Going Down: The Elevator Series (26 page)

The jewel in our crown was this little Ivy League university called Yale, who had also been looking to change up their marketing materials just a bit. We had enough business to write our own ticket without even looking outside of Cole’s family. We just needed a company to take us on so we could get back to work.

“Cici, you can uncover your eyes. We’re here.”

I pulled my hands from my face and let my eyes adjust to the light. We were standing in a dingy old empty office building that had an underlying smell of spoiled food. I thought I was in a Febreze commercial gone wrong for a second, but then I recognized this unkempt place. It looked different without furniture and cubicles.

I looked over at Cole, who hadn’t said a word. “This is our old office suite.”

He smiled his mischievous smile that makes me both nervous and excited at the same time. “Sort of.”

I was still a little disoriented from a blind cab ride and walk down Manhattan streets. “I don’t understand.”

His smile got bigger. “Well, I was thinking maybe it could be our
new
office suite, too. We could put up walls and sublease most of it because we don’t need all this space, but I’ve run the numbers, and I think we should start our own company. What do you think?”

I looked around at the flickering fluorescents and the discolored old carpet. “I used to hate this building.”

“Oh.” The smile was immediately gone from Cole’s face.

“But,” I continued, “I’ve missed it. I have some good memories here.”

I wrapped my arms around Cole’s waist, pulling him flush with me. I pressed my lips against his, more than happy to allow his tongue to explore my mouth. My hands moved into his hair automatically. This was heaven.

He broke the connection first, resting his forehead against mine. “I was thinking we could call it Danvers and Associates,” he said sweetly.

I swatted his backside and laughed. “You thought wrong.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me back toward the exit. “I was kidding. Let’s go home and argue about a name, my love.”

“All right, but I’m not covering my eyes on the way back.”

“You didn’t have to cover your eyes on the way over. I thought the cab driver was going to call the police.”

The elevator finally creaked and moaned its way to our floor. We stepped inside together, still holding hands. Cole hit the button for the lobby. The doors hesitated twice while closing. Who said you can’t go home again? The disrepair was familiar and comforting.

Cole suddenly dropped my hand between the fourth and third floors, jumping over to hit the emergency stop button. I nearly fell to the ground from the jolt.

“What’s wrong, Cole? Are you all right?” I was still trying to get my balance like a newborn colt.

Cole wrapped both his arms around my waist and kissed a line from my earlobe to my collarbone. “Once more, for old time’s sake, baby?”

THE END

When Katherine Stevens isn’t writing, she can usually be found opening juice boxes and looking for lost shoes. Her kids keep her quite busy and always zig-zagging across the line of sanity. She is a lifelong Texan with a terrible sense of direction and even worse memory. As a child, she dreamed of being the most sarcastic astronaut in history, but her poor math skills and aversion to dehydrated food kept her out of the space program. Now she writes to pass the time until NASA lowers their standards. Your move, NASA.

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Felony Ever After

***13 Authors put their brains together to write ONE story***

Verity Michaels is new to New York City, but even she knows riding in a stolen cab is not a normal way to meet someone. Damn it if that tattoo-covered would-be felon isn’t everywhere now, and lighting everything on fire under her skirt.

His name is Hudson Fenn, and he’s frustratingly impossible to pin down. He works as a bike messenger, but has the manners of a prince—along with a strange tendency toward breaking and entering. As much as Verity knows he’s not her type, and likely to land her in jail, she can’t help but find her truest self when they’re together.

Can she be brave enough to give Hudson a real chance? Will he be bold enough to reveal the man beneath the ink, or will his secrecy doom their connection? Also, WTF is the deal with Verity’s boss? No less than thirteen of your favorite romance writers have teamed up to tell this sexy, wacky, snort-inducing tale. With them you’ll visit the world’s most irritating office, a VIP room of questionable cleanliness, and the fanciest apartment a bike messenger has ever inhabited, but you’ll still never see this ending coming.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Stolen Taxi

By Debra Anastasia

As she approached, a sketchy-looking guy wearing a hoodie trotted up and held the car door open for her. “Share the ride? Where you headed?”

The last thing Verity wanted to do was sit beside a tattooed druggie. But she smiled, deciding to be polite. “Forty-third between Ninth and Tenth.” Please be going the other way.

“Perfect. Get in.” He motioned for her to enter.

Verity worked at not giving him knowledge of her panty color as she climbed in and slid over. She told the cab driver her address in Hell’s Kitchen, and he nodded as she pulled out her phone to tweet. It made her feel less alone in this huge city. It also gave her a way to look busy. Surely that, combined with the taxi’s annoyingly loud music, would keep Tattoo quiet.

