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If so, she wasn’t getting away from me a second time.
From her professional-looking red blouse and the dressy shoes and well-fitted jeans, I would have guessed she was in one of my departments and going out for coffee like I was. What was she doing here?
She held a shopping bag in one hand filled with what looked like clothes. Gripping the strap of a burgundy purse, she stuffed what looked like an Ever After Sweet Shoppe employee badge into it. There was something else on the back, something I couldn’t quite read.
“You work for me?” I said.
If so, why hadn’t I known? I mean, not that I knew all of my employees—not when Clary and the other department heads handled that for me—but still. I would have thought after our connection at Adrian’s, after all of our texts in the two months since, she would have said something.
I hadn’t been able to function without thoughts of her taking over at every turn. Had I affected her the same way? I’d thought so.
“No, I don’t.” Her cheeks went rosy.
She looked away and then peered at me from the corners of her eyes as though uncertain I was actually there.
I inched in just enough for her festive and fiery scent of pomegranates to wash over me. My skin flushed, and something flapped in my chest.
“So you just carry around Ever After employee badges for fun?”
Come on, Hawk. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk to her about.
Her throat worked through a swallow, but she didn’t respond. I was mesmerized by her delicate neck, by the flecks of gold in her eyes and the way her mouth curved at the corners.
She cleared her throat and shuffled, keeping her attention on the bar above the elevator doors indicating that we were approaching the Lobby.
Her lower lip was tucked into her teeth. I sensed her agitation.
“Something tells me you’re not happy to see me,” I said, giving this a final try.
Was she really that disinterested in me? Maybe so. Maybe it was time to let this fascination with her go.
She tossed her hair, sending tantalizing hints of pomegranate in my direction, and opened her mouth when the elevator’s lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Too soon, they blackedout completely.
The car shuddered. Then, with a lurch, the elevator stopped altogether.
I staggered in her direction. She toppled toward me. I felt her hand on my chest as she gripped the lapel of my suit jacket for support.
Any excuse to touch her was A-okay with me.
“Oh,” she squeaked, pressing into my side.
Instinctively, my arm went around her, encircling her tiny waist. She pushed against my chest as her scent drifted toward me.
“Oh, my goodness, Hawk. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said, bracing myself with a hand on the wall.
“Totally cliché. I can’t believe I just did that. Please don’t think I just threw myself at you.”
Though I couldn’t see her in the sudden blackness surrounding us, I could imagine the becoming shade humiliation brought to her skin.
I tried to ignore how good she felt against me—especially because she hadn’t pulled away yet. I wished I could see her face. The darkness between us was thick—I might as well be blind for all I could discern in here.
