I jabbed my fork into the ping-pong-ball-sized cherry tomato in my salad, secretly fantasizing that its round form was a tiny version of Walsh Redman’s head, one of the two partners who’d sold my company and me out. The prongs of my fork pierced the skin of the tomato, red juice forming around the punctures. A small smile played on my lips.

“Damn, Chels,” said a familiar voice from behind me. “You trying to torture some information out of that tomato?”

Before I could speak a word, a trim figure slid into the chair on the other side of the cafeteria table where I sat alone. I could tell right away from the blonde shock of short hair and the tiny figure that it was Bess Abernathy, one of my closest friends from the old company who’d stuck with me through the buyout.

“Just working out a little frustration, I guess,” I said, raising the tomato and popping it into my mouth.

“The usual frustration?” she asked, reaching into her teal lunch bag and withdrawing a sandwich. “About the usual stuff?”

I chewed the tomato, the acrid taste washing over my tongue for an intense moment before I brought it all down in a hard swallow.

“I had one more thing to add onto the pile,” I said, setting down my fork. “The freaking elevator got stuck on the way up from the lobby.”

Bess shook her head. “It would’ve been nice of them to, you know, actually finish the building before having people work in it,” she said.

“No kidding. I know Carver Holdings is eager to expand, but they might be jumping the gun a little bit.”

Then my gaze drifted down to my salad, and I was silent.

“And there’s more,” said Bess.

I sighed, still feeling a little stupid about what I’d done. “There might be more. When I got into the elevator, there was this guy in there with me.”

There was a guy, all right—probably the hottest damn guy I’d seen in my life. The image of him flashed in my mind, like it was already burned into my memory.

The man—whose name I didn’t get—had cut about the nicest form I’d ever seen. Sure, the suit was as nice as they come, but he could’ve worn a burlap sack and still turned heads. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, trim physique I could tell had been earned through many, many hours at the executive gym.

His eyes were a glacial blue and impassive, the kind that always seemed to be scanning and appraising. His mouth was small, well-formed and red, and his cheekbones were mile-high. His jaw was wide and his chin had the most fetching little cleft. All of his gorgeous features sat under a head of slicked-back auburn hair.

I had to make a conscious effort to stop mentally ogling him and get on with the story.

“There was a guy in there with you…?” asked Bess, guiding me to continue.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Guy in there with me. Handsome guy. Really handsome guy. Strikingly handsome.”

“And you fucked?” she asked.

“What?” I shot back, a little shocked that she’d go there. “No! Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you’re so focused on how hot he was.”

“Just…painting a picture,” I said.

A fitting turn of phrase—the man in the elevator had a face so stunning any artist would kill to paint it.

“Anyway,” I went on. “We got in the elevator, and all of a sudden, the thing stopped.”

“Oh god,” said Bess. “That’s happened to me. So freaking annoying.”

“So it’s just me and the guy in there. He made some small talk, and at first I was too annoyed to want to say anything. But I dropped that I was new, and he went with it.”

Bess raised an eyebrow.

“And I might’ve…kind of…gone off about the company, and how I ended up here.”

Bess let out a chiming laugh.

“You spilled your guts to the random in the elevator?” she asked. “What, our drunken bitch-sessions weren’t enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I normally wouldn’t have said anything, but I was frustrated as hell about the elevator. Then I spilled my coffee all over my shirt, and that was enough to push me over the edge. But that’s not the worst part.”

“I was wondering about that abstract-art-looking stain. But there’s a worst part?”

“Yeah. He was dressed in a suit that you could tell was made for his body, and his body only. And he was going to one of the top floors.”

Bess tilted her chin up and down in a slow nod of realization.

“So, not only did you run your mouth, you ran your mouth to some guy who could make or break your career here.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“He’s probably upstairs right now, letting all the other execs know about the new troublemaker in the tech department.”

“Did he seem put off?”

“No,” I said. “Actually, more than anything, he seemed really interested. In a genuine way.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” she said. “You don’t get that high up in a company like this by snitching on every underling that throws a complaint at you.”

When she said “like this,” Bess gestured around to the sleek, enormous cafeteria in which we sat.

“‘Underling,’” I said, bristling at the word. “I still can’t believe I’m in a place like this, my fate being decided by a bunch of rich penthouse owners on the top floors. Not why I got into this business, not at all.”

“I know, I know,” said Bess, with a supportive tone. “But I doubt he cares. You vented a little bit, and that’s human.”

She was right, but I still didn’t like how I’d behaved.

“Watch me bump into this guy again, only this time he’s ready to use my bitchfest as some kind of blackmail. Because things like that are what you have to worry about when working for a company like this.”

