Page 75 of Without a Clue

That’s it. I can’t help myself now. I shriek with laughter, bouncing in his arms all the way down the hall. The group of ladies who all have their phones out now gets smaller and smaller, until they are out of sight entirely as we turn another corner.

“You know, it’s a little unsettling,” Nash says when the laughter subsides and I can breathe again. “Not one of them even considered coming to your rescue.”

“Why would they? They were too busy wishing they were me.”

The words pop out of my mouth in the spontaneity of the moment, and as soon as I say them, I feel myself flush and bite my lip. Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Everyone has a little crush on Nash Eyre.

The five o’clock shadow on Nash’s jaw tightens, and while looking straight ahead, I see the tiniest flicker of a smile on his lips that makes my stomach churn.

“So. Where do you intend on stealing me away to, then?” I say, trying to change subjects and direct attention elsewhere, but finding even that question a little too on point.

“To a place where we can finish the interview. Clear my name.”

We reach the end of the hall and he presses a button.

The door opens.

We step—he steps—inside.

As the golden doors shut, and we—or rather, he—stands in silence, he presses the button for the ground floor. We begin to move.

I hesitate, seeing that glowing button 1, and fight a flip in my stomach.

It’s fine. Focus on this moment.

It’s fine.

One last person steps in front of the elevator doors just as they close and snaps a picture.

“Congratulations. I just went from faceless to the envy of every woman on this ship. If I go missing, check that lady with your head T-shirt first.”

To which Nash cocks a brow.

He shakes his head. “Have you met yourself? Nothing about you, Pip, is faceless. Nothing about you is unoriginal. At all.”

Chapter 16

What did I say about authors being able to get away with just about anything?

Well, they are.

Because that was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me, packaged in a glaring double negative. And it worked.

Gently, I unwind myself out of his arms and set my feet unsteadily back on the ground. The elevator draws us downward to the bottom floor, then dings.

“I think you’ve made your point,” I say, smoothing my hairs back in place. “In more ways than one. Thank you.”

I realize Nash still has his arm clamped around me, his face awfully close.

Does he realize it too?

“Anytime,” he says quietly.

And for a moment that lasts forever, it’s just him and me on a flashy elevator in the bottom of the ocean. We stand like a couple in those moments just before the music turns on and they begin to tango. His face close over mine. Arm wrapped around me. Me looking up. Both of us frozen.

When I can’t bear it any longer, I murmur, “So.”

“So,” he repeats.