips were wet like the last time I’d seen them this close.
I lose against my fight and raise my finger to her lips, feathering my fingertip across them. Her mouth opens in a gasp. My heart explodes in a pounding clamour; I can feel each beat against my chest painfully.
“Ambrose, you—” My back meets the elevator walls.
Blinking, I realise she pushed me.
Her chest heaves as she mindlessly touches her lips.
“You…you touched me!” she stammers.
My ears are still drumming, so I shut my eyes and let my head fall back to rest against the elevator wall. I open my eyes after a second and watch her frown, biting her lip.
God, I should be the one doing that. I was close. So close.
“Stop biting that lip, Ambrose, or I will not stop this time.”
Her eyes snap to mine but not in anger this time. In those champagne orbs, fire boils, drowning out the loathing and letting her desire for me show.
She instantly lets her lip go and crosses her arms.
“I would like to see you try. Don’t touch me again.”
I hold in my remark, hold in the words that could have us standing with hands around each other’s throats. Spending a few moments alone with Ambrose is equivalent to summoning death and madness upon myself.
If she is fire, then I am the oil that feeds its flames.
If she is life, then I am the reaper.
All of that ends in death and destruction.
Never destined to be together.
Enemies.
We only are good against each other, ready to stake a claim and fight over anything we desire. And as in every war, there is only one winner, and I will be damned if it isn’t me.
So, I stay quiet. Ten minutes pass. I can’t forget she’s stuck in here with me and certainly can’t stop my eyes from going back to her every minute, regardless of the fact that I was ready to throttle her mere minutes ago.
And I manage to notice a few more things about her.
Like the white long-sleeved dress she is wearing. It reaches her calves and looks beautiful against her skin colour. The neck of the dress is high despite the heat that bathes London for the first time since I’ve been here. Her hair is tied up in a slicked-back ponytail with a side part, and the sharp eyeliner on her eyes and the emerald bracelet she has on almost make me smile.
There’s my little finding of the day.
“Did you cut your hair, Emerald?” I reach for the shorter ponytail, but she steps back with a frown.
“Don’t touch me.”
I chuckle at her small huff.
A cute frown of disbelief paints her face.
“You did, didn’t you?” I can tell she doesn’t believe that I noticed, but I did.
“Cute.” I wink at her with a grin, hoping to rile her up more.
Her nostrils flare, and her lips purse, her jaw tightening.
“Don’t call me cute. Do you hear me calling you—” Her mouth snaps closed.
“It’s okay. You can say what is on your mind. I’ll let it slide this once,” I coo.
She takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly.
“No, sir. Nothing for me today here. Let’s just wait in silence.” She turns away from me and steps back against the elevator, her eyes fixed on the wall ahead.
She thinks calling me sir will remind me who she is to me, but that doesn’t faze me. If anything, it makes me want to smile at her for trying her best.
I lean back against the back of the elevator too, crossing my feet at my ankles with my files on the floor. Every once in a while, I glance over at her, but she’s never looking at me.
The third time my eyes stray back to her, her eyes are closed, and that’s when I take my chance to take my fill.
The one question that has been running through my mind is why do I still stand outside her house every night when I see her every day at the office? Remo only asked me to monitor her so she was in my sight, but I hired her, so there is no need for me to follow her shopping, watch her do yoga at night, or find her social media accounts and stalk her online. I definitely shouldn’t look at each smiling picture, each post about her shopping, each selfie with the mayor’s daughter, and the many shots of her dressed in the most impeccable clothes that make her look like royalty and out of everyone’s reach. The thirsty bastards in the comments didn’t help to keep my annoyance in check.
There was also no need to know how much she loves eating different kinds of salads, watches reality TV a lot, loves thrillers, and loves the smell and sound of rain.
I love catching glimpses of her everyday routine. Sitting on the yoga mat every night and taking deep breaths. Watering the big plants in her room and petting them as if they are beloved pets. The bowls of fruit she brings upstairs with her sometimes while she reads magazines accompanied by a face mask.
My eyes trail from her nose down to her lips and the small mole I noticed on the other side of her face, but I stop at her lips. The bottom lip is slightly bigger than the top one painted a peachy brown.
It occurs to me that this is the first time there has ever been silence between us and we are both calm. I feel like I can hear every single beat of my heart, can feel every intake of my breath. It stutters the minute my eyes shamelessly trail down her body, taking in the way the dress hugs her gorgeous figure.
I find myself so captivated that I am leaning closer without intending to, to inhale the perfume she always wears. The fresh scent makes me close my eyes to commit it to my memory.
Until I feel the elevator jump and shake.