Page 4 of Octane

Just after I had managed to get my high back from the phone call with Vic, it begins to dwindle again the longer it takes the elevator to reach my floor. I repeatedly hit the down button a few more times, knowing this does absolutely nothing to make it move faster. I press the up button just for shits and giggles too.

Another minute goes by before I give up, heading for the stairwell in exasperation. Not looking forward to descending twenty-three flights of stairs in my high heels, I consider taking them off. That’s when the ding of the elevator’s arrival has me whipping my body back around once again. If the security guards happen to have their monitors tuned into the north elevator bank of this floor at the moment, I’m sure they’re having a good laugh.

I’m disappointed when I realize it’s the up arrow that’s illuminated, but I get in the car anyway. It has to go down at some point, right? I hit the “G” on the panel and hope that the elevator will begin its journey down to the garage.

“Damn it,” I curse to myself when I feel the car start to rise.

I check my phone for the time. If I were to be in my car, leaving right this moment, I would only be a few minutes late. But now, forget it. With the unexpected wait, the added ride up instead of down, not to mention the horrendous traffic that I’m certain awaits me, I’ll be lucky if I’m only fifteen minutes late to work this morning.

This isn’t going to end well. I think about how upset Daniel is going to be when I finally get there. I pull up the messaging app on my phone and send him a quick text.

Me: The elevator is acting up again. I might be a little late this morning.

He’s going to be upset, but not as upset as he’ll be if I don't give him a heads up. It’s not easy working with your boyfriend. Especially not when he’s Daniel Kramer. It’s a struggle to get along with him under the best circumstances. He prefers things a certain way and when his expectations are rattled...well, he doesn’t react too well.

My anxiety sets in more and more with each beep announcing that another floor has passed until finally, the “P” lights up, letting me know I’ve arrived at the top floor.

Penthouse.

My interest is piqued, nosiness momentarily slaying the anxiety that is eating away at me, as I’ve never been to the top floor of our building. You need to enter a code on the keypad even to be able to press the “P”.

Did the occupant call the elevator, and I happened to interrupt its journey when I pressed the up arrow?

I’ve always wondered who lives up here. This is one of the most affluent condominium complexes in the city, so you have to be fairly wealthy to be able to afford even the smallest of condos in the building. Despite growing up with the money that my family had, I still can’t imagine what it must be like owning the penthouse.

As the doors slide open, I suppress a gasp when I realize someone is standing there. I manage to catch his sandy blonde hair and chiseled chin before tearing my eyes away. He’s gorgeous, and I’m shocked by my reaction to him. My heart flutters slightly, and a cold sweat breaks out over my flushed skin. I never react like this when I see another man. Curiosity has me wanting to take another look, if for no other reason than to figure out what it is about this man.

I turn my attention to my phone, trying to rid my mind of him, but I can’t. Carefully, I lift my travel mug to my lips and use the moment to let my eyes wander. He’s older than my twenty-seven years, but not by much. And damn, is he tall. In his expensive suit, he looks like a model.

Is he?

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there in front of the open doors looking at his phone, as if other people’s time means nothing to him. Like he’s the king of this complex and no one’s life is as important as his.

Glancing behind him, I take in the extravagant details of the lobby outside of his front door.

Damn.

The furnishings in our condo are extremely lavish, but this glorified vestibule puts our place to shame.

I clear my throat, jolting his attention to the open and waiting elevator. I watch him as he walks into the car, unaffected. No apologies for keeping me waiting or anything like that. I roll my eyes and look away.

Feeling his stare on me as he slides over to the other side of the car, I give in and allow myself to look once more. My eyes meet his soft, chocolate brown stare briefly before flitting back to the panel in front of me. He looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before. I stare at him with my peripheral vision, trying to figure it out. Irritated that I’m so affected by him, I place a finger on the door close button and push hard. I’ve probably seen him around the building before. Unless heisa model. Maybe I’ve seen him on a billboard somewhere.

As we finally begin our descent, I check the time again. Momentarily distracted by this asshole with zero regard for other people’s time, I’m quickly reminded that I am running late. Thirty floors to the lobby, plus one more to the garage. I hope, by some grace of God, that traffic isn’t too crazy today. If only I had my racecar. If only the streets of West Hollywood were the speedway.

I’m ripped from my thoughts as the elevator skids to a stop. The bright, fluorescent lights shut off, and we’re left bathed in a shadowed, red hue from the emergency light. I gasp in shock at the sudden change in speed as coffee spews from the small opening in my lid. Hitting the skin of my wrist, it burns for a second before I wipe it away with my other hand.

I reach for the buttons again, hastily pressing them, as if this will bring the elevator back to life. Nothing happens.

“Oh, comeon,” I grumble, banging on the door of the electrical panel.

“I’m uncertain, but I don’t believe that will fix the problem,” he says, laughing slightly at my outburst.

A comedian, huh?

Any trace of allure that he held when I first laid eyes on him has diminished.

Liar.

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