Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

No. It wasn’t. The lighting wasn’t just poor, it was uncertain. Would it last all the way down to the lobby?

Would it last for fifty floors?

Jaimie’s throat constricted. It wasn’t too late to turn back…

“Listen, honey—”

It was

the “honey” that did it. Showing this man any weakness would be a mistake.

“I am not your honey,” she said coldly. “And I am not asking for your advice. The light is fine. And if all else fails, I have my flashlight.”

The emergency system chose that instant to blink off. It came back on quickly, but not before the pencil-thin beam of the keychain flashlight bounced off the dark wall with all the effect of a drop of water bouncing off the rocks at the base of Niagara Falls.

“Dammit, woman,” Zacharias Castelianos snarled, “will you please think logically?”

“I am always logical, Mr. Castelianos. I am not only a Realtor, I am a CPA.”

“Well, hell, why didn’t you say so? A certified public accountant. That means I’d pick you first to lead my team descending Mount Everest.”

“It’s a set of stairs, not a mountain. And what I do is not your problem.”

She was right. Hadn’t he already come to that same conclusion?

“I am a grown woman, and fully responsible for myself.”

Right again, he thought, and heard himself say, “You’ll never make it.”

“Certainly, I will.”

“Those lights will go out. Or that thing you call a flashlight will die.”

Bingo. She’d already thought of both possibilities. Those long ago, not-so-amusing games at the family ranch in Texas would end up sounding like good times.

Especially since she had a thing about heights as well as darkness.

Standing at a window and looking down over the city was one thing. Flying was OK, too. She could ride a ski lift up a mountain without blinking.

But she wasn’t big on ladders, even step stools.

And here she was, about to take on stairs that went down and down and down…

Do it now, James, before you chicken out altogether.

She took a step forward.

“Don’t be a fool!”

His voice was sharp. Her breathing was rapid. Neither was a good sign, but she slung the strap of her shoulder bag over her head so that the bag would hang like a backpack.

Excellent idea.

Bad execution.

The strap wasn’t long enough. All the weight of the bag bobbed between her shoulder blades.

“That’s not balanced. It’s going to make things even more difficult, if you insist on—”