can’t just dissolve into a puddle of panic and wait until I go pop.
I’m a glass half-full kinda girl, so it’s time I chug that shit down.
Despite the fact that I have a ticking clock, I’m actually alive again. So instead of shaking in a corner and freaking out, I’m going to make the most of this. I have to.
I straighten myself up, totally nailing the power pose this time.
Now that I’ve successfully tamped down my panic, I finally take a moment to look down.
The marble tile I’m sitting on is black with veins of white running through it. It looks expensive and vaguely familiar. But I get caught up in the reflection I now have, visible in the floor’s shiny surface. I can’t see that much of what I look like, but I can tell that my pink twirled hair still looks on point, so I’m gonna take that as a win. I need all of those I can get.
I run my fingers down my tanned legs, feeling the soft, smooth texture of my skin. It’s so strange—to have sensation on the pads of my fingertips, while also feeling my own touch along my legs. I like it so much that I start feeling myself all over. Toes, foot arches, belly, arms, boobs.
I find it particularly fascinating how my nipples pebble when I run my fingers over them. “Huh. They really just pop right out there, don’t they?” I mutter.
“Umm, why the fuck is some naked chick feeling herself up in your office?”
I scream in surprise and scramble back, my head whipping around at the sound of the man’s voice.
It takes about two seconds for my brain to register that I landed in Warren fricken Knight’s office. Buck ass naked. And he can see me.
No wonder the marble looked familiar. If I would’ve stopped petting myself long enough to actually look around, I would’ve noticed his mahogany desk that I’ve perched on many a time and the floor-to-ceiling windows I’ve often looked out of. I would’ve recognized the black and white photo of a pier on his wall and his accolades framed behind his computer.
I stare over in horror at Warren and his business associate, Mr. H-something-or-other, standing in the doorway, gaping at me in their suits.
Warren looks all hot and serious, with his black hair swept to the side and sexy stubble on his jaw. Mr. H is blonde, attractive, probably in his early thirties, and has a boyish face that is currently lit up with glee.
“So...you can definitely see me?” I ask, just because I feel it’s necessary to double check.
“Oh, we can see you, alright,” Mr. H-man says with a growing smirk.
“Fricken archway,” I mumble.
“What’s that?” Mr. H-nosy asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
Between the two men, they have at least eighteen articles of clothing on them combined, which hardly seems fair since I have exactly zero.
I scramble to my feet, but I’m not used to moving in a solid body, so I eat shit immediately. I end up sprawled on the cold marble floor like a flailing starfish, ass cheeks jiggling for all to see.
“For fuck’s sake.”
One second, I hear Warren muttering under his breath, and the next, I’m being hauled to my feet. I look up at him, eyes wide, as he scowls down at me.
“How did you get in here?”
I wince. “Oh, man. You’re using your mean voice. I hate that one.”
His brown eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
“Thirty,” I blurt out.
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask how fucking old you are. I asked for your name and how the hell you got in here.”
“You look real good for thirty, ma’am,” Mr. H-something interjects behind me.
“Thanks?”
“Not helping,” Warren snaps at him.
Mr. H shrugs. “Just saying.”
Warren makes a noise of frustration deep in his chest. He still hasn’t taken his hands off my arms. It’s a tight hold, but honestly, I’m thankful, because he’s basically holding me upright. There’s a good chance I’d go full starfish-mode again if he lets go.
“Name?” Warren demands again.
“Uh…” I quickly wrack my brain, but even after weeks of flying around the city full of humans, I can’t think of a single name. The only words popping into my brain are cupidity-inspired. Like crush, orgasm, chocolates, erections, love, doggy-style, that sort of thing. I don’t think those will work.
“Come on,” Mr. H-goodcop says. “Better tell him, Miss...”
Warren is looking at me like he’s about to toss me out of his office window, so he’s obviously the bad cop. I panic. “Miss uh...Valentine?”
“Miss