The Space Between Us

Chapter One: Eighteen Floors

Elara Madison hated being late more than she hated rainy days—and today, she was dealing with both.

With her soaked blazer clinging to her arms and a Starbucks cup dangerously close to spilling, she dashed into the Whitestone Publishing building just as the elevator doors began to close.

“Hold it!” she cried, shoving her hand between the panels.

A firm hand reached out to press the “Open Door” button. She stumbled inside, breathing hard, grateful and embarrassed all at once.

“Thanks,” she muttered, wiping raindrops off her glasses.

The man beside her didn’t respond immediately. He was focused on the thick stack of papers in his hands. But when he finally looked up, Elara froze.

He was handsome in that effortless, intimidating way—clean-cut, tailored navy suit, eyes like cold brew: dark, sharp, alert.

“You’re going to spill that,” he said.

“What?” she blinked.

“Your coffee. You’re holding it like it offended you.”

She looked down. Her white knuckles gripped the cardboard cup like it owed her money.

“I guess I’m a little nervous. First day,” she admitted.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the upside-down ID badge hanging from her lanyard. “So I gathered.”

Elara flushed. “You read upside-down too? Is that part of the welcome tour?”

He offered a faint smile. “Only for interns with a death grip on caffeine.”

Before she could respond, the elevator chimed.

“Eighteenth floor,” he said. “That’s editorial.”

Her eyes widened. “You know where I’m going?”

“I should.” He stepped out and turned to her. “I’m Rowan Whitestone.”

Oh. Oh.

Her stomach dropped.

“Rowan—as in Whitestone Publishing?”

He nodded, amused by her horror. “That’s the one.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I’m so sorry I—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “Relax. Don’t spill the coffee.”

As he walked down the hall, Elara could only stare at his back.

Welcome to Whitestone.