Page 5 of Kidnapped By The Messy Dragon

A man waiting at the crosswalk gives me a sideways look. I stop talking until he crosses.

I shoulder through the lobby doors with the bag in both hands, turn for the elevators, and a man cuts across the lobby straight into me.

The hit knocks the bag loose.

That bag is Whitney’s lunch and Ms. Hale’s lunch, and if it hits marble, I might as well keep walking to the bus station.

The bag drops. Then it doesn’t. A hand is underneath it, palm flat, and I didn’t see him move.

“Sorry about that,” the stranger says, straightening up with my bag riding easy on his fingers. “I need to watch where I’m going.”

He’s tall, with deep brown skin, a crisp white shirt, and a watch that looks expensive. His eyes are greener than anything I’ve stood this close to. Woodsmoke comes off him, warm and out of place in all this lemon.

His ears sit odd against his head. Small gold cuffs pin the tops of them down flat, and I can’t tell if that’s fashion or a problem.

I look too long, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks.” I get both hands back under the bag.

He nods and steps around me, and his shoes don’t make a sound on the marble.

I carry the lunch to the elevators and press the button with my elbow. Otherworldly is a dramatic word, and it’s the only one I’ve got for that man.

The doors slide shut. I notice I’m smiling, and I put it away.

Whitney is gathering her purse when I step off the elevator with the bag.

“Change of plans,” she says. “You’re taking it in. Ms. Hale is eating at her desk today.”

I stop walking. I have never been inside Ms. Hale’s office. People come out of that office counting their fingers.

“Whitney, I don’t—” I get one hand up.

“She’s waiting.” Whitney is already past me, heels ticking toward the elevator, and that’s the whole conversation.

I’m wearing every errand I’ve run since morning. There’s wind in my bun and sweat at my collar, and none of it matters.The lunch is getting cold. I press my edges down with two fingers and knock.

“Come in,” she says through the door.

I twist the knob and step in.

The office is wide, white, and colder than the hallway. There’s a glass desk, white orchids, and a sitting area that has never once held a guest. It smells like nothing in here too.

“Set the bag on the counter there,” Ms. Hale says.

I set it down where she points, and then I make the mistake of looking at her.

She is the most beautiful woman I have ever stood in a room with. Long black braids fall glossy over one shoulder, a thin earring throws light along her jaw, and her skin is deep brown and poreless. Her eyes are blue, lit from somewhere inside, and staring is the rudest thing I’ve done all week. I do it anyway.

“Miss Spencer,” she says.

I didn’t know she knew my name.

“Whitney tells me you never miss,” she says, lifting containers out of the bag. “Reliable help is rare in this building.” She glances up. “Next time, arrive looking like you work here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My face gives her nothing.

I step out and ease her door shut.