Chapter 1
Ellie
My heels click against the tiles, echoing around the office building foyer. Sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, heating my already clammy back. I'm a mess and I haven’t even made it inside yet. At least the mirrors in the lift might help me fix something before I arrive to the meeting I'm late for.
Well, I will be late, if I don't find my bloody pass in time.
I hurry towards the closing lift, breath catching against my dry throat. My calves scream after this morning's run, but I'll be damned if I go anywhere in flats.
I blindly root around my bag - water, keys, tissues, tampons.
I throw myself through the narrowing gap. My heels skid. My elbow thuds against the metal frame, shooting a dull ache up my arm. Tampons slip from my fingers, scattering across the floor and a pair of black vans.
Black Vans beneath a grey suit. Trying, and failing, to be relatable. The tailoring’s too sharp for that to work on me, clinging just right to the slim body underneath.
“Well, fuck.” I nudge my glasses up and pinch my shirt, giving it a shake. Air wafts over my chin, warm and sweaty. It's gross. I drop my head back with a huff. Late and now embarrassed.
“One of those days, huh?” His voice has a well-practiced smoothness - an arrogance I hate. I can hear his smirk.
I level him with a glare that tells him he doesn't have a right to ask about my day. If he were actually relatable, he’d get it.
My eyeline doesn't quite reach his – an annoyingly impressive feat given my heels. His dark hair is brushed off his face with light product. Maybe he's not as high maintenance as the suit suggests.
I narrow my eyes and keep my tone sharp. “What do you think? You're the one with the front row seat.”
His eyelids flicker. Small enough to go unnoticed, as if it slipped through his perfected smug grin by accident. His smile doesn't falter.
“Well then, I’d better pay up.” He crouches, collecting my tampons.
I flinch, surprise swirling my stomach. Every guy I know would back away from even the sight of a tampon. And here is a stranger, crinkling his expensive suit, just to pick mine up off a lift floor.
I close my eyes briefly and suck in a deep breath. It doesn't help.
His light breathing causes my eyes to snap open. He's already standing again with an unreadable expression.
He's got blue eyes. I force my gaze away. Tampons. Right. I snatch them from his loose grip and shove them back into my bag. "Don't expect a thank you.”
He shrugs, one brow raising. “Payment remember. For this wonderful show.” His chin tilts towards me, but his eyes don't drop over my body like I'd expect them to.
"More like a shit show." I don't bother softening it, daring him to say something else.
His mouth twitches, like he’s considering it. Then his smirk returns. "So is this show stuck on pause, or is there a plot twist coming?"
I tuck my hands into my back pockets, balling them into fists. I refuse to let him know he's getting to me. I don't need to look in the mirror behind him to know there's sweat beading across my hairline, curls at my temples already rebelling. I probably have that red glow peaking through my poorly applied foundation.
I won't fidget.
Or play with my hair.
These things get noticed by men like him. And then used to their advantage.
I don't want to give him the satisfaction of a reply either. But my silence will say more. "You'll be waiting a while if you're after some big reveal."
His face softens. Enough to make me resent something. Him? My reply? I don't know.
“Well..." His eyes shift to the button panel. "We're not moving."
I think through several comebacks. All of which will force me to stay in here longer than I want. I jam my finger for the eighth floor and turn to the doors, back facing him. I don't have it in me to care why he wants to stay where we are.
The lift grinds and jerks. I refocus on finding my pass, ankle twisting absentmindedly. The lift jolts to a stop on the eighth floor. I stumble, slamming my hand against the doors. My bag straps slip off my shoulder, but this time, my tampons safely inside. Thank fuck.
His hand hovers near my elbow as I straighten. My skin prickles. Not pleasure. Not even close. Just a warning. Just a feeling in my gut that says his other hand is probably too close to my hip.
The doors open and I march out, teeth grinding. All I have to do is get through this meeting. Then I can fall apart. I've been rushing around since the moment I woke up. Last thing I need is a man who thinks he's entitled to touch me. Even somewhere safe like my arm.
But the heat clings like he's still behind me. I don't look. Just ring the buzzer for reception. One more step and I'm done with him.
A hand appears beside me, pass tapping against the scanner. "Here."
My chest tightens. He's unintentionally cornered me. I could barge past him to get to the toilet. Give myself a minute before my meeting.
