Page 59 of Think Outside the Boss

“This is Tom,” a voice says. “What can I help you with?”

“This is Tristan Conway and Frederica Bilson. We entered the building just a few minutes ago, and we’re now in the elevator. It stopped when we were roughly at the thirteenth floor. The lights are all out and the panel is unlit.”

“Shit,” Tom says, and despite the unprofessionalism, I can only agree with him. “I’ll call for a technician right away. Don’t worry, either of you. This has happened before.”

Then it should have been fixed before, I think. “We’ll wait. Please keep us updated of any developments.”

“Of course, sir. We should have you out in no time.” A brief pause. “Is everything all right with Ms. Bilson?”

Raising her head from my shoulder, Freddie clears her throat. “I’m fine, Tom.”

“Good. All right, then. Sit tight,” he says and hangs up.

A breathless, scared laughter bubbles out of Freddie. I can’t see her face, but I don’t need to to understand her reaction. “Sit tight,” she wheezes.

I slide my arm down and circle her waist, evident even through the thickness of her coat. “You heard the man. Come here.”

She sidles closer. “You don’t think we’ll die?”

“I don’t,” I say. “Not even a little bit. Let’s breathe again, sweetheart.”

We breathe in tandem for ten long, slow breaths, my hand moving over her lower back the entire time in languid strokes.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’m better.”

“Good,” I murmur back.

“I’m focusing on you and not on the hundred-feet drop beneath us.”

My hand brushes the bottom of her hair, the thick strands tickling my skin. “Focus on me, then.”

She clears her throat. “Can you talk for a bit?”

“Okay,” I say, pitching my voice to soothe. “You said earlier that you wanted to get to know me. There are all kinds of things I could tell you, you know.”

Her silence tells me to keep going, so I do, my hand rising to smooth over her hair. It’s like silk beneath my palm. “I was born and raised in this neighborhood. Just a few blocks over, actually. There’s no other place I’d want to live, not permanently. New York is my home.”

“Despite the pigeons and tourists,” she whispers.

“Despite them,” I agree. “Perhaps it’s all the brick in this city that appeals to me.”

She snorts once in humor, a small victory. I stretch out my legs in front of me and tighten my arms around her. “My favorite ice cream flavor is mango.”

“Mango?”

“Yes. Mango sorbet, actually.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Well, the way I see it, I’m leaving all the cookie dough and mint chocolate chip to the rest of you. It’s a win-win situation. Let’s see what more…” I cast my mind out for anything about myself, anything that would be interesting enough to keep her focus on me and away from the height we’re currently sitting at. “You asked me why I attend the Gilded Room party, even though I’d already answered you.”

“The real answer,” she murmurs.

“Right. The real answer.” Sighing, I lean my head against the steel wall behind us and bare my soul. “The last decade, I’ve become accustomed to a certain kind of woman approaching me. The one who expects designer handbags for birthdays, Valentine’s days and Christmases, who shivers at the mention of a prenup.”

Not that I’d dated many, not with Joshua and my job. There were none that I’d ever consider turning into a stepmom, and even fewer I think would actually relish the task. Joshua would be an unfortunate consequence of getting me, and my wealth, rather than a reason to stay.

But Joshua has never been an unfortunate consequence. He might not have come to me naturally, but over my dead body will he ever feel like he’s a burden.

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