It's Just Elevator Music

“Shit. Shit. Shit! I’m late!” Yareli yells, catching stares as she dashes into the massive glass building in front of her—Moon Enterprises. A tower filled with pompous rich people and overzealous wannabe talent.  

Unfortunately, this was just one of Yareli’s many jobs: a coffee runner for the higher-ups in the building. It was exhausting, but for $18 an hour, she couldn’t afford to complain. She couldn’t afford to be exhausted at all. Too many things depended on her. Her livelihood, for one. But not just hers—her mother’s as well.  

Yareli sprints through the entrance, nearly tripping over her untied laces. More eyes land on her. Great. She stumbles but catches the drink carrier just before steaming coffee spills over her. She can’t afford to be any later than she already is. This is her second time being late. One more time, and she’s sure she’ll be written up or, worse, fired. She can’t risk it.  

As she rushes forward, she nearly tramples a man, tossing a quick, breathless apology over her shoulder before making a beeline for the closing elevator.  

The man follows closely behind her, stepping in just before the doors slide shut.  Yareli frantically presses the top floor button—again and again. Hurry up, hurry up. The man, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed at all. He simply leans against the elevator wall, listening to the smooth hum of classical jazz.  

It frustrates her—how the world around her can be so calm while her own life is in absolute chaos. The music seems to grow louder, drowning out her thoughts. She taps her foot impatiently against the cold, harsh tile.  

She needed to be on the top floor yesterday.  

 “Can you stop?”  The stranger’s voice is low, clipped.  

Yareli looks up, her brows furrowed. “Oh, was I bothering you?” Her tone drips with sarcasm. She loathes the rich people in this building. They think they’re all that—that they can command others with just a glance. They live life with the poor beneath their boots. People like her, who they’ve stepped on to make it to the top.  

She hates them.  Maybe because she knows she could never be them.  Struggle is in the cards for her—always.  

 “Yes, you are bothering me,” the man replies flatly. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped. I’m trying to enjoy the music.”  

He glares at her.  Yareli, unimpressed, only taps her foot louder, “It’s just elevator music, dude. You’re acting like we’re at a concert.” She rolls her eyes, stepping toward the control panel. She jabs the button again, as if that will make the elevator move faster.  

The man exhales, clearly irritated. “You should stop, or you’re going to—”  The elevator jerks to an abrupt stop. The lights flicker—then shut off completely.  Everything is still.  “…Get us stuck. Just great.” The man pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “Now, thanks to you, I’m going to be late for my press meeting.”  

Yareli doesn’t care about his problems. If anything, it’s probably just karma. But she couldn’t afford to be late. She couldn’t afford to lose this job.  The coffee in her hands feels heavier now, like it weighs a million pounds.  Panic rises in her chest.  She starts pressing the buttons—again and again—until something happens.  

Nothing happens.  

Even the emergency button refuses to light up.  A wave of hopelessness crashes over her.  Yareli snatches her phone out of her pocket. No service.   “Hey! Check your phone. Do you have a signal?” she demands.  The man glances at his phone. He tilts the screen toward her. No signal.  

He sighs. Shakes his head.  Yareli screams for help, pounding on the elevator doors.  

But before she can yell again— 

A firm hand covers her mouth.  “Do. Not. Scream.” His voice is low, dangerous.  Yareli freezes.  “You’re only going to make things worse.” He releases her slowly. “Now breathe. Panicking won’t do anything.”  Her chest rises and falls quickly. She takes a shaky breath, trying not to cry from the shock.  

“I’m sure someone has already noticed I’m missing,” the man continues. “They’ll come looking for me soon.”  

Yareli stares at him, baffled. “…Look for you?”  Then she laughs. A bitter, mocking laugh. “Why the hell would people waste time looking for an asshole?”  

The man stiffens. He doesn’t like that. Asshole? He wasn’t an asshole. Maybe handsome, wealthy, and a little irritable—but never an asshole.  “What’s funny?” His tone is cool. “Why wouldn’t people look for me?”  He adjusts his cufflinks.   “I’m Ki-Seung Moon. The CEO of this building.”  

It is silent.  Then—  A look of pure horror washes over Yareli’s face.  She steps back. “Wait… I know you.”  

