Page 8 of Perfectly Grumpy

The doors slide open, and she steps inside, fully in game-plan mode. I hesitate. Every nerve in my body screamsdon’t get into the metal box.

I have a thing about elevators. Two floors or twenty—it doesn’t matter. I could take the stairs, but she’s already inside, waiting.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, noticing my hesitation.

“Nothing,” I grit out before stepping into the elevator.

“So, I’ve got a few ideas,” she says. “One option involves a photo shoot at the shelter, maybe a video with the adoptable animals—something that shows people who you really are.”

“I hate this already,” I grunt, rubbing the back of my neck. The elevator starts to move.

“We’re going to rebrand you as a delightful, big-hearted animal lover with a passion for community service and motorcycles,” she adds brightly. “Since the commissioner and his wife run that charity for widows who ride. Oh, and maybe we’ll throw in a rescued hedgehog.”

I stare at her. “You do realize I’m an introvert who doesn’t like people, attention, or death traps?”

Lauren waves me off. “We’ll just have you pose next to it. Maybe hold the hedgehog.”

I blink. “So now I’m starring in an animated movie with a rodent sidekick?”

“Exactly!” she chirps.

“This is utter misery for me.”

“No, Tate,” she says with newfound optimism. “This isadorable.”

Suddenly, the elevator jolts to a grinding halt. I glance at the panel above the doors. The lighted numbers flicker, then die.

“Why did we stop?” I ask in a panicked voice. I step forward, pressing the button again. Nothing. So I jab it again. And again. Like maybe pushing it with more force will magically fix it.

“Relax,” Lauren says as she watches my button assault. “It’ll probably start up again in a second.”

Relax? Sure. Right after I stop picturing us plummeting to our doom. My heart jackhammers against my rib cage. This is my personal version of a horror movie—the one where the pretty girl and the idiot who’s afraid of elevators get trapped together, and only one of them makes it out alive.

Spoiler:It’s not usually the idiot.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asks, noticing the cold sweat on my forehead.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” I reply.

I hit the call button, and Leroy, the facility manager, answers. “This better not be Rourke again asking if I’ll order him a burrito.”

“No, this is Tate Foster,” I say, trying to keep the panic at bay. “The elevator’s stuck between floors.”

There’s a pause, then a chuckle. “Sheriff? You’re kidding me.” Then he starts laughing harder.

“This isn’t funny, Leroy. The elevator’s not moving.”

“I just can’t believe it’syou,of all people. The guy who hates elevators.”

Lauren turns to me, blinking. “Youhateelevators? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t sure you’d care after the cat incident.”

“Of course I care."

“I’ll see what I can do,” Leroy interrupts. “Hang tight. Maybe enjoy the pause?” Then he chuckles, like we’re supposed to be thrilled about being stuck together.

There’s a brief silence when I register the obvious: we’re alone. But this was not how I pictured ever being alone with Lauren Williamson.

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