Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 10791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 54(@200wpm)___ 43(@250wpm)___ 36(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 10791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 54(@200wpm)___ 43(@250wpm)___ 36(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” He dodged another pat from Jillian. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to hunt down some lunch.”
“Of course.” Jillian waved him on.
“And that’s why I’m here as well.” Tennessee pointed at my chair. Before Tennessee arrived two years prior, I usually lunched at my desk, but Tennessee volunteered to watch the front at least a few times a week so I could have an actual break. “Go to lunch, Rory. Hurry.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed my messenger bag from under my desk and scurried after Marshall.
I caught up to him at the elevator at the end of the hall.
“Hold the elevator!” I said cheerfully. “I’m going down too.”
My cheeks heated as soon as I said the words. I had no idea why everything I said felt like an innuendo around Marshall, only that he could make me blush like no other.
“You’re heading to lunch as well?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded way too enthusiastically. Judging by Marshall’s empty hands, he was likely going out to eat, so I quickly added. “I forgot to bring mine.” I silently apologized to the almond butter and marionberry jam sandwich on my dad’s sourdough bread in my bag. “Where were you thinking? If you don’t want to eat alone, maybe we could go together?”
“My plan was a salad and soup at Sandwich Shack.” Marshall paused as if silently considering his options for politely declining my self-invite, but surprisingly, he gave the barest of nods as the elevator arrived. “They usually have adequate seating. And their kale-and-carrot slaw is special.”
“Sounds great,” I said as he pressed the button for the ground floor and the elevator doors slid shut with a creak. Another small, teeny lie. I was not big on most vegetables, kale definitely included. But I’d been big on Marshall since he first walked into our offices.
I’d been attracted to those big brown eyes and long piano-player fingers. I’d gone from lust to smitten as soon as I’d learned via Tennessee that Marshall was single after breaking up with his law-school boyfriend. Single, hot, and dated men? In a small town where almost everyone over twenty-five seemed already coupled up, Marshall felt like a potential jackpot win. “I’m in.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. The statement might reveal irritation from someone else, but Marshall didn’t sound put out. Further, his usual preference for clarity and literal statements meant I could take him at face value. If I felt like braving kale salad with him, he wouldn’t stop me. Another win.
We’d dined together several times as part of a bigger group, but after six months of trying, this would be our first lunch together just us. Which was the only explanation for why I let myself give him a more appreciative glance than I might have at the office. “And speaking of suits, yours is certainly on point today.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell my mother. She sent me to her executive shopper.” Tone even more tightly formal than usual, he frowned, glancing around the small space. “Is this thing moving?”
Right as he asked the question, the motor hummed and the elevator jolted downward.
“There we go.” Not to be deterred, I kept my voice cheerful. “If you’re looking for another occasion to wear your new suit, I have tickets to the annual hospital auxiliary fundraiser. It’s a 1930s dinner party theme this year with a silent auction and big band music.”
There. I’d only been working on that particular sentence all week, the latest in a line of possible date ideas for Marshall.
“Are you asking me out?” he asked, frown deepening.
I readied my “we could go as friends” fallback, but as I opened my mouth, a loud crack sounded. The elevator slammed to a stop, and the lights went out.
And we both said the same four-letter word. “Fuck.”
Chapter Two
Marshall
“Okay, no one panic.” Rory’s voice had the smallest of wobbles to it. The elevator went from pitch black to dim light as a strip of emergency lights flickered on, illuminating the buttons on the operating panel.
“I’m not panicking,” I lied as I smashed the red emergency call button. I hated elevators, always had, and I’d only taken this one because I was so hungry for lunch that it seemed more expedient. Seemed being the operative word.
“Simpson Elevator Monitoring service.” A female voice crackled over the speaker. “This is Sonya. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“The elevator stopped.” I hit the Down, Up, Door Open, and other buttons. Nothing. “The emergency lights are on, but none of the buttons are doing anything.”
“I’m paging maintenance right now. Please remain calm.” Sonya had a well-practiced, reassuring tone that did absolutely nothing to lower my anxiety.
“We’re trying.” Rory, however, was chipper as ever. He was somewhere between my age of twenty-six and his early thirties, with a riot of curly red hair, pale skin dotted with hundreds of freckles, and perpetually sparkling blue eyes. He had the sort of elfin features that meant he’d likely still pass for twenty-five at fifty, even if his short and stocky build was more dad bod than twink.