Page 149 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Keep it together, MacKenzie,” I admonish myself. As much as I’d love nothing more than to drop the rest of the food in the nearest trash can and storm out of here, I can’t afford to. Not just because of the money, which I need to help pay for my books next semester, but because the firm’s already promised us that the top interns will receive full-time offers for after we graduate next year.
I remind myself how nice it would be to go into senior year of college with a job already lined up. But to get there, I have to endure the rest of the summer, and that means not complaining when one of the senior partners sends me across town to grab dinner for him.
Carefully, I squat, reaching for the empty cups and umbrella with my free hand.
“Here, let me,” a deep voice calls, startling me. I glance up to see a guy trotting across the empty lobby toward me, a slender paper bag tucked under his arm. He’s dressed like most of the other guys who work here: dark slacks, blue button-down shirt, black loafers—the Banker Uniform, my friend Sarah and I joke.
But on him, it looks different. The shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, giving hints of the muscles curving beneath. And the pants hang straight from his hips, no soft roll of fat bulging above the belt like so many of the other guys working here, from too many indulgent dinners out on the firm’s dime.
He looks young enough to be an intern but I don’t recognize him from orientation. Nor do I remember running into him at any of the welcome parties or happy hours they’ve thrown for us so far this summer.
“I’ve got it,” I mumble, clutching at the now empty cups. But the umbrella proves too unwieldy and he grabs it with one hand while holding out his other to help me stand.
Though his grip is gentle, his fingers dwarf mine as I wobble to my feet. “You okay?” he asks, politely letting go once I’ve regained my balance.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, shoving the empty cups into the nearby trash can. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes and so I focus on the way his fingers tighten and flex around the umbrella as he twists it closed. A few sprinkles of water dribble down the backs of his knuckles and I feel myself swallow as I watch them trail from ridge to hollow.
Thankfully, the second elevator dings and I’m able to shuffle inside, head still bowed. I hit the button for the fifty-seventh floor and tuck myself into the corner. He follows me in and presses the button for sixty.
As the elevator begins accelerating upward, I frown, trying to place him. The only thing on the sixtieth floor is the firm’s reception area and a warren of board rooms that are usually all closed this late at night. I have no idea why he’d be going there, especially with what looks like a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.
The walls of the elevator are lined with mirrors and I shift slightly until I catch sight of his reflection. My eyes roam up his body, pausing again at his hands and the slight glimpse of tanned skin peeking out from under the edge of his shirt cuff. I notice a set of initials embroidered into the cuff and I tilt my head to get a better angle: RBK.
Richard? I wonder. Rick? Robert? Ronald? Ugh, I hope it’s not Ronald. He doesn’t look like a Ronald, I think, glancing up at his face. Only to find that he’s been watching me.
Our gazes collide and my fingers tense around the takeout containers, causing the Styrofoam to squeak in protest. Already heat floods into my cheeks as I wrench my eyes straight ahead.
Which is a mistake as I catch sight of my own reflection. Unsurprisingly, I look horrendous: my long hair pulled into a knot at the back of my head, bedraggled tendrils pulled free by the stormy wind during my walk to the restaurant. My cheeks are flushed a scarlet pink and my eye makeup has smudged into a smoky sweep more appropriate for a night out rather than work.
And of course, there’s my blouse clinging so wetly to my chest that I can see the outline of intricate swirls on my lace bra underneath. Trying to swallow a groan of embarrassment, I lift the takeout containers, hoping to cover most of the damage. Which only puts my sodden skirt on display.
For lack of anywhere else to focus, I stare at the display above the bank of numbered buttons, urging them to go faster. Even though we’re in one of the express elevators that bypasses the first fifty floors of the office tower, it still takes a while to reach the top.
“You know you can get to most of the restaurants without having to go outside,” the stranger offers, breaking the awkward silence. “Interior wa
lkways connect most of the buildings downtown.”
My smile is strained. “Yeah, unfortunately you can’t get to Cress that way.”
“Ah,” he nods. “You’ve got a project for Kauffman then?”
I glance over at him. “How did you know?”
“He always sends the new female hires out to Cress when it rains.” His lips tighten. “Lemme guess,” he adds. “He lent you his umbrella too?”
I frown, about to tell him I don’t understand, when I put two and two together. Rainy night, broken umbrella. Even without the spilled drink my shirt had gotten damp and clingy from the walk. A sour, angry feeling twists in my gut. “Seriously?” I grumble. “What an asshole.”
The stranger is about to respond when the elevator goes dark and jolts, screeching to a shuddering stop so quickly that momentum sends us both flying. I slam back into the corner, my shoulder jarring against one of the glass walls as I slip and fall onto my ass.
From somewhere in the darkness I hear the stranger grunt as something strikes hard against the floor. Then there’s nothing but darkness, silence, and the shrieking rise of fear in pit of my stomach.
Overhead a light flickers on and I look up just as the stranger slides across the elevator to crouch in front of me. “You okay?” he asks, eyes wide as he scans me for injuries.
We stare at each other for a moment, panting, until I finally nod. “You?” I ask, voice breathy.
He also nods. Somehow I’ve been able to keep the takeout containers from spilling and he takes them from me, setting them in the corner. In my slide down the wall, my skirt hiked up so high that the scalloped edges of my underwear are almost visible and I quickly pull myself standing so I can tug it back into place.
Giving me a moment of privacy, the stranger busies himself reaching for the package he’d been carrying earlier and inspecting it. He pulls free a bottle of wine, checking to make sure it’s not broken or cracked before setting it next to the food in the corner.
