New Year's Steve

Yeah, I did know that. She told me when we first matched — it was among her fun, random facts.

I can’t remember mine; probably that I can swim two laps in a pool under water holding my breath.

Weak. So, so weak.

“So you’re a huge fan?”

Felicity nods. “Mostly of the royal family, more so than anything.” She pauses, giving me a side eye. “You think that’s weird, don’t you?”

I do, but it’s not my place to say what someone finds fascinating or not. I collect old coins, and most of my friends thinks that’s dumb, so who am I to judge.

“So, uh. I should probably go grab a ladder, right?”

“Oh! Yes, I’m so sorry to be yammering on! Time is money, and here I am wasting your time.” She smacks the heel of her palm up to her forehead. “When I start babbling just tell me to stop. I’m hungry but I’m going out to eat later and I haven’t wanted to snack so I can eat all the things tonight.”

She is so adorable, standing there in her pencil skirt and white blouse with those cute little slippers.

Keeping up this charade may kill me. But if ever there was a time for recon, now is my chance.5FelicityIt’s not weird that the sight of a man hefting a ladder is turning me on, is it?

A man I only just met, with torn jeans and a ratty baseball cap?

That can’t be what he wears to work on a regular basis. I’m guessing he’s dressed down today since it’s a holiday and all, his boss Skeeter is gone and no one is here to reprimand him for the casual attire.

Oh well — suits me just fine.

I follow Harry into the elevator, skeptically eyeing the buttons all the way down, worried it wasn’t going to open when we reached the ground floor to get to the maintenance closet because the car is notorious for getting stuck at the most inopportune times.

I can’t imagine being trapped in an elevator, on a holiday, with a total stranger.

That is how Meg met Adam.

Actually, they ‘met’ on the company’s in-house messaging system, but had gotten trapped during the company Christmas party on their way down to the lobby, which is as romantic of a story as I have ever heard.

Still. I have no food, no blanket, and no time to get trapped.

I hold my breath the entire trip down, ticking off the floors as we descend, ignoring the hot hunk of a man standing on the other side of the small confined space, fixated on the numbers illuminated above the sliding doors.

Fifteen.

Fourteen.

Ten.

Four.

Lobby.

Ding!

“Were you just holding your breath?” Harry asks as we step out, the relief in me palpable, causing my shoulders to sag in respite.

“Yes. Don’t you know how many people have gotten imprisoned in that thing?”

Harry hesitates before answering. “Elevators aren’t my area of expertise; I’m assuming the lift company is usually called in to take care of it.”

I huff. “They should do a better job. Someone’s getting stuck a few times a month. I have anxiety now, and carry granola bars in my bag and a bottle of water just in case.”

Plus a little flashlight and back-up battery for my phone.

No joke.

A lady can never be too prepared…

“I’ll make a note of that. Maybe give the property owner a call too. Sounds like something more needs to be done than constant maintenance.”

Oh… a man who takes charge!

Me like.

I trail after Harry as he heads to the supply closet, doing my best not to glance down at his ass, and it occurs to me that there is zero reason I needed to be accompanying him on this venture.

This is not my job! Why am I not at my desk working? It’s not as if I’m going to carry the ladder.

My face flushes with embarrassment, but if he thinks it’s strange that I’m following him, he doesn’t let on — only hands me the key for the closet and asks me to open it while he bends and takes a drink from the drinking fountain affixed to the wall.

This time I do take a peek at his ass.

But only a quick one! I have a date tonight with someone else.

Bad felicity, bad! You can’t date a man employed by your company — you cannot. Hard no.

Plus: there is Steve.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

I push the door to the supply room open and the light automatically goes on, a dingy room filled with gray metal shelving, mop buckets and paper supplies. Brooms, squeegees. CAUTION, WET FLOOR! signs. Window spray and other miscellaneous things, the kind of quick things custodians can come grab in a pinch.

Bet they have another room hidden somewhere else with extra desks, chairs, ceiling tiles, bodies…

At least the last thing I’ll see when I die is Harry’s handsome face. Or maybe not.