The Thirteenth Floor

Ding!

The instant the elevator doors slide open I begin to fervently pray a hole will open up in the ground and swallow me whole.

Of all the people in this godforsaken building, why does it have to be him?

Today was supposed to be a good day. No, scratch that. Today was supposed to be a great day. It started off with so much potential, I can’t help but feel ripped off.

Ten hours ago I woke up bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to face the day. (This in itself is a pretty monumental feat, considering my roommate once told me my spirit animal must be a sloth.)

Sipping on the green juice I usually never have time to make, I bounced my way over to the mirror only to discover my hair was doing this cute, flippy thing that rarely ever happens.

Ok...in the interest of full disclosure, it’s never happened. Today was the first great hair day I’ve ever had in thirty trips around the sun.

Anyways, the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and I was thinking about how happy I was that it was a long weekend when….splat.

Yep.

A bird shat on my head.

All over my once-in-a-lifetime, uncharacteristically perfect hair.

Then—as if that weren’t enough—right when I opened my mouth to let out a blood-curdling scream another bird decided to get in on the action.

So there I was, gagging and spitting on the sidewalk with my mouth and no-longer-perfect hair full of bird feces when I heard the sound of male laughter.

Not just any male, either.

Nope, to my horror, I recognized that low, sexy chuckle, and it belonged to my coworker-slash-evil-nemesis, Dylan Borden. Literally the last person on earth I’d have chosen to run into at that particular moment. Any moment really, but definitely that one.

Needless to say, things went downhill from there.

In an effort to maintain whatever shred of dignity I (possibly) had left, I refused any and all assistance from Dylan and insisted I was fine.

Unfortunately, the attack of the avians had also left me partially blinded, and I ran smack into a metal pole trying to get away from him. By the time I limped into the staff bathroom, I’d only just managed to stem the bleeding from my nose, and my new white blouse was ruined.

Upon discovering the only thing left in the lost and found was a long-abandoned ugly Christmas sweater, I should have heeded all the warning signs the universe was sending me and gone straight home.

Instead, I stuck around to get chewed out by my boss, Karl, for being late, then forced to listen to him tell me he was giving Dylan a project I’d been absolutely salivating over.

Because apparently, “Dylan knows the value of showing up for work on time.”

I wanted to point out all the days that Dylan had been late in the past year, but I knew it would only look petty. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to think I was paying attention to that sort of thing.

To him.

It was only that his desk is right beside the break room, and…

Anyways, I digress.

Where was I?

Right.

After I lost the Anderson Jewelry account, I slunk off to my desk only to discover it was my turn to have Karl’s son shadow me. Leo is twenty-one, full of hormones and attitude, and only comes in because his father managed to bribe someone to have his hours counted towards his community service.

Fast forward seven hours of listening to Leo share far too many personal details later, and all I want to do is go home and cry in the shower. Preferably while pretending I’m not ashamed that a 21-year-old knows more about sex—and is clearly getting more—than I do.

As it stands, the only thing coming between me and my wet dream (if you can call crying in the shower a wet dream), is an elevator full of Dylan Borden. He’s clearly spotted me, so I know I have no choice but to suck it up and spend the next 37 floors wishing I’d taken the stairs instead.

“Nice sweater,” he remarks, and I can see his trademark smirk in our mirrored reflection.

Not taking the bait, I remain silent, watching the numbers slowly tick down as we descend. I smell Dylan’s cologne, which is strong, spicy, and far more seductive than it should be, and hold my breath. While I stand straight and tense, his tall, muscular form is relaxed, leaning casually back against the wall.

“I’m sorry about the Anderson account.”

My eyes snap up to meet his through the mirror. “What?”

“Karl should have given it to you. You could do a much better job at capturing the brand image of a jewelry store than I’ll ever be able to.”

Is Dylan Borden being…nice to me?

Before I have a chance to process what the hell is going on, there is a horrific screeching sound, and everything goes black.

I don’t even realize I’m screaming until a hand clamps down on my arm.

“It’s okay,” Dylan says, his voice hoarse in my ear. “We’re fine. We’re stopping.” Even as he says the words I can feel the elevator come to a shuddering halt between floors.

I nod, and he cautiously takes his hand away. Through the slight glow that I recognize as coming from his cell phone, I can just make out his shadowy features.

“What do we do?” My voice is shaky, and I can feel my hands tremble as I brush my hair out of my face.

Dylan doesn’t reply, but reaches out for the emergency call button, pressing it in repeatedly. When nothing happens he punches a few numbers into his phone, holding it up to his ear. Some of the light disappears, and I become aware of my ragged breathing.

