and my stomach is slow to catch up to the speed of the car. I don’t watch the number increase as we sail to the top floor. Instead, I escape to the memory of Talent on the fire escape last night. His lips. The warmth of his liquor-laced breath. The shadows across his face that was within kissing distance.
My heart pounds in an acoustic drum pattern—no percussion, just beat—increasing louder and louder until my bones feel like they’ll fracture from the vibration. The noise in my head is nearly unbearable, and then the elevator comes to a slow stop and it ends. I open my eyes to find the elevator attendant smiling at me.
“We’ve arrived to the penthouse floor, Miss Montgomery,” he says.
The ninth floor opened to a hallway of multiple doors.
There’s only one door on the fourteenth floor.
“Thank you,” I say. I reach into my purse for a cash tip, but the elevator attendant waves me off.
“No need, ma’am,” he says kindly. “Mr. Ridge took care of it before you arrived.”
This hits different, and I find myself irrationally emotional because Talent approached the elevator attendant before my arrival and paid him to ensure my journey from the lobby to the top floor of Grand Opal was a good one.
The attendant is polite and doesn’t look to be frightened of the unstable woman in his elevator. He says, “Have a good day.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reach the large set of doors at the end of the hallway before departing. If I changed my mind and opted to leave, I’d have to wait for the elevator to arrive at the lobby and for it to come back up. Or tackle fourteen flights of stairs. Not happening.
Smoothing my hair down, I whisper to myself, “Don’t be a coward, Lydia.”
Why didn’t I wear better clothes?
I should have styled my hair.
Mascara would have been better than nothing.
When did I become so fucking unsure of myself?
Faking glory, I knock on the door twice with the back of my hand. Anxiety eats me up and there’s nothing I can do to curb its appetite. Did I knock hard enough? Is it too soon to try again in case he didn’t hear me the first time? What if he only paid the elevator attendant for his discretion? He may be the most influential man in the building, but surely he isn’t the only person of influence who lives here. Of course he wouldn’t want the staff gossiping about the whore on the penthouse floor.
I’ve worked myself into a panic when Talent opens the door.
He’s gorgeous, of course. Black jeans. Black shoes. White T-shirt. Talent has blueish veins that show beneath his skin from the inside of his wrist to the bend of his elbow. Dimples show at the corner of his smile. And he cared enough to make sure his hair wasn’t a mess like mine.
I can’t breathe with these worries on my tongue.
“Lydia, wait,” Talent calls after me when I turn around and dash toward the elevator.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.” I press the arrow down button beside the elevator doors. It flashes as I drive the tip of my finger into it over and over, like maybe it’ll come faster if it knows I’m in a hurry to leave. “What the hell was I thinking?”
“Hey, look at me.” Talent pulls my hand away from the button and holds it against his chest. His heart beats like mine. “I’m nervous, too.”
My chest heaves and the hallway tilts as I strive to secure a lungful of air. My face starts to tingle, and I can’t look at him. He’s too perfect, and I’m to be feared.
“Come inside to catch your breath. If you still want to leave once you relax, I’ll drive you home myself.”
I force my eyes to look to his and finally inhale the oxygen I’ve deprived myself of when I melt under the adoration staring back at me. Concern melts into tenderness, and it’s mine. He’s been nothing but sure about me since the night we met, and I don’t understand why.
I’ll try to talk him out of it.
Convince him to see himself clearly.
He deserves better than me.
But for now, I let him hold my hand and lead me to his apartment.
“Don’t you understand this is the problem?” I ask. Talent opens his penthouse door and stands back to allow me in ahead of him. “You shouldn’t invite me into your home.”