Five minutes? How am I supposed to get ready in five minutes?

I’m a newbie. Albeit one who knows her stuff. But an assignment outside my office isn’t supposed to be happening just yet. Heck, the ink on my contract probably hasn’t even dried. Though on a positive note, at least the phone call I just picked up isn’t my mom. If it were, I’d be sighing through another round of her incessant “momineering.”

“Listen,” my boss’s baritone voice blares through the speaker in my ear, and I know he’s not screaming at me because he thinks my thoughts are scattered elsewhere.

But they are. I can’t help it. I’ve finally landed my first job. It’s not the most optimal of situations, but one that’ll do for now. As it is, I’m determined; poised to reach my goals—two of which are making a name for myself and then quickly moving on.

Squeezing the phone in my hand, I sit up in my swivel chair and lean toward my desk. As has been the case for the last five hours, my sight is homed in on my four screens in much the same way the Hubble telescope worked before repairs corrected its subpar level of performance. Since I’m trying to make do with an antiquated software system that desperately needs to be brought into the current century, I can’t turn the swirl of angry snow-laden clouds covering all of Cleveland into a graphic that’s anything remotely as cool as I’d like to be. Sadly, my one-dimensional presentations will never, in an entertaining and informative way, look very presentable, much less capture anyone’s interest on any given day.

Perched within windowless walls, I do my best. After all, I am trained to analyze and deal with even the worst of atmospheric conditions.

“As I was saying,” my boss continues.

I pull the handset away from my ear, praying the added distance will help prevent any further damage to my hearing.

“...interesting reports are coming in tonight. It’s a damned snowpocalypse out there. And yes, I’m sending you to the front line. I’ve issued a brief to your email. Read it thoroughly. Top to bottom. Left to right. Don’t let me down, Makayla. And make sure you’re with your troops in five.”

Reports. Briefs. Troops. Five. Yup, he’s definitely a wannabe Navy SEAL, or Civil War General. If that’s his thing, I can play his game. “Sir, I’ll—”

He cuts me off, bellowing his next orders. “Get to it, Makayla. And don’t be late.”

Dial tone.

Stunned, I stare at the phone, my heart pounding at the sound of our disconnection. Eventually I dump the phone onto its base and lift my gaze to the wall. Geez. It’s 6:53. Five minutes is hardly enough time to prep the toilet seat and pee.

Panic sets in as I push back in my chair, snatch up my winter coat with one hand, and toss the strap of my go-bag over my shoulder with the other. Not thinking, I speed through the exit off to my side, and hurtle down the steps, taking most of them two at a time. Down and around in a spiral I go until I’m suddenly aware I should not have rushed through the door and sprinted down several sets of stairs.

Coming to a halt, I work to catch my breath. Come on, Makayla. You’re so much smarter than this. You graduated with two masters degrees, one of them in physics. For God’s sake, woman, act like you’ve been here before and let’s do this.

But can I really pull it off? I’m not sure. I roll my neck to loosen some long-term tension in my shoulders. Once composed, I push through the door of the stairwell, and like any seasoned reporter would do, I wait for an elevator to take me the remaining twenty-one stories down. With my blurry reflection staring back at me from the closed metal doors, a possible complication to my evening crashes into my thoughts.

The truth is, I’m not a seasoned reporter.

When the gap between the elevator doors is wide enough for my mid-sized frame to squeeze through, I hop into the empty space and toss my bag to the floor. Pressing the G button, I watch the doors close. Counting down with the highlighted numbers, I toss on my coat and bundle up for the cold.

Ping.

The doors slide open as I finish tucking the last clump of hair into my hat. A mixture of excitement and anxiety flood my nerves as I bend down and grab my bag. Leaping out of the elevator car, I level my gaze up from the ground, and find myself immediately focusing in on the figure of a man inside the van.

His dark, wavy mess of hair is the first thing that draws my attention. I tilt my head and grant myself a moment to take in the rest of him. His black coat is tight—it snuggles his upper body like a second skin, makes the thickness in his arms more noticeable each time he bends forward. Hunched over, he fiddles with a duffel bag that’s tucked away in a corner.

I grin. It’s hard not to. He’s got that thin band of white peeking out at the base of his chiseled waistline, teasing me so.

What are you doing, Makayla?

Yes, he’s gorgeous. And off-limits.

He’s sexy. And still forbidden.

The thought crosses my mind that despite my crotchety boss, this job might not be so bad after all. But then again, if I want to reach my goals anytime soon, it’s probably best I remove Mr. Prohibited from my personal radar. And do so—immediately!

Heeding my inner warning, I release a slow sigh, and bring my thoughts back into focus, since I don’t have time to deal with a guy. Returning my attention to the task at hand, I lift a boot-covered foot and hop into the van.

