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I get into the elevator. The doors slide closed. When the usual tummy-drop sensation hits me as the metal box lifts, I know it’s not merely due to speed or the floor dropping away.
This sensation is about my fear…
Everything that has happened with Brock has been so much fun. A delight. A treat. It felt like on Monday he entered my world and really did sweep me off my feet.
He was right about what women want. I wanted to be swept off my feet.
I wanted him to throw caution to the wind and kiss me. I wanted to lose myself all those times. I wanted to forget the rules.
Right now, as the roomy elevator glides straight past the second floor, then the third, I wonder: Is this happening too fast?
Is there a dark side to all the light and sparkles I’ve been so dazzled by all week?
There is a chance I’ll arrive on the fourth floor, and everything will be fine.
Brock will call me ‘baby’ again.
He’ll shoo everyone out of his office, then hold me close. He’ll tell me that nothing is as important as us—and what’s happening between us. Just like he did last night.
This morning feels very different than last night, though.
I rub my forehead. The doors slide open.
I step out, look down the hall, and spot her. Vanessa is visiting with Brock in his office… during his oh-so-important meeting.
Why hasn’t he kicked her out?
That queasy feeling in my belly gets stronger. I can’t walk over there. I would look like a fool.
Instead of intruding on their cozy visit, I stand near the elevators and watch.
Chapter 18
Brock
“Vanessa, I am very busy,” I say through clenched teeth.
Vanessa Von Kemp remains rooted in the seat across from my desk.
She won’t leave, despite the fact there are four other people in the room with us, and it is clearly not the time to discuss why I don’t want to get coffee with her on Saturday.
“I just think it’d be so much fun,” she says in a fake-cheerful way, a smile pasted on her painted lips.
Her tall, lean body looks even more angular in the tight, black, faux-leather leggings she’s in, and the matching black halter top. Never mind that it dipped down into the thirties last night, and there’s snow in the forecast for the weekend—she’s dressed as if she stopped by on her way to a nightclub in Miami.
She pouts her red lips. “Come on, Brock, baby, humor me. My trip to Cabo was canceled, and I have been so bored all week. Nothing to do. One cup of coffee, maybe some shopping, and then we could go back and swim in that awesome pool of yours.”
To the left, Diana Stevens, the lead on my design team, catches my eye. “Do you two need a few minutes alone to sort this out?”
“No. No, stay.” I motion to Diana and the other three on her team. “Let’s pull up the spring apparel and start going over each item.” I stand up and walk to the door.
When I open it, I sweep my arm through to show Vanessa the exact route she should take. “Vanessa, leave.”
I know it sounds rude.
But at this point, I don’t care.
She’s been rude for the past twenty minutes. She intruded on my meeting, sat down as if she owned the space, and then interrupted me every time I tried to tell her—diplomatically but firmly—that there was no future for us. None, at all.