Ki-Seung scoffs. “Of course, you do. I was a famous actor before I started Moon Enterprises.”  

He slides a business card from his suit pocket, pressing it into her hand.  Yareli laughs again—but this time, it’s empty.  “No… I mean, I know you. Personally.”  Her stomach knots.  He ruined her life.  

Ki-Seung finally studies her. He takes off his sunglasses, narrowing his eyes.  Recognition flickers. Years ago, they worked together on set. Yareli, as a production assistant, is struggling to make it in the film industry. Ki-Seung was already a rising star, but their interactions were brief.

“…Janice?” He smirks. “You were the PA girl, right? Man, you were smoking hot back then.”  His gaze rakes over her. “Even now, you’re still a looker.”  He wolf-whistles. Laughs.  

Yareli, however, does not laugh.  “It’s Yareli,” she corrects, voice sharp. “I didn’t take you for both a racist and a sexist, but most men are so, I guess I shouldn't have expected anything different.” 

Ki-Seung frowns. “Excuse me?”  

“You don’t remember what you’ve said? About Black women?”  A bitter laugh bubbles up from her throat. She stares at him and then at the floor, a bit saddened for some odd reason, “Do you honestly believe what you said…That we’re unattractive? Bottom tier?

His shoulders tense. “T-That was taken out of context.”  He stutters, feeling placed in an awkward position, but Yareli isn’t buying it. She raises her eyebrow at him and then rolls her eyes. That bad context had already cost him so much, endorsements, fans, partners, he wished the world would just continue spinning. 

Yareli raises an eyebrow. “And in what context is that okay?”  Ki-seung doesn't answer immediately, raking a hand through his hair. He turns to her, even more aggravated, “Listen, maybe you should worry about other things that concern you!” he snaps at her. She stands closer to him, her presence menacing. If she weren't so much smaller than his 6ft stature, he might have been frightened.

“As a black woman, this does concern me. Don’t you think your statement was a bit prejudiced? Racist even?” Yareli doesn’t back down. Ki-seung clenches his fist tightly, then sighs.

Ki-Seung clenches his jaw.  “Now I see why they fired you.” 

Yareli goes still.  Then, in a quiet voice—“…Another thing that was your fault, then.” The elevator is silent. She stares off into the distance. 

“I’m sorry… that was too far.” He had always been cold and condescending to her, so his apology caught her off guard. She sighs and continues to stare off in the distance, quite offended by his statement. 

“Y’know…” She starts, breaking the awkward silence, “After you got me fired from being your PA, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. They gave her five years to live, and honestly, we’re coming close to the five-year mark, so I’m quite surprised that she’s still alive and kicking. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but if anything were to happen to her, I feel like it would be my fault.

“It wouldn’t be your fault…cancer is a tough battle.”

 “No, you’re not understanding. I can’t pay the invoices. They're just stacking up and the hospital, they’re threatening to cut her treatment if I don’t pay by the first.” Yareli looks down at her phone, “Which is in 12 hours.” She laughs. It's a cruel laugh. For the first time, Ki-Seung feels something close to guilt.  And then—he gets an idea that’ll benefit them both. 

“How much do you owe?”  

Yareli narrows her eyes. “…Why?”  

“Just tell me.” 

“What?” Her eyes find his. She can tell he’s serious, so she decides to bite the bait and see what he’s proposing, after all, there's no way he’s asking out of the goodness of his heart. “It’s $150,000 per treatment, I’m about three or four treatments behind, so about $600,000.”

“And you thought you’d make $600,00 by running coffee?” He asks in disbelief.

“They have payment plans, and I work two other jobs. Why’re you asking me all of this?” She knows he wants something. There’s no way he’d just care to have a conversation about her life. He was a rich asshole who bastardized the poor.

“Because I have a proposal for you.” His voice is cool, but on the inside he’s nervous. He knows what he’s about to say could end badly, but he hopes her desperation is enough to fuel her.

“Date me.”  

“What the hell?”  The elevator suddenly jerks back to life.  The doors swing open.  

Ki-Seung steps out smoothly. “You have my business card.”  He turns back to her, smirking, “Call me when you make up your mind.”