Page 2 of Nothing to No One

They stepped inside. Being nearest the options, she pressed B2. That meant basement two, right? This was the first time she’d gone down as opposed to up.

As the elevator moved, she felt it. It? What? No idea. A dense, heavy weight in the air swirled with a sense of expectation that didn’t anticipate words. Something new. Brand new. A mass in the pit of her stomach, thick and wanting, alive and yearning. Something was going on beneath her skin.

When the elevator came to a lumbering halt, she was none the wiser. The doors took a second to open. When they did, the aura burst, and she almost punched the air.

Okay. One step closer to completing her task. A sign opposite indicated which way was east and which was west.

Confident, like she’d known the whole time, she strode out. About halfway down the long corridor, she had a crisis. Left or right… two turns or three? Maybe it was four. What did Renata say?

Slowing down, she got more in line with Lowe. Walking behind him would be too obvious, she was supposed to be his escort. Oh, God, was this going to be bad? She really didn’t want to get reamed out. What would failing mean for her new job?

If he was leaving and knew the way, why did he even need her? Maybe he was the entourage type, some people needed those, no matter how small. It wasn’t an affliction confined tocelebrities either. If it was protection he wanted, he’d picked wrong. She sure wouldn’t be good as a security agent. Especially next to the capable actor. Roman Lowe was an action star in an upcoming spy thriller TV show. According to his pamphlet anyway.

Even through the tux she could tell he was ripped. His muscles were obvious in the breadth of his shoulders. His height, somewhere around six four, didn’t diminish his physique, it only made him more imposing.

At the end of the corridor, she was forced to make a choice. Right. He’d correct her if she went the wrong way, wouldn’t he? His silence, and that he stayed at her side, spurred her on.

Right and right again.

The lights dimmed and she slowed. Why did that happen? Suddenly, isolation got cold. They were far, far away from the crowds and guests. The corridor was bare, the pale-yellow walls and gray floor were almost sickly in their pallor. They hadn’t seen another soul since stepping off the elevator.

“Is there a problem?” Roman asked, reminding her it probably wasn’t a good idea to stand there squinting at nothing.

“No,” she said. The lights faded up again, and bam, the red door near the end of the corridor ignited her triumph. “Right up here.”

The weather outside was awful. Could that cause a power issue? The weatherman forecast thunderstorms. Last minute, Renata panicked some guests may not show, and they’d scrambled to erect a canopy over the red carpet. With the wind the way it was, the thing was probably two states over by now.

She needed to get back upstairs asap. Renata might need her. And, yeah, okay, so it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to get away from the labyrinth of corridors in the spooky bowels of the hotel.

On opening the red door, she expected to be outside. They weren’t. Hadn’t Renata said something about a storeroom? Yes, storeroom and out.

Out.

Roman didn’t enter her mind until she heard the red door close. In that same second, the lights went out. They didn’t fade. Didn’t dim. In an instant, they were consumed in black ink.

She froze.

All she could hear was her own breathing. Nothing else. In. Out. Short. Faster. Calm. This was bad. So bad. She didn’t hear Roman’s breathing or know he was approaching until he touched her shoulder. At least she assumed it was him.

“Are you okay?”

Startled by the deep, masculine voice at her side, her hand rose on instinct. Not that she noticed until it spread on soft fabric. His tux. Her palm was pressed to his abdomen. Touching a stranger was beyond inappropriate, but all her concentration was on breathing, she couldn’t think about being polite.

“Say something.”

That voice again. Her lips managed to move, actually making sounds was beyond her throat’s capability. His fingers curled, gripping her shoulder tighter. The signals to his muscles seemed connected to her too. Hers did the same, scrunching the fabric still beneath her palm.

A flash of light. Quick and red, it disappeared then came back, bathing the room in a dull scarlet glow.

“Say something,” he said again, his free hand directed her jaw up until their eyes met.

“What happened?”

His shoulders dropped, releasing some of their tension. When his hand descended from her shoulder, he interlinked their fingers, removing hers from his jacket.

“You’re okay,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you suffer from anxiety? Panic attacks? Asthma? Do you need medication?”

Roman Lowe was thorough. What a great start to their association that her behavior should scream “drug me” to reach the bar of normality.

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