Right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out and saw that it was a call from Melanie, the receptionist in my section of the department. It read: “Big call in your office, ASAP 911.”

I scrunched up my face, knowing that this meant it was no small matter.

“Shit,” I said, packing up my salad. “I have a call in the office.”

“Good luck,” said Bess, turning her attention back to her lunch.

With the rest of my light lunch packed up, I headed out of the cafeteria and down the well-appointed, ultra-modern hallways of the tech department, hurrying back to my office.

“What’s the story?” I asked Melanie as I took out my keycard.

“Don’t know for sure,” she said. “Someone from the top floor wants to talk to you. And that’s all they’ll say.”

My stomach felt like someone had slipped an ice-cold shard of glass into it, and my eyes went wide. Was I already about to face consequences for my slipup in the elevator?

I unlocked my office and stepped inside, setting my purse and food down on one of the nearby chairs, my eyes fastened onto the blinking red light on my phone that indicated a call on hold. I filled my lungs with a full, calming breath and answered.

“Chelsea Lane,” I said, affecting a chipper tone.

“Good evening, Ms. Lane,” came the prim female voice on the other end. “I’m Eleanor Sykes, the personal secretary for Mr. Carver.”

It didn’t sink in right away just whom she was calling on behalf of.

“Mr. Carver?” I asked.

“That’s right,” she said. “As in, the CEO of the company.”

My body tensed up, and my breath quickened.

“I see,” I said. “And what is this regarding?”

“I wish I could tell you, but all he said is that he wants to speak with you.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Oh, OK,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be right up.”

“Very good. I’ll let him know.”

Then the line went dead.

I’d figured there’d be consequences for what I’d done, but I didn’t in a million years think that they’d happen so soon. It’d been less than forty minutes since the incident in the elevator, but my rant was evidently so egregious that I was about to be dragged in front of the freaking CEO of the company and chewed out. Or worse.

There was no sense in putting it off, even if I’d had the option. I took one more deep breath and left my office.

The elevator ride up to the top floor was, thankfully, less eventful than the one earlier. I rose silently up the dozens of floors above my department, the doors eventually opening to reveal a gorgeous officescape.

The lobby was massive, with dark leather couches here and there. Natural sunlight that poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the place, and the view looked out onto the sweep of San Francisco and the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Men and women in expensive suits darted around, each of them wearing the same purposeful expression on their faces. A massive desk of smooth, black wood was ahead, a trio of receptionists behind it, and the word “Carver” written in big, intimidating letters above them.

The three pairs of eyes locked onto me in unison, all three receptionists wearing the same skeptical expression, each of them with beautiful but severe faces.

“Hi,” I said, instantly feeling as though I didn’t belong.

None of the three said anything. I cleared my throat and straightened my back, eager to get on with what was ahead.

“I’m here to meet with Mr. Carver.”

The three women shared glances, as though their first instinct was that I was lying.

“Eleanor called me just a few minutes ago,” I said.

“One moment,” said the receptionist in the middle.

She snatched up her phone and made a quick call while the other two receptionists continued to watch me. After a moment of speaking, the receptionist in the middle hung up and gave a quick, assenting nod to the girl on my right.

“Karen will lead you back,” she said.

The receptionist moved to my flank.

“Right this way, please.”

She led me through the long, straight halls of the executive floor. I glanced around as we walked, taking in the stylish wealth on display.

“Do you know what this is about?” I asked.

“Mr. Carver will answer all your questions,” she said, her tone prim and a little curt.

We arrived at a huge set of double doors, the black wood so glossy and polished I could see my reflection staring back at me. Karen nodded to another secretary who sat nearby, then quickly left my side. The new secretary picked up her phone and made another call.

“Please,” she said after hanging up. “Go on in.”

I hesitantly placed my hand on the huge door handle, part of me wondering if this was all some kind of trick. The door clicked opened, and I stepped inside.

The office was just as impressive as the rest of the floor. The ceiling was at least a dozen feet high, the walls were adorned with massive pieces of abstract, modern art, and a huge black desk dominated the space. The windows looked out onto what was easily the most impressive view of the city that I’d seen since moving here.

And behind the desk stood a man, his back to me, his hands clasped together.

“Mr. Carver?” I asked, stepping slowly into the room, my shoes echoing in the vast space.

“Ms. Lane,” he said.

His voice struck me as instantly familiar. But I couldn’t quite place it. The closer I moved, the more familiar he seemed. That expensive suit, that auburn hair…

I made the realization as soon as he turned around.

It was the man from the elevator.

“Good afternoon,” he said, flashing me a smile of perfect, white teeth. “Please, have a seat.”