I reach the emergency door for the thirty-fourth floor and scan my employee badge over the security pad. The small light stays red.
Weird. I try again. It still doesn’t turn green.
What the hell? Why isn’t my badge working?
I push on the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. What’s going on here?
Maybe the thirty-fourth-floor security pad is broken. I go to the thirty-third floor.
Still can’t gain access.
Finally, it dawns on me that maybe it’s because I don’t work on those floors. The building has a law firm on the thirty-fourth floor and a tax advisory firm on the thirty-third. I study my employee badge. It has my photo on it—me smiling with a hint of nervous excitement—and my name, Amy Sand, in all caps. Underneath my name, it states GrantEm Capital.
Shit. If I want to get on an elevator, I’ll have to go back up. To the office.
Where Emmett is.
Time to decide which is worse—taking the stairs all the way down to the lobby or possibly facing Emmett. Just thinking about my boss is making my lips tingle. Both sets.
Wait a minute… My thong! I left it in his office!
I slap my forehead. How could I have been so stupid! Oh my God! I want it back, but I can’t possibly go up into his office again!
I breathe in and out deeply. Think, Amy, think! You were overeducated for a reason!
Okay, the thong is a loss. Even if I get it back, I can’t wear it again. So what if it was my power thong, and I wore it every time I had something important planned for the day? I can buy a new one. And if Emmett ever mentions the old one or brings it up, I’ll deny it’s mine. It’s not like it has my name on it.
Problem solved.
Taking a calmer breath, I move to the next issue: this endless rectangular spiral of stairs. Dad tells me I should exercise, but I never get the chance working in finance. I mean, I barely have any time to sleep. Maybe it’s time I make my father happy. It’s only thirty-three stories, not an eternity on a StairMaster. How bad can it be?
An hour or so later, I’m finally in the lobby. My legs are shaking, muscles I didn’t know I had quivering like cello strings. Sweat is pouring out of glands I didn’t know existed. My lungs expand and contract unevenly, and my brain declares I’m an idiot.
I agree. By the time I reached the twentieth floor, I realized I’d made a huge mistake. But it was too late. I didn’t have the energy to climb back up fifteen floors of stairs. Besides, it had to be easier going down than up.
It just didn’t feel that way.
But now I’m finally, thankfully, rejoicingly in the lobby! I put my hands on my knees and suck air. If we ever have an earthquake and need to evacuate, I’m taking the elevator. I don’t give a shit what the emergency manual says.
Once my breathing evens out a bit, I go to the garage across the street—the GrantEm building is great except for the lack of parking within the structure. As I start my car, I realize I’ve been a complete moron.
Running solved nothing. I’m still going to have to see Emmett. If not over the weekend—it’s very possible he’ll text me about the adjusted Excel model I didn’t turn in—then definitely on Monday.
Covering my face, I let out a scream. What the hell am I going to do? Driving off a cliff sounds really good.
Except it wouldn’t be practical. Besides, I love my dad too much to do that to him. And why should I die? I might’ve started the kiss, but Emmett put his dick in me.
Okay, Amy. Stop thinking. You’re sleep-deprived, your blood sugar’s too low and you can’t be rational right now.
First things first. Go home. Sleep. Then come up with a strategy.
I drive home. It takes less than half an hour to reach the two-bedroom apartment I share with Sasha. That’s almost magically fast in L.A. But then, the streets aren’t crowded at one thirty-six a.m. on a Saturday. People are already clubbing and partying or staying home and doing productive things, like sleeping.
I slip off my shoes as I walk into my room and let out a sigh. If my feet could talk, they’d be groaning right now. Being stuck inside a pair of high-heeled sandals—even if they’re my power shoes—for hours on end is a bitch. So is doing an unplanned cardio session in them. The bra’s next to go. So much better. I don’t know how ladies in the past functioned wearing corsets they couldn’t get out of alone. Thank God I wasn’t born back then.
After tossing my purse and laptop bag on the armchair near my bed, I check my phone for missed messages, just in case I didn’t hear the notification pings or ringtone over the sound of my loud, desperate wheezing the entire time I was struggling on those damn stairs.
A million texts from Rick. I don’t want to deal with him right now, so I ignore them.