Page 4 of Elevator Pitch

“I didn’t realize, but I’m not from around here…”

“Is anyone actually from Vegas, though?” he asks with a chuckle. “Where are you from?”

“Seattle,” I reply absently because I’m too busy loosening my bowtie and unbuttoning my shirt. It’s getting hot in here, and not because of the company. Obviously, the air conditioning is no longer piping through the vents.

“Seattle has a popular hockey team.”

“What is it?” I stand again to remove my coat.

“Begins with a K…?”

“Now who’s playing twenty questions?”

He chuckles.

“Stop laughing at me. If we had Wi-Fi, I’d look it up on my phone.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve been around so many rabid hockey fans lately, I forget that ordinary people are just living their lives and don’t really give a rat’s ass about my sport.”

“If you have rabid fans, you must be pretty popular, which makes sense because you’re—” I slap a hand over my mouth.

“I’m what?”

“Oh, um…I’m gonna guess you’re a really good goalie and all that.”

“Uh-huh, I am. Not shy about admitting it either. I’ve trained for years to get to this level.”

“I’m sure.” I would love to be able to see him right now, to see that spark that would undoubtedly be in his eyes. I feel that same flicker when I’m filming for my audience.

“So, famous goalie, what’s your name so I can stalk you online when all this is over?”

The throaty, sexy laugh again. “Caleb Burnside.”

“Cool name. I’m Graham. Graham Adler.”

2

CALEB

Graham Adler.

No way.

Oh, the fucking irony. He doesn’t have a clue who I am, but I sure as fuck know who he is. I take a chance and switch on my flashlight under the pretense of looking for one of those elevator phones. I shine it near the door and spot the small compartment with a picture of a phone on it, and just as quickly move the beam of light over his face once again. He squints, but sure enough, I recognize those kind hazel eyes.

“Shit, sorry,” I say and lower the light. I leave it on, though, and place my cell on the ground, letting it illuminate the small space. “I wanted to see if there was one of those emergency phones.” I nod toward the panel near the door.

“Oh my God, you’re a genius,” he says and the expression on his face, that sweet excitement in his tone, I’m surprised I didn’t realize who he was as soon as he spoke in the first place.

Graham Adler is my secret addiction.

He flings open the small metal hatch, only to find it empty. Groaning, his face falls into his hands, sending a damp tumble of golden blond waves over his forehead. Sweat beads along myown hairline as I watch him sink to the floor, designer tux be damned.

“We’re so fucked.” He tugs at his open collar, popping another button. My eyes track his hand like it’s a puck flying toward the net.

Those familiar, capable hands.

I clear my throat. “It could be worse, at least the building isn’t on fire.” He shoots a weary glance in my direction, and I laugh. “I mean…”

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