Page 73 of The Billionaires' Prize

“Mmhmm. And I like doing it.” Have dreamed of doing it. “Let me take care of you.”

“You’ll get no objection from me.”

Her phone chimes on the vanity.

“That’ll be our food.”

“I’ll go get it,” I offer.

Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotta practice, right?” I give her a quick squeeze and then pry my sodden clothes off. Maybe this’ll teach me to be impulsive. I dig my phone from the pocket and toss my clothes into the hamper. Ducking into her bedroom, I grab a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

She watches from the doorway, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to slip my feet into my shoes. Grabbing my phone, I press a kiss to her forehead.

“Stop tempting me.”

“Never.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I stalk across her apartment and stare at the elevator doors.

My pulse pounds as I reach for the button, and the smile falls away. Riding in the metal box the last two days hasn’t eased my claustrophobia. Maybe the whole practice makes perfect adage doesn’t work with phobias.

As I step inside, I pull out my phone and open my text messages. Quickly, I jab the button for the ground floor and then shoot a text to Gabe.

Kingston: Kat had a rough day. Chinese food at her place?

There’s a link waiting from Katherine, and I click it like the lifeline that it is. She knows how I hate elevators, and since I stepped foot in her apartment yesterday, she’s been sending me funny videos, keeping them cued up because she knows they’ll occupy my mind while I zoom up and down in the giant steel trap.

A notification pops up across the top of the screen, and I click it.

Gabe: Coming down.

Why do they have to have apartments in the sky?

Don’t think about it.

I play the video again, watching a collection of cats with zero athleticism. By the time the elevator dings and the doors whoosh open, I’m breathing steadily.

I tip the delivery guy, grab the food, and turn back to my nemesis. The aromas coming from the bag make me salivate. She’s so good to me.

“One more time,” I whisper to myself. My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance down to see a new link from Katherine.

The twin doors open as soon as I hit the button. Most people love when an elevator is ready and waiting for them. It’s like winning a little lottery.

Not me.

I need those extra seconds—minutes are better—to work myself up for it. To breathe and think happy thoughts.

There’s no time for a pep talk, but luckily, I’m alone with my fear.

I swallow, fighting the unease in my gut. People ride elevators millions of times a day. This isn’t a movie, and some fucker named Klaus or Hanz or Franz isn’t going to cut the cables.

Inside, I send the elevator skyward and immediately load Katherine’s video. It’s a compilation of kittens and a couple of puppies snuggling up to their humans. A tiny orange kitten bravely climbs up a man’s chest and tries to settle in between his neck and his shirt collar, but it slips and rolls down the guy’s arm.

The ‘why didn’t you catch me’ look the little fuzzball gives the man makes me laugh. Typical feline.

I reply to her text.

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