Breathe in…one, two, three, four…

I try to remember what my therapist said about deep breathing, but give up as an ominous creaking sound echoes through the car.

“Oh dear God,” I whisper, reaching out for something, anything, to hold on to.

Dylan’s hand finds mine, his palm warm and secure. “Hey. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay, don’t worry.” His eyes shine in the dark, looking almost silver instead of the deep blue I know they are.

Once I’ve regained somewhat of a grip on myself, I force myself to let go of his hand. A moment later the lights flicker on, and some of my panic begins to recede. Dylan presses the call button again and this time it rings, connecting us to an emergency service who assures us there’s nothing to worry about, and that they'll be there within the hour.

Within the hour.

An hour of me trapped in an elevator with Dylan Borden.

My heart thrums in my chest like a hummingbird and it’s only when I see him staring at me with concern that I realize the strange wheezing sound I can hear is coming from my own throat.

“Sorry,” I gasp. “I don’t like small spaces." Or the idea of crashing down to imminent death.

To his credit, Dylan simply nods, then sits down on the floor, pulling the shoulder-strap of his bag over his head. It feels awkward to look down at him so I do the same, resting my back against the cool panel of the elevator. He’s rustling around for something in his bag, and I look away, not wanting to invade his privacy.

A second later I hear a familiar popping sound, and my head whips around just in time to see Dylan pouring a generous amount of wine into a plastic cup.

“Here.” He hands it to me, then pours a second one. “Cheers.”

Without thinking I reach out and gently tap my cup against his, bringing it to my lips. The wine is dark and fruity, with a spicy undertone that reminds me of something I can’t put my finger on.

“You carry wine around in your bag?” I arch my eyebrows at him, surprised. I’d have pegged him for a beer kind of guy.

He shrugs his broad shoulders, looking embarrassed. “I picked it up on my lunch break as a thank you to my babysitter,” he mutters. “But I figure you could use it more.” He takes a large gulp, not meeting my eyes. “It’s a merlot. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, smothering an amused grin. “Quite lovely, actually. Your babysitter is a lucky woman.”

He snorts. “She’s also my sister, and she’s not going to appreciate my coming home late on a Friday night, elevator issues or not.”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

He looks up at me, surprised. “You didn’t? I thought everyone knew. It’s why I come in and stay late every Tuesday and Thursday—those are the days I have to take Katie to daycare in the morning.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence, and we both sip at our wine, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

My pulse gives a traitorous jump. “Sure.”

“Have I done something to offend you?”

You mean other than being a far better marketing rep than I am, being way too sexy for both of our own good, and always low-key making fun of me?

“Why do you say that?”

He gives me an obvious look, and I concede the point.

“It’s not that you’ve done something…” I trail off, then shrug, deciding I might as well be honest. “Fine. You make me feel like an idiot. You’re always patronizing me at work, offering helpful ‘suggestions’, and whenever we talk it always seems like you’re making fun of me.”

I down the rest of my wine, feeling my cheeks burn.

“What?” Dylan’s mouth drops open. “Quinn, the reason I always come over to offer you suggestions is so that I have an excuse to talk to you. I would never make fun of you.”

Now it’s my turn to stare at him in shock. Without thinking I reach out and grab the bottle of wine, topping up both of our glasses. His lips curve up into that familiar smirk and I let out a screech. “See! That! Right there. That look on your face.”

He bursts out laughing. “This face? Quinn, this isn’t me making fun of you.”

“It’s not?” I eye him suspiciously over the rim of my cup, trying to decide whether or not he’s mocking me.

“No. It’s me wondering why you have to be so damn adorable when you’re so hopelessly out of my league.”

Ummmmm…what?

My confusion must be written all over my face because he sighs, then shuffles closer so he’s sitting next to me, his back against the wall.

“I’ve liked you forever,” he confesses. “But I was going through a divorce when we first met, and I wasn’t in the right place for a relationship. Then you were dating that Jeremy guy, and—“ he scowls, shaking his head. “Anyways, I’m a divorced thirty-five-year-old with a sassy, three-year-old daughter. You’re….Quinn Jones.”

“You saw a bird shit in my mouth.”

Yes. That was my response.

“Yes. Yes, I did. And you know what? I’m still dying to kiss you right now.”

When he does I can taste the wine lingering on his tongue and I suddenly realize what the spicy aroma reminded me of.

When the elevator technician finally manages to free us, Dylan turns to look at me, eyes dancing. “Not exactly the first date I had in mind, but I’ll take it.”