2. Drew
DREW
Under any other circumstances,the idiot responsible for this elevator malfunction would be out on their ass before they could say “severance package.”
But today, I’m willing to cut them some slack.
Because I am officially stuck in our office elevator with my future wife.
My heart races as I take in her long dark hair cascading down her back, her sexy curves, and those gorgeous pouty lips.
She’s young. Probably too young. It’s written all over her face. In the uncertainty of her posture. The way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve.
But fuck if that doesn’t add fuel to the fire churning in my gut.
The age difference should be a stop sign, but it feels more like a challenge.
“How long do you think it will take for them to rescue us?” The woman asks as she licks her lips nervously. My cock stirs as I imagine those lips wrapped around it, and I bite back a groan.
“Depends.” I rub the back of my neck, buying myself a second to get a grip. “Could be minutes. Maybe longer, depending on what the issue is.”
“Oh no. I was afraid you were going to say that.” She presses herself into the corner and clutches at the railing behind her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as her breaths come shorter and faster.
I step closer. “I’m sure they’ll have us out in no time.”
She doesn’t respond. She just shakes her head slightly, her eyes wide and fixed on the unyielding doors.
Shit. She’s having a panic attack.
Instinctively, I pull her against my chest and fold my arms around her. She’s a tremor against me, all soft curves and warm skin, sending a jolt of lust straight through me.
“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” I murmur, feeling her short gasps against my chest. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She nods into my shirt. “Sorry,” she whispers, her voice muffled. “I’m claustrophobic.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” I rub her back in slow circles. “Focus on my voice, okay?”
Desire wars with concern in my gut. I shouldn’t be holding her like this, shouldn’t be taking advantage of her vulnerability. But I can’t make myself let go.
I need to distract her, anything to help her ride this out.
My gaze falls to her bag, splayed open with its contents partially visible. An opera brochure peeks out, the glossy paper catching the dim emergency light. Grasping at straws, I seize on it.
“Opera, huh?” I ask, my tone light. “You a fan, or is that just for show?”
“Um...” Her voice is a faint whisper against the fabric of my shirt. “I guess you could say I’m a fan.” There’s a hesitation before she pulls back slightly, enough to meet my eyes. “Although, in this case, I guess a better word is volunteer.”
“Oh?”
“My sister and I are part of the Fit Mountain Opera House volunteer committee. They’re holding a charity performance of the Sound of Music next Saturday to raise money for local music programs.”
“Interesting. Are you volunteering your singing talents?”
She laughs. “No, definitely not. I’m behind the scenes. Mostly last-minute details—confirming guest lists, organizing seating arrangements, and making sure everything runs smoothly on opening night.”
“Sounds like a big deal,” I reply, trying to keep the conversation going as she regains control over her breathing. “You into all that? Charity work, I mean.”
“I love it,” she breathes out, and I believe her. There’s a passion in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a spark that makes her even more irresistible. “It feels good to give back, you know?”
“It does. Although I’ll admit, I’m not much of an opera guy.”
Charity galas aren’t exactly my scene. I’m usually the guy writing the checks, not the one mingling in the crowd. But suddenly, I’m fantasizing about escorting her, showing her off as mine, and the idea is too fucking enticing.
“Me neither, at first.” She looks up and gives me a shy smile. “But it grows on you.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” I reply with a low chuckle.
At that moment, the elevator lights flicker again, interrupting whatever thought I had.
A voice crackles through the intercom. “Mr. Donovan, are you both alright in there?”
“Fine,” I answer gruffly. “Just get the damn doors open.”
“Right away, sir. You’ll be out shortly.”
I loosen my hold on the woman in my arms, and she steps back, putting distance between us. It’s probably for the best, but fuck if I don’t immediately miss her warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispers, looking up at me with those doe eyes that seem to see right through me. “For helping me stay calm.”
“Anytime.”
The rescue crew starts working on the other side of the doors, their voices muffled but urgent, and I know our time alone is running out. But I can’t let this be the last time I see her.
“Hey, before we get out of here,” I start, scratching the back of my neck, “I’m Drew, by the way. Drew Donovan.”
“Eliza.” A small smile plays on those pouty lips that have driven me crazy since the lights went out. “Eliza Parker.”
Parker. The name slams into me like a sucker punch. Parker as in...
No, it can’t be.
My brain scrambles to make sense of it, but there’s no mistaking the wide-eyed innocence staring back at me.
“As in, my secretary, Eliza Parker?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, each one hitting harder than the last.
Her nod is timid, almost apologetic, and it dawns on me—of course she’s my damn secretary. The soft voice over conference calls, the impeccably organized emails... How did I not see it?
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. She should be off-limits.
She is off-limits.
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. “Baby, what are you doing at the office on a Saturday?”
Eliza blushes at my words, then blinks at me as if the answer should be obvious.
“You emailed me, Mr. Donovan. You said you needed the reports by the end of today.” She bites her lip. “The Wi-Fi at my apartment is out, so I had to come here to finish my assignment.”
Damn. I did send that email. “Right... well, those reports can wait until Monday,” I tell her, trying to ease the tension in my voice.
The elevator doors groan open, and we’re rescued from our awkward confinement. For a moment, we stand there in silence, both of us unsure what to say next.
“Well, um…,” Eliza breaks the silence with a shy smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was nice to finally meet you, Mr. Donovan.”
I clear my throat before responding, “Likewise.”
“I’m going to head out, but I’ll have those reports for you on Monday.”
“Thank you, Eliza. Have a good weekend.”
As she walks away, I watch her retreating figure disappear around the corner.
Fuck.
“Who’s that?” My brother Heath’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he appears in the hallway. He’s got that smirk on his face, the one that says he’s spotted something interesting. His eyes trail after Eliza, and I feel a possessive heat flare up inside me.
“None of your fucking business,” I bark out before my brain catches up with my mouth.
Heath holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, bro. I was just teasing.” Then he smirks. “Although, if you’re going to kick my ass over a woman, the least you could do is tell me her name.”
“Her name is Eliza,” I snap. “She’s my virtual assistant.”
Heath quirks a brow. “What’s she doing at the office?”
“Nevermind that.” I quickly change the subject, eager to steer clear of this dangerous territory. “Who handles our elevator maintenance?”
“Jim from Technical Services. Why?”
“Give Jim a raise.”
Heath looks taken aback for a moment, then lets out a short laugh. “For what? Didn’t you just get stuck in the elevator?”
“Just do it.”
For a moment, we’re both silent, Heath studying me curiously. Then he finally nods in agreement and walks away.
As he leaves, my mind drifts back to Donovan Enterprises—the empire that my father and his brothers built from scratch.
The empire that my brothers and I now run together.
As triplets, we’ve always had an uncanny knack for being in sync, which can be both a blessing and a curse—like nosing into each other’s business when least wanted.
I turn and make my way to my office, shutting the door behind me. My hands find their way to my hair, raking through the strands as I pace back and forth like a caged animal.
Eliza Parker. She’s been hiding behind that screen for months, her voice a soft melody in my ear during conference calls—polite, professional, untouchable. And now I’m burning for her, craving the taste of someone I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
The complications are endless. Her family hates my guts, and she’s my goddamn assistant. The risk is monumental.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath.
I sink into my leather chair, elbows on the desk, fingers pressed to my temples. Think, Drew. There has to be a way to get closer without crossing lines that could screw us both over.
A slow grin spreads across my face as the perfect plan takes shape.
I grab my phone and start typing.