Turning, Mr. Beautiful Male meets my gaze. Enchanted, I feel my insides heat up as my gaze maps the warm yellow flecks glinting in his eyes.

“Oh, hey. You must be Makayla…” he pauses, lifting his lips in a smile, and after a quick scan of my face, he offers his hand, “…Reading.”

I stare back. The sight of his welcoming smile warms me even further. At near melting point, I let my gaze take in his smooth skin, centered within a field of trimmed stubble. I’m not sure which of the two has affected me more: his kissable lips or his golden-brown eyes. Whichever it is, neither seems to want to release me from their spell. For the time being, I have to admit I like what I see, but now I’ve once again forgotten he’s out of bounds, part of my team.

Though the fact remains, he couldn’t possibly look any more divine.

However, when he spoke my name, I couldn’t help but notice he pronounced my surname wrong. Reading is my professional name. Mispronouncing it has been a common occurrence and one that typically strikes a nerve. Though hearing his mistake, I’m not sure I even blinked. I struggle with this revelation and wonder how I’ll possibly control the two anxious needs I’ve got running rampant through my veins.

In the moment, my desire to touch him far outweighs my need to correct his phonics. Brain aside, I side with my heart and take his hand in mine. It’s soft and warm, grips back with a firm yet tender touch. Unable to let go, I hold on much longer than I should. I can’t help it. As much as I enjoy looking at him, I more than like holding his hand. However, despite what my body is telling me it wants, my brain eventually kicks in.

“Hello,” I squeak through an unconscious parting of my lips. “Yes, I’m Makayla Reading. Rah-ed-ing. You know, like Reading, Pennsylvania. Have you been to Reading, Pennsylvania? They have this lovely pagoda. And a gem of a museum. There’s even a beautiful forest to ‘find yourself’ while meandering along the many paths in the woods. I’ve only been there once, but if you haven’t been to Rah-ed-ing, Pennsylvania, I highly recommend it.” Plus it might help you remember my name. And for obvious reasons, I so want you to remember my name. “At any rate, it’s nice to meet you, my partner for tonight.”

Releasing his hand, I suck in a much-needed breath, noting my anxiety is on overdrive and my hand now feels like ice. Even worse, I realize I’ve blathered on and missed a key rule of social etiquette. Dang it, Makayla. After all that babble, how could you fail to ask him his name?

“You mean like the past tense of r-e-a-d.” He winks. “Read?”

I let out a strangled laugh and wonder if Mr. Gorgeous is always this witty. If so, I’m confident our friendship is more than a certainty.

“Makayla Reading. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eli. Eli Bare-ing-ger.” He grins, his tone full of teasing.

Smitten by Eli’s playfulness, I manage to answer with a smile of my own, and then follow his lead, positioning myself so I can easily see him, as I buckle myself into my seat.

“So tell me, Red, you’re the new girl, right?”

I inwardly cringe. Worse than mispronouncing my name, Red isn’t a nickname I like. Hearing it reminds me of the past. I don’t want to be reminded of all that.

Adjusting my scarf, I don a brittle smile. Before I get a chance to voice an objection, a deep tone rumbles toward us from up front.

“You two ready?”

Reluctantly, I pull my sight off Eli and meet a pair of dark eyes peering back at us through the rearview mirror. Having not yet met our driver, I smile and say, “Hello.”

He waves in response, just as Eli reaches across my lap and closes the side door. His close encounter with my body draws my attention back to him. A fair amount of cold air drifts around me as he moves, carrying with it a pleasant dose of his tantalizing scent. He smells like a spring breeze as it travels through drizzle and dampens the iron-rich clay, just before a storm cloud opens up and releases the energy of the day.

I grin as Eli scoots back to his seat. Ahh, the smell of rain.

Rain has always been my favorite scent.

Settling back in, Eli’s right knee grazes mine. The brief contact spurs a warm sensation up and down my spine.

“We’re ready, Sam,” Eli’s rich tone fills the van.

But am I ready? I’m not sure. Sitting next to Eli, I have to remind myself to breathe.

As it is, my mind’s an avalanche of emotions. My body tingles with need. My heart has long since submitted to the rhythm of its rapidly beating pace.

“Hey.” Eli ruffles the hat on my head like one would do to a child, and then lifts my chin with his gentle fingers, leveling my gaze with his. “You all right?”

I blink into focus, seeing the crease of concern deepen between his eyes. Although I’m grateful for his question, he doesn’t need to know my thoughts. My emotions are all over the place, scattered like debris after a storm. Plus, I’m having a difficult time pulling my sight from his eyes and keeping my thoughts on my job.

