Chapter 5
Ella
The elevator ride down is quiet.
My mind keeps circling the same place I’ve been trying not to look—what happened after I left. The sound. The bang.
By the time the doors slide open into the lobby, I’ve almost convinced myself it was nothing.
Almost.
I step out and spot Chester. He’s our building’s gossip column, always knowing things before anyone else does. He looks up from whatever he’s pretending to work on and smiles like he’s been waiting for an audience.
“Morning,” I say, already slowing. “What’s the scoop today, Chester?”
He brightens immediately.
“The lady in 2C brought home a pet snake that I don’t think should be allowed in the building. Guy in 5A’s girlfriend threw his clothes out the window at three in the morning—very theatrical.”
I smile despite myself. “Anything actually dangerous?”
“Oh. And the tall guy from 6B just walked through here with what looked like bloody knuckles.”
My smile dies.
He tilts his head, considering me. Then lowers his voice a notch. “Didn’t hear it from me.”
I keep walking, but something in his tone makes me stop.
I turn back. “Sorry—what?”
He squints, as if replaying the image. “Yeah, he speed-walked right through here, muttering to whoever he was on the phone with about heading to emerg.”
My skin goes cold.
6B.
My thoughts spiral, and suddenly I can hear it again—the sound from last night.
Oh God.
Something did happen. And it’s my fault.
“I—uh—thanks, Chester,” I say, already backing toward the doors.
He frowns. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” I lie, pushing them open. “Totally.”
I’m halfway outside before I remember to call back, “Bye, Chester!”
Then I’m gone, heart racing, the morning suddenly way too bright.
I know this is my fault.
Ugh. I need to at least check on him, right? Or apologize? Say thank you?
I quickly dial Ashton.
She answers on the first ring. “Ashton’s House of Self-Loathing, how may I direct your shame?”
“I’m gonna be late.” I pant as I sprint toward the crosswalk. Why are these blocks so damn long?
She groans. “How late?”
“Just… late.” I pick up speed and nearly collide with a pedestrian holding his phone toward the sky, as if he just discovered he can take pictures with it.
“Why are you out of breath? Did you start exercising again?”
“Not funny, Ashton.” I push past a slow walker. “I’ll be, like, thirty minutes. Tops. I just have to check something.”
“Your blood pressure?
“Bye!”
“Wait—don’t forget about the noon delivery—”
“Yeah, yeah!” I hang up and mutter to myself, “I’ll be back on time. Probably.”
Order? What order?
The ER is already chaos when I push through the doors.
Voices. Phones ringing. Someone is arguing with a receptionist. Someone else coughs like they’re dying. The air smells like antiseptic and scorched coffee.
I stop just inside, chest heaving, and scan the room.
He’s not here.
The waiting area is full of strangers. No familiar broad shoulders. No dark hair. No sign of 6B.
My stomach sinks.
Maybe Chester was wrong. Maybe he already left. Maybe I’m too late.
I turn slowly, already preparing to walk back out—
And that’s when I see him.
Not where I expected. Not up front.
He’s near the double doors down the hall, half-turned toward a nurse, one hand wrapped in gauze.
Nathan.
For a second, I just stand there, trying to make my lungs work again.
Then he shifts, and the doors swing open behind him, and he disappears inside.
What am I supposed to do? Yell “Nathan!” across the ER like a lunatic?
I raise my hand slightly, awkwardly, like I’m flagging down a server at a diner—right as he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with someone next to me.
I mouth, “hi.” Just mouth it. I don’t say it. I’m mute, apparently, and my hand is still in the air like an idiot.
Something tugs on my shirt.
“You can go next,” says a tiny voice. Where the hell is that coming from?
I turn and find a little girl, maybe six or seven, with a pink cast and a gap-toothed grin, looking up at me. She offers a sage nod.
“Huh?”
“You’re raising your hand. You can go before me. I hate the doctor anyway.”
“Oh, uh—no, that’s not it. I was just—” Lower your hand, Ella. Lower it!
I quickly hide behind the counter while Nathan walks back out. A pretty, young doctor stands next to him. I mean, I’m assuming she’s a doctor; she’s wearing a white coat. “Seriously, Nathan, still getting into fights?”
I duck my head down and try to listen through the chaos.
“Hey, miss.” The little girl joins me behind the counter. “Why are you hiding?”
Seriously, though, where are her parents?
“I’m…” Wait, where did he go? Slowly, I stand to my full height and look around.
