Page 96 of The Heiress's First Date

“That’s Kat,” he agrees, voice rough.

I look around at the bags scattered on the floor. A small fortune in clothing and not a single bottle of water among them. I’m not used to feeling useless. Or conflicted, come to think of it.

“What can I do, King?” I whisper, starting to feel desperate.

How long has it been? Why is no one getting us out of here? And what happened to the backup generator?

I lick my lips and swallow back the frustration.

“Keep talking to me,” he whispers, voice rough.

Hah. That’s easy enough.

I manage a full two or three minutes of idle chit-chat before my phone buzzes in my hand. My security team is downstairs prying answers out of management and maintenance.

Should I tell King the fire department is here? That might freak him out more.

“What is it?” he asks.

Okay, time to fib. “You know how sometimes you get a grand idea and you’re so sure it’s going to work out but then someone tells you all the things that are wrong with it? I mean, that’s what I pay my legal team to do, but...” I add a little eye roll for good measure.

His fingertips flex against my chest.

I take that as a good sign, coasting my fingers along the side of his neck and rubbing soothing circles with my thumb.

“They’re finding your plot holes,” he murmurs, more lively than he has been since the elevator car halted.

“Hmm.” I like that. My plot holes. I’ll try to remember that the next time one of my team shoots down an idea.

He frowns. “What?—”

Falling silent, he tips his head, listening.

I hear it, too.

Water dripping.

He stumbles a step, knees giving out, and I grab him with both hands, phone tumbling between us.

It sounds like rain in the elevator corridor. What the hell?

“This doesn’t make sense.” He shakes his head, his panic clearly increasing.

I jab the call button again. “Let’s have a seat.”

He’s still shaking his head, losing himself to his panic. I’ve never watched anyone hyperventilate before, but with the way he’s gasping, I’m sure he’s on the verge.

No one answers the call. Hell, the light doesn’t even come on. But I’ve gotta keep my cool.

“Okay?” I say. “Before you fall down.”

I massage his shoulders, hoping my touch grounds him. He presses his other hand against my chest, not to push me away, more like clinging. Connecting.

He stares at my lips. I’m not sure if he’s still zoned out or not.

“We can call Katherine if you want. Or, you know, I met the chief of police once,” I offer, trying to think of all the high-ranking officials I’ve met over the last decade.

When I fall silent, we hear the water. No longer a drip, now a stream. Is the roof leaking? It wasn’t raining earlier.

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