Page 4 of Kissing Chaos
The phone in my hand quits ringing before a motherly voice travels through the speaker. “Dr. Wilson-Flynn’s office. This is Willa. What can I do for you?”
Words stick in my throat for just a moment before I say, “Yes, hi. The receptionist at my regular therapist’s office said you might have an appointment for me? I mean, she said you guys—er, Dr. Kristen—sometimes kept afternoons if it was important. They can’t see me here today and”—I stutter over my words—“I don’t know. I’m hoping you can help me out?” It ends in a question. I almost resume my rambling, but the receptionist beats me to it.
“What is your name, sweetie?”
My back presses into the wall as I try to slow my heart rate. I can do this.
“Jennette Taylor, but I go by Jett.”
“Hi, Jett. Our office is right off the square in Havenwood. What time can you be here?”
“I’m about an hour away, but I can head straight there from Atlanta.”
“Okay, Jett. I’m putting you down for one thirty this afternoon. Does that work for you?”
I nod, unable to believe how unfazed she is by my unscheduled, spur of the moment appointment, before remembering she can’t see me. “Oh, yes ma’am. I’ll be there. Thank you.”
“Not a problem at all, sweetie. We look forward to meeting you.”
2
Noah
Four elevator banks. Fifteen cars. Thirty-five-hundred-pound capacity. Eight miles of multi-cable wires in the lobby panel alone. A mile of wiring per high-rise car. Half a mile per low-rise.
Numbers. Logic. Practical things.
That’s me.
So, what is it about the girl from the entrapment call that has my head spinning? I should be focused on resetting the controls on car seven. Instead, her image keeps replaying in my head, a hint of lavender still consuming my senses.
I mean, yeah, she was gorgeous. Those toned legs and ass were the definition of perfection, showcased by her skin-tight jeans that came up high enough to hug her waist. An oversize sweatshirt tucked into her jeans concealed her upper body, but it was the lip she kept nibbling that had me completely entranced. I wanted that lip between my teeth more than I want a boss with a brain cell. My fingers flexed with the need to reach out and smooth it from her abusive grip just to pull it into mine. The intense focus on her lips almost—almost—distracted me enough to miss her emerald-green eyes.
What I wouldn’t give to have a real conversation with her. To slip those loose tendrils of hair back behind her ear. To cradle her face in my hands as I trace my nose—
My thoughts scramble as my helper’s voice crackles through the radio. “Hey, man, this door hates me or something. Can you come take a look?”
Rolling my eyes at Colt’s lack of confidence in his own work, I slip the hand-held off my belt and answer. “It’s basic wiring, bud. You should’ve learned it six months ago. They teach y’all anything these days?”
“Okay, jackass. Keep acting like that, and I’ll tell Katie not to send you anymore apple pie cookies.”
Huffing a laugh at the mention of Colt’s wife and the most amazing cookies that—no joke—taste exactly like apple pie and trying to ignore his name-calling, I concede. “Come down to the lobby. I’ll take a look after lunch.”
Without permission, my mind drifts back to the girl. I didn’t even get her name. Best believe I am kicking myself for that one.
I was working on a door issue when the power cut off and the chime sounded. Lucky for this girl, that car was in the same elevator bank. Otherwise, she would undoubtedly still be waiting for someone to show up an hour later. And judging by the messy brown hair that looked like fingers had constantly combed through it and the incessant fidgeting once she stepped through the doors, she would have had a panic attack before then.
As soon as she started rambling, I was a goner. The huskiness of her voice and dry sarcasm amid the panic sucked me right in.
“What’re you camped out by the stairs for?”
“Shit.” I jump, punching Colt in the arm for sneaking up on me. Although it probably wasn’t much of a challenge.
He stares at me, a knowing glint in his eye. “She was a looker, huh? Waiting on her to come down?” He’s not wrong.
“Mind your own damn business, man,” I mumble as I stand, groaning when my left knee protests.
“You good?” he asks, staring at my leg like maybe it’ll grow a mouth and talk.