The receptionist slams an iced coffee onto her stand right next to me. Her gaze flicks in my direction. “Hi. What are your symptoms? Birthday? Did you register yet?”
“She was next!” the little girl pipes up again.
“Oh, perfect!” The receptionist grins just as the doctor and Nathan start walking toward us.
I hide behind a pillar, and the little girl laughs. I mime a shush with my finger against my lips, practically begging for her to stop.
The doctor speaks to Nathan. “Like I said, you’ll be just fine. The stitches will dissolve on their own.”
Nathan looks up at her unfazed as though splitting a knuckle is a weekly thing. “Thank you, Dr. Annabelle,” he says and walks out the front door without spotting me.
Ten minutes later, I have a plastic bracelet on and a spot in Quick Care. As soon as the coast is clear, I cancel my “appointment” and run like I am being chased by logic.
By the time I make it back to the bakery, breathless and soaked in guilt-sweat, Ashton has the delivery already packed in the van.
“That,” she says, tossing a final box of muffins next to the tower, “was more than thirty minutes.”
She turns, hands on her hips, eyes laser-focused on my wrists. “Why are you wearing a hospital bracelet?”
“I don’t really know, if I’m being honest.”
I tug at it, as if it might disappear on command. I’m going to need scissors.
“Can you text me the address?” A small bead of sweat chooses that moment to take its journey down the small of my back into my new jeans.
“You’re sweating.”
“It’s hot.”
“Uh-huh. Are you sure you’re okay? I can do the drop-off if you want. It’s just a quick contract signature.” She hands me the work iPad, and I jump into our delivery van, slam it into drive, and take off to the Union Tower Building “RMA.” Our biggest order yet.
I may be a hot mess, but there is something about the owner delivering the product, especially on the first delivery. It’s a nice touch. It shows I care.
The elevator doors at Union Tower glare back at me like they know I don’t belong.
I adjust the muffin tower with one arm, balance the coffee tray with the other, and give the button panel a solid jab. The elevator lets out a loud ding.
“I swear if this elevator drops…” I hiss at the precarious cold brew jug. “…I’m gonna lose my mind.
Minutes later, the elevator opens on the sixteenth floor.
I move fast—too fast—sign in at reception, grab the badge with a sticky note slapped on it.
Follow the long hall. Turn left. First conference room.
Glass walls. Frosted doors. Voices inside.
I don’t knock.
I push in—
And immediately lose my footing.
The room flips.
The tray tips.
Coffee goes everywhere.
Cups hit the floor. A lid pops off. Something splashes across my wrist. I stumble, catch myself on the edge of the table, and still end up on one knee, surrounded by a small disaster of muffins, cups, and napkins.
Silence.
Not polite silence.
The kind that means I just ruined something expensive.
“I’m so—” I start, then look up.
And freeze. At the head of the table—
Nathan.
He’s already standing.
Our eyes lock.
For half a second, neither of us moves.
Then he says quietly, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yes. I—God, I’m so sorry,” I say, already scrambling to gather things.
He comes around the table and kneels to help me.
And then—
He stops. His gaze isn’t on the coffee. It’s not on the mess.
It’s on my shoes. My Chuck Taylors.
He just… stares.
Like he’s somewhere else entirely. Like he’s seeing something I can’t.
“You ok?” I say, confused.
He flinches like he’s been pulled out of water. Straightens.
All the color drains from his face. “I—” he starts.
He doesn’t finish. He just turns and walks out of the room. Doesn’t say anything to me. Doesn’t say anything to them.
Just leaves. The door closes behind him.
I’m still kneeling on the floor, surrounded by spilled coffee.
And about twelve silent, well-dressed strangers.
Slowly, I look down at my shoes, then back up at the room.
No one says a word.
My face burns.
“Uh,” I manage. “Sorry about… all of this.”
Minutes later, I’m returning my visitor badge. The receptionist smiles at me, answers the phone, and grabs my badge. I wave and look up behind her.
The plaque mounted just above her desk reads:
REIGN MANAGEMENT AGENCY
My jaw drops. “Oh.” Shit. “Oh, no.”
Of all the stupid Wattpad-coded single girl stories! I did not have CEO on the bucket list.
With a shaky exhale, I walk out to the van and nearly get clipped by a biker.
“Watch it, bro!” he warns without stopping.
“I’m NOT YOUR brO!” I yell back a bit too aggressively, then I calmly get into my van and drive to the bakery.