But my pride is too stubborn. It's taken me this long to stand this tall. I won't let a stranger knock me down.
I yank the door open. It's too light, flies at me too fast. My fist jams into my nose, filling my face with pain. I grunt. Of course I fucking do. One more thing to be humiliated by.
I stumble backwards, sweaty back pressing up against a body.
His fingers skim my bare arms. Just enough to steady me, but I still flinch.
“You were right about those front row seats.” His voice is too soft. Calculated. Luring. It's too close to me, sending a shiver down my spine. I repress it and spring away from him, glare sharp.
My hand tightens around the door handle, cramping my forearm.
"Ever heard of personal space?" There's a quiver below the snap. But he just nods.
I pull the door open all the way. "Fucking use it."
I don't wait for a response and stride through the door. I stop at the tall reception desk, flattening my palms against the cool marble top.
The chair is empty.
And now the guy stands beside me.
"Rina." His voice carries through the office with an authority that pulls my attention. A woman strides towards us, slipping behind the desk.
Rina's smile is welcoming as she glances over me. Her lips split when she glances at the guy, affectionate and friendly - more than just colleagues. I wonder how many other girls in this office he's got on a line just from flashing his charm.
Her eyes narrow, symmetrical eyebrows furrowing. She opens her mouth to say something, but grins at me instead. "How can I help?"
She tilts her head at me, her expression too knowing. Like I'm some inside joke between the two of them.
Her sleek black hair slides from her shoulder. I'm wondering how she made it through London in this sticky heat and still looks like perfection when his voice slices in.
"Could you get Miss..."
I blink. He's talking to me.
"Dunham." My name is blurted out. Panicked. I glance over his face and then Rina's. Neither seem to notice where my head went. Both are looking at me like I'm not a disaster this morning. I slide my hands further over the desk, until the thin skin at my wrists rests against the chilled surface. It chills my blood enough to calm my voice before speaking again, but my pulse still hammers. "Eleanor Dunham."
His face lights up like he's won something for getting my name. "Could you get Eleanor Dunham a pass for the day?"
I turn away, eyes landing on the clock. Three minutes late. My gut sinks.
He finally steps away from me, turning towards the office. "And figure out where she needs to be. I'm late for a meeting."
My gaze snaps to his. He pauses, blue eyes locked on mine. He's as late as I am. He stood in the lift and teased me about my shitty morning. No stress about arriving late.
He's enjoying this.
He's actually enjoying making my bad day worse.
He flashes me a smile, full of charm. "I hope your show has a fairy tale ending. See you around, Eleanor Dunham."
My mouth twitches, searching for that comeback. But I've got nothing.
Then he's gone.
I stare at the space he left, not entirely sure what my body is doing. I'm hot. I'm flustered. I think I want to cry - either from frustration or relief.
I definitely want to yell at something.
Plastic taps on the counter beside me. I turn to Rina, still grinning. "Here's your pass. Who are you here to visit?"
I drum my fingers across the marble and stare at the visitor's pass.
"I work here," I say flatly. Three months in and I still look like I’ve wandered in by accident.
I risk another glance at the clock. Four minutes.
"Nevermind. I'll change it later." I snatch the pass and head to my meeting room, pass tapping against my palm.
The carpeted floor muffles the thud from my heels. The morning buzz of the office - kettle boiling, greetings, keyboards tapping - vibrates over my tense body.
I pause outside the frosted glass door. Curls flattened. Moisture wiped away. But it all returns within seconds.
Five minutes.
With one last attempt to smooth my hair, I open the door and step in.
A single voice dominates the room, my manager presenting. The PowerPoint behind her illuminates the room, reflecting off the glass table. I pull out the closest chair. It clangs against the table leg, vibrating around the room.
Great. Subtle. Just what I was aiming for.
My manager pauses and raises her eyebrows at me. "Nice of you to join us, Ellie."
I mumble out my apology and take my seat, the aircon doing nothing to combat my day.
And then a voice I thought I'd escaped. A bead of sweat drips down my back.
"My fault she's late." The guy from the lift smiles around the room. Everyone nods, like his word is enough. The presentation continues as if I hadn't interrupted. And then his eyes settle on me. Soft. Arrogant. You're welcome.
Well, he's not getting a thank you from me.
Even if he did take all the attention off me.
Even if he's given me enough space to feel like I can breathe for the first time today.