On top of that, I’m confident there has to be some sort of don’t-fall-for-the-coworker rule I should be following. But no such rule seems to be preventing me from reacting to him the way I am.

Not wanting to alert him to what’s making me so frazzled, I decide to return to his question and respond with the first thing that pops into my head. “I’m just new. And nervous.”

It sounds plausible coming out, and it’s partially the truth, a fact I’m comfortable with given I’ve just met Mr. Beautiful.

He moves his hand to my shoulder and squeezes just enough to hold me in place, which also keeps me from sliding in my seat as Sam steers us out of the garage and onto the snowy city street. “Okay, if that’s what you’re going with, I’ll buy it. For now.”

I stare back, uncertain what I should say or do, and let him work my tense muscles with his fingers as his eyes study my face. Either Eli’s good at reading people, or the weight I’ve been carrying around the last few months is showing. I draw in a slow breath and decide it’s time to get to work.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I lift it for Eli to see, then bring it back to my lap before returning to the conversation. “I just want this to go well. Mr. Richardson said he’d send all the information I needed. I should read his email and prepare. I don’t even know where we’re going, and I’m not the best at this impromptu spotlight-sort-of-thing.”

Plus, I really need to stop staring.

Eli shoots me a reassuring look. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. This storm is something else, though. I haven’t seen a winter system like this for a long time.”

Hearing concern in his tone, I hope we won’t be out too long. This storm is a big one, full of an unimaginable amount of fury. Hoping to use my phone as a distraction, I peer down at the screen and catch myself stealing a glimpse of Eli between every sentence I read.

With him at my side, it’s nearly impossible to focus. He’s such a distraction. I have to reread sections of the email several times. According to Mr. Richardson, there have been reports of twenty-foot waves on Lake Erie, a few instances of lightning, and booming claps of thunder.

After thinking about it, I find it ironic how this winter storm seems to be having little, if any, effect on me. After all, thundersnow is a rare occurrence I’ve only seen in videos and read about in books. With an opportunity like this, I should be crapping hail stones in anticipation, and have my sight focused on nothing but the skies.

Since I’ve not been doing that, I peer out the window and notice Eli following my gaze. Blurs of white fall diagonally, the heavy snow visible under each streetlight we pass. Eli might not have seen a winter storm such as this one in a while, but being new to the region, I’ve not seen a whiteout like this in my entire life.

He turns to me and gives the stiff muscles in my shoulder one more squeeze. “With the roads this slick, I’m guessing we’ll be on shore in about twenty minutes. Sam’s a great driver, so relax. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Turning back, I meet his unwavering stare, and notice an odd color reflecting off both of his eyes. It’s not the bright flash of white I’d expect from lightning in a storm, but first red, then blue, and then red again. The two colors continue flashing back and forth. Beneath the color, his expression is a mixture of emotions—but mostly a deep-seated concern.

Something’s wrong. And not just with Eli.

Reluctantly, I twist to look out the front window, feeling the van slow. To brace myself for the sudden change in momentum, I clasp onto Eli’s thigh. Under a dome of thick clouds, the flashing lights illuminate the sky. Scanning the scene, I count six emergency vehicles scattered haphazardly about, all of them blocking the intersection ahead. Forceful tingling rattles my chest the instant a school bus lying on its side comes into view.

With a gasp, I turn back to Eli and, inadvertently, give his firm thigh another squeeze. “There’s been an accident. We need to stop and make sure everyone’s okay.”

Eli draws a hand down his face, his brows pulling in. “This isn’t where we’re supposed to report from. And Ed...” Eli shakes his head, “...is a stickler about assignments. Besides, emergency crews are here, and I’m sure a team from the station is already in place. We might do more harm than good by getting in the way.”

I pause, taking a moment to think about what Eli said. Since I’m new, I figure Eli most likely knows better than I do. Even so, I’m not convinced we’d be getting in the way.

Sitting forward, I cast my voice toward the front of the van. “Hey, Sam, what do you think?”

Sam rolls the van to a complete stop and shifts into Park. “I don’t see another crew here, but the road is blocked. If you guys still want to get to where Ed wants us, we’re going to have to turn around.”

We could turn back, but I’m not quite on board with that option. The thought of leaving the scene of an accident churns an uneasy feeling in my stomach. In my opinion, there’s only one choice to make.

Resolved with my decision, I turn to Eli and shove my phone into my pocket. “Call this one in and grab your camera. Thundersnow or not, we’re getting out and, most likely, reporting from here.”

Eli glances down at my hand, which is still clamped to his thigh. A smile curls across his lips as something wicked flashes in his eyes. Whatever is behind his expression isn’t my concern. Right now, I’m just glad Mr. Gorgeous isn’t arguing.

* * *