Page 15 of The Billionaires

“You bring that out in people,” I say as I grab for the cat without success. Despite the elevator being a small, enclosed space, I’m having an impossibly hard time catching her.

He scoffs. “Great. Blame the victim.”

“Shut up. You’re just making her want to get you that much more.” Not to mention tempting me to let the cat pass.

The cat gives me a look that seems to say, “Challenge accepted.” She tries to snake between my legs—which I close, like a proper lady, before snatching at her without any success.

She tries to get around me on my left. Then on the right. From here, she really picks up steam and tests all of my defensive capabilities, all the while eluding my attempts to catch her and making me wonder if Lucius is made out of catnip.

Given the way he looks, it’s possible.

The worst part is that this battle with the cat is making me thirsty again. And tired. I’m not sure how much longer I can defend Lucius at this rate. As a goalie, you’re not attacked repeatedly over and over like this—not unless your team is complete shit. Not to mention, it’s been thirteen years since I caught any balls… soccer ones, anyway.

Suddenly, the elevator lights go back to their original intensity.

Oh, my. Can it be?

Yes! We begin moving. Heading down instead of up, but that is fine with me.

“Finally,” Lucius says triumphantly from behind me before sneezing three times in a row. In a nasally voice, he adds, “Maybe I’ll actually survive today.”

The extra bonus of the sudden movement is that it seems to confuse the cat, at least for a second, but that is all I need to make my move.

Channeling David Beckham, Michael Jordan, and Mr. Miyagi, I snatch the cat.

I ignore her indignant meows as I grab my purse, stick the cat inside, and close the zipper all the way before slinging the bag over my shoulder.

There. Allergens somewhat contained.

Lucius sneezes again, twice. “Can the cat breathe like that?”

Now he’s accusing me of animal cruelty? I turn to say something biting, but at the sight of his red and watery eyes, I settle for, “There are air holes on the sides of the bag. What kind of a monster do you think I am?”

He curses under a sneeze. “Maybe the kind that sneaks a cat into the private elevator of someone who’s allergic to them?”

I guess I walked right into that one. But hold on. Did he say a private elevator? Who has a private?—

The doors open into the lobby, where a crew of firefighters is waiting for us, axes in tow.

“Are you okay?” the tallest one asks as we hurry out of the metal trap. I grab the water bottle on my way and throw it in the nearest trashcan—to hide the evidence.

“What happened?” Lucius demands when he catches his breath after another series of sneezes. “Why was the elevator jammed?”

As the firefighter explains something about a fire in the basement and how it messed up the elevator wiring, I check my phone.

Yep.

I have a pissed-off email from the person I was supposed to meet for the interview. She italicized the part of the email where she stated, “Needless to say, you aren’t getting this job.”

Is everyone who works in this building so rude? What if I’d been hit by a car?

“Is everyone okay?” Lucius asks the firefighter, surprising me. He sounds a bit better, though still rather congested.

“Yeah,” the firefighter says. “A few people inhaled some smoke, but we got them into the fresh air and they seem to be fine.”

“Speaking of fresh air,” I chime in. “Lucius, you should get some.”

“No. I have an important meeting.” He takes out his iPhone and curses at whatever he sees there. “I guess I might as well get that fresh air.”

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