After I park, I climb out and head toward the building.
That’s when the sound of someone running in my direction reaches me.
I turn quickly and assume a stance that can only be described as something from Kung Fu Panda.
But it’s just a jogger, feet rhythmically pounding the pavement.
Embarrassed, I power walk the rest of the way to the bakery and fling open the door. The bell clangs above me.
Ashton looks up from behind the counter and stops.
“Ella?”
I just stand there for a second. I set my bag down. I try to take a breath that actually reaches my lungs.
“You okay?” she asks, already stepping around the counter.
“I dropped the catering order,” I say.
She blinks. “Dropped it?”
“It went everywhere.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “Were you hurt?”
“No. Just… very aware of myself. It’s his company,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “Who?”
“6B…Nathan…Elevator guy.”
“He was leading the meeting.”
Ashton’s face changes. The humor drains out of it.
“Well, that’s one way to make an entrance, Ella,” she says finally.
I lean my hands on the counter and stare at the floor.
Hours later, it’s late afternoon when the bell over the door jingles.
I look up automatically—and my pulse stutters.
Nathan walks in.
Not in his suit jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Knuckles bandaged. No one is with him. Just him.
He looks around once, then his eyes find mine.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I manage.
He comes up to the counter like any other customer. No rush. No awkward hovering.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says simply.
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m fine. Really. I’m so sorry about earlier, that was—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, easy, not dismissive. “It happens.”
I don’t believe him, but I appreciate the mercy.
“I didn’t mean to cause… a scene,” I say, already reaching for a cup, because apparently, I’d rather hide behind coffee than my own dignity.
I gesture down to his bandaged knuckles. “Are you ok?”
He nods. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”
We both pause.
“Can I get you something?”
A beat.
Then a small, genuine smile. “Coffee would be great.”
“Coming right up.”
I turn toward the machine before he can see my face.
Next to me, Ashton’s jaw drops open like a cartoon character.
I elbow her sharply. She just keeps staring. "Any day," she whispers, then flinches, clearly horrified at herself immediately after.
Nathan’s brows twitch upward slightly.
I pass him the coffee, sliding the cup into his hand, and for one brief second, his fingers brush mine. It’s like touching a live wire. Not painful. Just...sharp. Real.
He watches me for a moment. Not smiling but softer, somehow.
“Thank you,” he says, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.
He turns, walking out, the bell jingling at his departure.
I practically collapse against the counter when the door closes behind him.
Ashton lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “So…that’s him?”
“Yup.”
She pats me on the head. “I’ll pray for you.”
Closing time, finally. It’s one of those nights where the air feels soft instead of heavy, the kind that makes you want to walk instead of calling an Uber.
Ashton helps me rally together all the leftover food from the bakery—muffins, croissants, a couple of bagels—and I stuff them into a brown paper bag before we head out into the sun-soaked streets.
“Hang on,” I tell her, lifting the bag. “I just wanna drop this off to a guy who usually sits…”
But when I look down the block, the spot’s empty. No Larry.
My steps falter. “Huh.” I bite the inside of my cheek, scanning the sidewalk. “He’s always right here.”
Ashton glances at me. “Maybe he just moved to another corner?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, though the thought sticks like a splinter. I hope he’s okay… wherever he is.
Ashton slips the bag from my hand. “Come on, I’ll take it home. Free carbs are never a bad idea.”
Twenty steps of silence later, and Ashton finally blurts. “So… Nathan. Shall we dissect?”
I groan. “I knew the silence was too much to ask for. Please don’t.”
But she’s already in full investigative mode, her tone clinical, like she’s presenting evidence in court. “Tall. Broad. Keeps to himself. Shows signs of anger.”
“He does not,” I cut in, though my brain immediately replays the image of his bandaged hand.
Ashton arches a brow. “You sure about that? Because I’m leaning toward mysterious, possibly violent, but in a vigilante way. Hmm…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Could he be Batman?”
I shoot her a look.
“What? It fits. Think about it, disappears for days, always looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world, definitely has the jawline for a cowl.”
“Stop analyzing him like you’re writing a dissertation.”
Her grin is downright menacing and innocent all at once. “Just connecting the dots.”
I shake my head, heat creeping up my neck. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe. But if your neighbor starts brooding on rooftops at night, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And despite myself, I laugh.
I highly doubt he’s brooding over anything, least of all me, but the thought does make me smile—way longer than it should.