Chapter 1
I rushed into the building, trying to keep my now-cold brown sugar white mocha latte from slipping out from under my arm as I rummaged through my black shoulder purse with a gold clasp, looking for my cracked iPhone 16 Pro to silence the Saweetie and Doja Cat "Best Friend" ringtone—Kaia, again.
I walked as fast as my legs would allow toward the elevator, sheer stockings hugging my legs beneath a pair of slightly too-high, four-inch burgundy Tom Ford heels Kaia—the same best friend who wouldn't stop calling—had lent me. Delicate ankle straps fastened with tiny gold padlocks dug in just enough to remind me they weren't mine. I was headed to an interview she'd set me up with her mega-rich husband's brother and business partner, Chris Graye. I paired the heels with my favorite long-sleeve burgundy blazer dress, tailored through the waist with a sharp V-cut neckline. It fit me in all the right places.
When I finally silenced my phone and secured it back in my purse, I saw a man in a navy blue—maybe black—suit and black shades jogging to catch the elevator. I repeatedly pressed the close-door button because I was already two minutes late, and he probably already had a job—or could even be a boss. Either way, he could wait for the next one.
When the door started to close, I closed my eyes and released a breath.
Ha, gotta be quicker than that! I yelled in my head.
A low grunt sounded right beside me.
Oh gosh. Did I say that out loud?
I slowly opened my eyes. Staring at me with a scowl on his face was the guy who had been running for the elevator. Embarrassed, I hurried to the side of the elevator with the buttons, lost my balance, and slammed my hand into the panel, lighting up half of them.
"That was rude," the tall man said, his voice low and angry. His skin was like Hershey's chocolate. He had a low-cut fade with sponge curls, and he wore a navy blue three-piece suit with a white shirt, a royal blue tie, and a white pocket square. "I was about to ask you to hit my floor," he said, glancing at the panel, "but I see you already handled that."
I looked at the numbers on the elevator again and cringed. I was going to floor thirteen, and floors two through twelve were pressed. Who even has a floor thirteen? Bad luck, much?
We stopped on floor ten, and a short, older woman walked toward the elevator. My heart was damn near beating out of my chest as the sexy tall man reached over me to press the door-open button. I could feel all his body heat, and suddenly the space between us felt too small. His scent was intoxicating; I could still smell him even though he moved back to his side of the elevator. I envisioned him pushing me against the wall. I couldn't think straight. I blinked, shaking my head, when he spoke again.
"Good morning, Mrs. Taylor," he greeted her smoothly.
"Oh, thank you," she replied. "I'm on my way up to deliver some important papers to Mr. Graye." I looked up, smiling, then froze. She had just said my best friend's husband's name. I couldn't speak because... Sexy Chocolate—that's what I officially named the stranger—was standing there.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice low and measured. Then, glancing at me with a knowing smirk, he added, "I wouldn't be so quick to close doors on people, Mrs. Taylor."
I choked on my cold latte as the woman got off on floor twelve. Finally, at floor thirteen, the doors opened. I opened my mouth to apologize to Sexy Chocolate for trying to close the elevator doors on him, but he cut me off.
"Careful who you open your mouth like that for," he said, his voice flat. "Mr. Graye is married."
He stepped out of the elevator, leaving me there with my mouth still open, feeling as if a metaphorical splash of cold water had put out the fire between us.
I walked up to the assistant's desk in a small foyer just beyond the elevator—a modern-classic design with a sleek white marble surface and warm, polished wood beneath—and glanced around the area, noticing a couple of sleek chairs clearly meant for visitors waiting for Mr. Graye.
