(BOOK 1 OF THE ELEVATOR SERIES)

CICI VS. THE ELEVATOR

The office floor was quiet and dark when I packed my bag to go home. I stuck my head through Maggie’s doorway to say good night, only to find her office empty. It was really unlike her to leave without saying good-bye, but perhaps she had a hot date she failed to mention. I usually got a play-by-play of her every thought about men, but there was a first for everything. I’d definitely have to get details about that tomorrow. At least one of us should be getting some action. I was starting to bulk up on the right side from all of my self-help sessions. Perhaps when work settled down I’d be able to focus on things like having a relationship, learning how not to murder house plants, and eating less of those frozen dinners that taste like sadness and gym shorts.

I tapped my foot as I waited not so patiently for the elevator. I should take the stairs, but that was too much effort. My stomach rumbled; all I’d had to eat was a granola bar and a soda from the vending machine. My workload was daunting when I realized how much Cameron had left undone. The only break I took was to check YouTube. As I feared, “Mime Smackdown” was one of the top videos. I should have my own channel at this point, with all the Internet cameos I’d made. All I wanted was to get some food and curl up on the couch with my cat and my remote. It was quite the glamorous life I’d carved out for myself.

When the elevator dinged its arrival, I lunged toward the doors, only to stop short when I took in the specimen before me. Oh my. If I had pearls, I’d clutch them. To describe this being as only but a mere man would be an egregious slight. He was tall with light brown hair and eyes such a vivid blue I audibly whimpered. He wore a suit that looked like it was crafted by tiny elves specifically for this body. It looked black at first, but when you looked closer and harder—and I was—it was more of a very dark blue. He probably modeled this suit at some point and the designer told him to just keep the damn thing because there was no hope of ever selling it to any common man. In fact, the only way this suit could look any better was if it were on my bedroom floor.

A blaring buzzing sound broke me from my spell, and I realized Mr. Suit God held the elevator door open with his Suit God arms, and it was protesting loudly. Something told me if he were touching me with those arms I’d be screaming, too.

“Would you care to join me?” Mr. Suit God said with a slight chuckle. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this open.”

His voice made me feel things in places that hadn’t received attention from a second party in some time. It was deep, but not like disembodied-voice-in-a-horror-movie deep. My palms were so sweaty, I rubbed them against my skirt without thinking.

“You—I—what?” This was not going well.

Holy crap, Carrington. Get your shit together. Stop violating him with your eyes and talk to him like a human being. Deep breath, aaaaaand…

“Are you going down on me—with me? Down. Are you going down? To the first floor, I mean. I didn’t mean anything else.”

Way to get your shit together.

The latest victim of my social ineptness coughed, choked, and sputtered, “Uh, yes. I’m—I’m headed to the lobby. You?”

The elevator sounded like it was about to launch itself into the stratosphere and Mr. Suit God was now using his full suit-wearing body to hold open the doors while they jolted and did their best to close. I jumped on the elevator—not the man, unfortunately—and managed to utter a thank-you without tripping over my tongue. I subtly checked out his reflection in the metallic doors and looked away quickly all nine times he caught me staring. He was quite fetching.

Fetching? I think I suffered head trauma earlier and repressed it. Whatever you do, do not open your mouth and speak to this demigod.

“So,” I began against my better judgment. “You come here often?”

I tentatively lifted my hand to my forehead to see if I could actually feel the lobotomy scar. No one with a full brain said things like that.

“Do I come to this elevator often?” My wet dream incarnate asked. He laughed and it sounded like a combination of all the happy sounds ever. “No, I’m a first timer.”

“A virgin? Lucky for you, I can show you the ropes.”

I did not just say that. Please let this elevator plummet through the basement and let the earth swallow me whole.

As if on cue, the aforementioned elevator jerked, groaned, and screeched to a halt. The sudden stop flailed me about the cabin, where I landed the most ungraceful right hook across Mr. Suit God’s left jaw.

That did not just happen.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” I was doing my best impression of Van Gogh’s The Scream.

He rubbed his jaw, flexing it from side to side. “Speaking as the token virgin here, is that normal?”

I just punched him in the face. Scratch that. I accidentally asked him to go down on me and then punched him in the face. I’ll be lucky to leave this elevator not hog-tied and tasered by the authorities.