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With my list in hand and only a vague idea of what any of the things on it looked like, I took the elevator down to the broadcast studio.
Peeking out of the doors, it was like I’d suddenly been transported from the SSC to a television station. People were busily hurrying around like they all had somewhere to be and their feet were on fire.
Stepping into the chaos, I tapped on the shoulder of someone who looked the least bit busy and they wheeled around with a shocked expression like they’d seen a ghost.
“Can I help you?” they asked hurriedly, their eyes already going somewhere beyond me as they tapped their foot impatiently, waiting for me to respond.
Suddenly I felt like the asshole who had nothing better to do than to bug someone with an actual job.
Holding up my list, I offered them what I hoped was a friendly smile. “I’m supposed to get some audio… thingies from the broadcast closet? For the big guys upstairs?”
With a sigh, they pointed to a door labeled broadcast closet, something I clearly would have seen had I just been using my eyes.
“Thank you.” I put as much gratitude in my voice as I could muster.
“Oi! Collins! We’ve got three hours to broadcast and you still haven’t gotten your list done!” someone called from the thick of the mayhem.
“Just go in and try not to mess things up. It’ll make the interns who just organized it cry again and don’t—”
“Shut the door or it’ll lock, yes, they told me,” I finished for them and watched as they turned and hurried away from me. “And have a nice day to you too.”
Obviously the broadcast floor worked at a very different pace from the rest of the Complex and it reminded me just how privileged I was that I never had to work a job outside of helping out at the dads’ skating rink back in Minnesota.
Money was usually tight for them—figure skating was an expensive sport to fund and they did for both Brynn and me—but there was always enough until I started getting prize money and endorsements once my career really took off.
Pulling the broadcast closet door open, I grabbed a mic stand from inside and used it to prop it open before stepping inside.
“Okay,” I said to myself, reading the first item on the list. “If I was a lavalier microphone… where would I be and what would I look like?”
Twenty minutes later and I was at a complete loss. I kept trying to look things up on my phone, but the cell service in the closet was, quite frankly, the worst.
Stepping outside for a moment, I hurriedly typed the name of the item in and hit images before stepping back inside to scan through the shelves for said items.
In the time that I’d already been searching, the entire studio had cleared out and was empty aside from a single PA working on their laptop across the room.
My stomach growled and one glance at my phone told me it was lunch time—which explained the sudden ghost town that the studio had turned into.
“Just get your things and get out of here, Ciara,” I said out loud to myself, hoping to fill the sudden silence as I scanned the shelves looking for a specific black cord… that looked like all of the other cords save for a slightly different end bit.
I was standing on my tiptoes, reaching into a plastic tote to try my luck at the tangle of wires inside, when I heard someone’s footsteps behind me.
“Are you finally taking pity on me and coming to help?” I asked, thinking the PA had come to put me out of my misery.
“No, I wanted to talk to you,” Enzo’s voice made me jerk and pull the box entirely off of the shelf where it crashed to the ground with a loud noise.
“Shit!” I squawked, whirling around to find him coming in and the door closing behind him. “Wait! Don’t let the door—”
But it was too late and the door slammed shut locking us in.
Enzo frowned at me, his brows pulling together with confusion as he turned and tried the useless door handle.
“It’s broken,” I grumbled as he put his shoulder to the flat expanse and tried to force the door open.
After finally giving up, Enzo turned to face me. I assumed he was going to be on air later because he was dressed in a dark blue suit that cut such a neat silhouette on the man that I nearly forgot that I was angry at him for trapping us.
“I didn’t know,” he said and I watched as he pulled out his phone and tried to call someone, quickly finding out that cell service was nonexistent in this closet because apparently Colt had decided to line the space with fucking lead or something.
“That also won’t work. You work here, how did you not know about this closet?” I crossed my arms over my chest, irritation filling me. “And why do you constantly sneak up on me like this?”
