Chapter 1
CAROLINE
My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I’m not even in the office yet. This girl isn’t made for office work, not because I think I’m too good for it, but because it gives me jitters just to think of all the socializing I’ll have to do.
God, I hate socializing.
Emails telling me what to do? I love them. Quick group calls so the boss can update us on the project? I can do that. Meeting people face-to-face and having to pretend I enjoy small talk? Not so much.
My hands sweat as I climb the front steps into the monumental building.
It’s so tall I have to crane my neck back, and even so, I can’t see the upper floors.
They’re covered in the early morning fog.
The mirrored surface reflects the gray sky above my head, and then the vision disappears as I cross the sliding doors into the air-conditioned space.
Mom always told me I was too shy. Too closed off.
I like the word introverted best. I don’t do well with people, and the solutions brought by technology are amazing.
Emails, messages. Ever since I started working for Jackson Visual Design Solutions in the last year, I have never had to come to the offices.
With everyone working from home, I had a blast.
It was going so well. Why did Mr. Jackson want us to go back to the office?
Yeah, I got the emails saying working together might help our creativity, but I don’t like it.
Mr. Jackson doesn’t need to take a crowded subway, I bet.
He doesn’t need to balance on heels. No, that’s me, dragging a huge folder under my arm, tripping on the broken sidewalk, sweating with nerves.
I had to buy pencil skirts and button-down blouses and a pair of black heels that squeeze my toes together.
They didn’t give me money for the uniform, though the HR vehemently suggested buying some.
At least it’s just a part-time job. Then I change into flats and run for my afternoon classes, and then home.
To my tiny studio and instant noodles, and my free time filled with drawing my comics.
A smile teases at the corners of my lips as I stride to the elevators.
My comics are what get me going. Short stories about a girl with social anxiety, facing the world.
It’s basically a journal for me, but so many people see themselves in my day-to-day.
So many people contact me to say they relate, and they feel understood. That’s what gets me going.
With this part-time job, I can pay the rent, and I can buy noodles and save money so I can, one day, release a book with a collection of my comics. That will change everything. I know it.
I stick a finger to the elevator button, enjoying the air conditioning on my warm skin.
The door opens and I step inside, seeing myself in the mirror.
Oh, no. The cold air is making my nipples hard, and the white blouse is more see-through than I expected.
Damnit. And I don’t even have a cardigan or something.
The elevator doors are about to close when someone sticks a hand inside.
The doors open to reveal the tallest man I’ve ever seen.
My eye level hits the top of his stomach, and I lift my eyes to his chest, then crane my neck to see his face.
He stares back at me, vivid green eyes on a face full of sharp features, from his jaw to his nose.
Dark hair combed back, stubble across his chin.
The man is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
He’s handsome, but in a fierce, rough way.
Broad shoulders, thick as a log, he’s at odds with the well-tailored suit, vacuumed to his huge biceps and across his chest.
We stare and stare, then I notice I’m standing in the middle of the elevator. What a fool. My cheeks growing warm, I step away, giving him space to join me. He does, quietly standing across from me. The doors silently close.
His musky scent fills the tight space. I flare my nostrils and breathe it in. God, he smells so good. I’m so busy smelling him, it takes me a moment to understand why the lights are blinking.
The elevator jerks to a stop. I stumble, reaching a hand to the wall to keep my balance.
The man next to me grasps my elbow, stopping my fall.
The lights blink again, then go out. We’re covered in darkness for a couple of my rushing heartbeats before the emergency lights come on, their red glow turning everything strange, alien.
My heart shoots to my throat. I step closer to the wall, pressing my back to the cold metal.
The man next to me reaches into his pocket for his phone, looks at the screen, then clucks his tongue and puts it away again.
No signal, I bet. He turns to the panel next to the door and presses the emergency button.
A fog grows in my head. I hear him saying something, but I can’t comprehend the words.
I blink and blink, but it doesn’t clear my slow mind.
My heartbeat races and my breath grows shallow. The elevator jerks again.
He turns to me. “It’s alright. They’ll be coming for us.” He arches an eyebrow, then steps closer. “You okay?”
In the back of my head, I notice how hoarse his voice is. How it warms my blood, even when I’m two steps from passing out. “No,” I blurt out.
I expect him to say how annoying I am. To roll his eyes and laugh at me. To pull his phone out again and distract himself, not giving me a second thought. Instead, he reaches out, both hands gripping my elbows, keeping me grounded.
“Take a deep breath,” he says, and his chest rises as he takes in air.
I try to copy him, but my throat closes in on itself. Tears sting at my eyes. I shake my head, and I can’t say a thing.
He takes my hand in his and presses it to his chest. “Focus on taking air in. Slowly.” And he breathes in again.
I feel his hard chest beneath my palm, rising with the air.
Pressing my eyes shut, I force my chest up, and air rushes in.
“Again,” he urges, and I breathe out, then in.
He goes through these motions with me for what feels like forever.
Never does it feel like he’s impatient; never does he make me feel like I’m bothering him.
My cheeks flare with embarrassment. His warm fingers hold me tight, and I can only wonder how silly I must look. Almost passing out from being stuck in an elevator. I peek up at him, and he stares at me with those serious, fierce eyes. Does he think I’m stupid?
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, standing by myself.
“Don’t be,” he says, gaze pinning me to the spot. “You’re alright, and that’s what matters.”
His words make me feel even more self-conscious. Why would he care? He doesn’t know me. At the same time, I can’t help but melt at what he says. No one ever said something like that to me even if I’m already twenty-one. It takes me by surprise.
And when I look up, there’s a fire in his eyes.
He swallows, and I lean closer, taking in his smell.
His eyes devour me, and I remember my hard nipples.
Sticking his tongue out, he licks along his lips, eyes fastened on me.
I press my thighs together, but wetness soaks my panties.
What am I doing? I’ve never felt this warm in my whole life.
His fingers stroke up my arms, and I arch my back.
Another kind of fog takes my head, and I want him to touch me.
I want his hands on me. I want to find out if his palms are soft or rough, rough like the rest of him...
My body cries out for his. For a man I’ve just met, a man whose name I don’t know. Even so, I can’t stop thinking about him, about feeling him up, about his hands on me. He parts his lips to say something, and his scent intoxicates me.
The door opens an inch. Light pours in and I slam my eyes shut. His hands keep me close, even as I try to step away. Voices reach us, telling us it’ll be alright. In moments, the elevator is working again, and the doors open.
A firefighter offers a hand and helps me out. “You alright, miss?”
“Yeah,” I blurt out, my cheeks hot with what I was thinking moments ago.
“Bad luck, right?” he says, smiling and jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “The secretary said you lot were just coming back to the office, right? After working a year remote.”
I shrug, trying to look dismissive even as my heart rushes inside my chest. “Yeah. If only Mr. Jackson wasn’t a jerk, he wouldn’t have asked us to come in, and that wouldn’t have happened.”
A girl in a pencil skirt shorter than mine, heels higher than mine, and a blouse revealing her cleavage races closer. She’s blonde, unlike my dark hair, and tanned, unlike my pale skin. She ignores me and goes straight for the hot stranger, still standing next to me.
“Thank God you’re safe, Mr. Jackson,” she says, and her words sink into me like lead.
Oh, no. I badmouthed the boss while he was standing next to me. Shame makes goosebumps race down my skin. I can’t even look at him. He says nothing else as he follows the secretary further into the office floor, and I’m left standing on marshmallow legs, my heart racing.
Not only was I lusting after my rich boss, but I also insulted him to his face. It will be a miracle if I keep this job.