Page 5 of Dear Pink

He nods. My gaze travels to his sculpted biceps. What gene lottery did he win for a body like his? He must work out all the damn time. He’s ripped everywhere, and his skin-tight bike clothes show every sexy muscle. I rack my brain for something smart to say to show him I’m not an idiot hiding in the elevator crying. Nothing comes to mind.

Heat rises up my spine, and I swallow hard, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and saliva goes down the wrong pipe. I stifle a cough and press my back against the wall of mirrors. He cuts me a glance and clears his throat. In a black pencil skirt, black blazer, and black ballet flats, I’m a shadow on the wall. My head dips, shading my face with my long dark hair. It’s my invisibility cloak.

“What floor? You didn’t press a button.”

Oh. My. God. Even his deep voice is sexy and gentle. Why is this happening today, a shitshow of a day? “Um. Any floor. It doesn’t matter. I have nowhere important to be. It’s my morning break.” Geez, why did I spew those idiotic words?

He turns, towering over me. “A break in the elevator?”

“It’s a quiet place.” A visitor tag hangs from his collar. “You’re a visitor?” Did I just ask the most obvious question ever? I bite my tongue to quit talking. I glance at the floor, hoping he’ll ignore me.

“Yeah. Visiting my sister, Giovanna, for lunch. She works in the marketing department. You?”

Holy tomatoes, he wants me to talk more. He grins, probably to calm the crazy woman in the elevator. His bright blue eyes hold me in place. “I’m in the editing department.”

“Sounds interesting. What are you working on this morning?”

Not gonna say an email from my dead best friend. “Polo bears.” Wait. Why did I say such an asinine thing? My brain is broken. Help!

He smiles at me as if I have two heads. “I see. I didn’t realize bears played polo.” He leans over and hits the button for the first floor.

“They might not.”

“Might not what?” He gives me a pensive stare and steps aside, dividing the elevator space by half.

Hurry, Hannah, smile at the gorgeous man. Am I smiling yet? I feel my face and touch my teeth. Libby, why did you do this to me?

Not your Nervous Nelly smile. Frightening the hot fancy guy definitely won’t get the right attention.

“Might not play polo or any other sport,” I say, abandoning the smile. “Though I saw several bears with balls.” Geez, bears with balls? I sound like a ridiculous dork.

“Well, here’s my floor. You have a nice day.” The doors open and Mr. Fancy gets out, smoothly navigating the bike down the hall. I stare at his tight tush. Libby’s right. I should’ve pinched his ass instead of acting deranged. Wait, hiney-grabbing is mental too.

The elevator stops at the fifth-floor break room. I don’t remember selecting any buttons, but the whole ride is a blur. Rubbing my strained neck, I step out, hoping I dreamed the awkward interaction with the sexy visitor. Maybe I hit my head, and I’m suffering from a concussion. Geez, Libby’s spot on. I need an instructional manual for living my life.

The fifth-floor break room is the least favorite employee space. The office manager on this floor, aka Kale Queen, obsesses over power greens and her Omega Juicer Extractor. If you’re ever in the mood for a drink resembling muck from the sewer, this is the break room for you. And for me. It’s the perfect escape since no one works on this floor except the manager. It also has a Breville One-Touch Tea Maker and the loose tea varieties found in the best Asian markets.

I scoop a spoonful of Iron Goddess Oolong tea into the basket and hit the brew button. While I wait, I find my favorite spot by the copy machine. The soft whirring sound drowns out my thoughts. You know, the ones coming in humiliating flashes until the end of time. Visions of polo bears laughing at me and throwing berets fill my mind. Great, now they’re French bears. I shove them out of my head and replace the image with a better version of me in the elevator, a confident person who exchanges clever retorts with Mr. Fancy.

Suddenly, an image of me and Libby from years ago, sitting outside in her mom’s garden, emerges.

***

“Hannah, I have a huge favor.”

“Okay?” I shift nervously. Libby makes the most random requests. A favor turns into an adventure to Vegas without your underwear before you can blink.

“Remember the art gallery downtown with the foot guy?”

“Which one?”

“Come on, Hannah. There’s only one gallery owner with a foot fetish. At least I only know of one.”

“Foot fetish? What are you talking about?”

“Javier? He always sucked on my toes after a show.”

“Yuck. How could I forget the toe sucker? So gross.”

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