Page 5 of Save Me the Trouble
“Floor fifty,” his deep voice rumbled even though he didn’t look at me as I walked by.
The ding of the elevator as it sped up past each floor was like a ticking time bomb.
The door opened.Boom.
Everything on the floor was crisp white—like the person who designed it wanted it to feel sterile. Cold.Like walking on thin ice.There was no color. No plants. No sign of life except for another assistant sitting behind the modern white desk, tapping away at her computer.
“Hi, yes, I’m here?—”
“Miss Johnson. Yes, I’m aware,” she interrupted me almost robotically. “Mr. Crown is finishing up some things, but I’ll escort you to his office.” Standing up, she tapped a button on her earpiece and said something under her breath before swiping her card to unlock the frosted glass door behind her.
Tall. Tight skirt. Brunette. An almost carbon copy of the woman downstairs.Mental note: Mr. Crown likes brunettes.
I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and followed her. At the end of the short hall, there was a small sitting room. Two plush navy loveseats sat along the walls, a coffee table in front of them, and a skyline view of Seattle out of the window.
“Mr. Crown will be with you shortly.”
I gaped, reaching for a “thank you,” but she was charging back to her desk before I could find it. Another scan of the room revealed one more rich, mahogany door with a sign on the front of it.
Killian Crown, CEO.
I plopped down on one of the couches with an ‘oomph,’ the soft cushions swallowing me up just as that marked door opened.
“Miss Johnson.”
My head swiveled to the man filling the doorframe, and my jaw went slack.If looks could kill…well, then I could understand why the female half of Seattle would fight each other to the death for this man.
I loathed him—every piece of his character that I’d picked up about him from Darcy and Embers. And I would continueto loathe him…after I took one single minute to appreciate how devastatingly handsome he was. One minute to get that shred of admiration out of my system.
From the very top of his rich brown hair that parted to one side, to the planes of his face that had more right angles than a square, down to the way his suit sculpted perfectly to his broad shoulders and trim waist.
But it was his deceptively clear blue eyes adorned with a narrow pair of glasses that ensnared my stare for longer than a second.
“Miss Johnson?” His voice embodied both indifference and impatience, and he pulled the frames from his face with two fingers and tucked them into his pocket almost like he’d forgotten they were on.
“Y-yes.” I stood quickly and stretched out my hand, realizing too late that I stood too far away for him to be able to shake it.
His eyes dropped to my hand and then lifted back up, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth for an instant before it disappeared.Smiles were the kind of luxury rich assholes couldn’t afford.
I dropped my hand to my side, knowing there was nothing I could do about the blush in my cheeks.
“It’s a pleas—nice to meet you,” I said, stepping forward like I could leave the stain of my failed handshake attempt behind me.
But in my eagerness to move on from one embarrassment, I created another.
My heel caught on the fancy white shag carpet, and all of a sudden, my balance was gone. I tipped like the Leaning Tower of Pisa right for the coffee table when heat exploded in my hand, and I was pulled forward, straight into a rock wall—a rock wall that must have had molten lava flowing underneath the surface and smelled like sandalwood.
Oh, no.
I fought with my lungs to continue breathing as my pulse went haywire. Like a car that didn’t want to start, I tried to reset my racing heart with each attempted inhale, but it refused to turn over; it wanted to stay stalled and leave me flush against him.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I blurted out breathlessly.
I was really struggling to survive the encounter, meanwhile, he looked down at me like I was a fly that had just smashed into his windshield, and if I didn’t step back, he was going to squash me.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated and shoved myself back so forcefully, it was a miracle I didn’t send myself careening to the ground. “I’m Grace Johnson from Embers—your new profile curator.”
If you don’t fire me first.