“Boss keep you late?” he asked.

Or not.

“More or less. He’s a real prince.” Don’t dis the boss, you ninny. This guy’s probably his brother.

“Tough. You headed home to the husband?”

She slid her gaze to his face. The first thing she noticed were his blue eyes. Second, he wasn’t checking out her cleavage, just waiting for her answer. And the question seemed flirty, but his face was earnest.

“We getting personal here? I’m sharing a cab with you, not filing joint taxes.” She crossed her legs and was knocked off kilter by the cabby’s erratic driving. She steadied herself on the door handle. She hated touching anything in a cab.

The tattooed guy shook his head and smiled, not pressing her further. He started drumming his hands on his thighs. Probably cracked out on something. He had his hood up and a beanie pulled low on his forehead.

The cabby cursed as he pulled into a traffic jam. He tried to merge into a faster lane and cut off a Mustang to do it, though it got him nowhere. The Mustang’s driver was huge and filled to the top with road rage. He hopped out of his car like the cabby had slapped his mother with a dead chicken.

“Oh, shit,” the tattooed passenger observed.

The cabby, God bless his crazy ass, was just as insanely angry as Mustang. He leaped out the door and the two men went toe to toe, letting the insults fly.

Verity was trapped between the fight and Tattoo. “What are we going to do?” she wondered aloud.

A green light loosened the traffic enough that the cab and the Mustang were now obstacles in the flow. Mustang Rage Monster tossed the cabby against Verity’s door. She reached over and hit the lock.

Her fellow passenger opened his door, hopped out, and reentered in the front seat. He scooted over behind the wheel and threw the cab into drive.

“Buckle up, baby!” Tattoo calmly drove the cab through the green light, leaving the two men fighting in the center of the street.

Verity turned to see them quit their fisticuffs to watch the cab pull away.

“Are you stealing this cab? Right now? With me in it?”

Despite the fact that he was now technically a felon, Tattoo drove very carefully.

“No, I’m removing us from a dangerous situation. That cab driver entered a verbal contract to get us from point A to point B. I’m just helping him fulfill his duties.” Tattoo winked at her in the rearview mirror.

Verity covered her mouth for a minute while she tried to register what was actually happening to her.
Am I being kidnapped? Murdered?

Tattoo changed the radio station, and one of her favorite songs came over the speakers. “Great tune!” He tapped on the steering wheel.

According to the meter, they now owed the non-existent cabby twenty dollars. “I’ll have you know that I’m carrying a taser and have a throbbing, super-contagious rash. Right now. In my pants.” She pointed at the reflection of his gorgeous eyes in the mirror.

“Sounds like you have an exciting evening planned.”

“Don’t be a wise ass, Tattoo.” She tried to estimate how slow the cab would have to be going before she could roll out of it and survive.

“Tattoo?”

“That’s your name in my head right now. I’m calling the police.” She looked up from her cell and she realized he’d pulled onto 43rd between 9th and 10th.

“Which building do you need?” He turned his head a bit.

“That one. The one with the brown brick.”

He double-parked and got out of the cab. He opened her door before she could figure out how to unlock it.

She got out slowly, watching his hands, anticipating a trick.

“You’re really high strung, Country Girl.”

Verity frowned at his nickname. “Really?” He pulled out his wallet, tossed the fare in the front seat, and closed the door behind her before following her to the sidewalk.

“What? You’re Country Girl in my head right now.” He clicked his tongue and smiled, revealing two goddamn dimples.

“How can you be so sure I’m from the country?” She made sure she was more than an arm’s length away.

“Hmm. The taser-powered rash was a dead giveaway.” Tattoo put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “And that southern accent is charming.” He winked at her.

“I’m from Florida. I have no accent. So you’re just going to leave it there? The cab?” She pointed at the distinctive yellow car.

“If that angry cabby was paying attention when we gave him our addresses, he’ll know where to find it. This your place?” He pointed at her building.

“Well, yes, but—hey, wait. What if the cabby remembers where I worked?” Verity knew she was going to jail tonight. Jail would break her. “I’m getting arrested! They’ll do body cavity checks.”

“That head of yours went from working to jail in the span of a few seconds?” He smiled at her. Again.

“Screw you, Tattoo. I bet you’ve been to jail a hundred times. I never want to pee in front of a group. Ever.” She walked up the stairs toward the building.

“Because I have tattoos? You’re judging me on my ink?” He unzipped his jacket, letting her see the tattoo creeping up his neck.

“I’m judging you on your felony—the one I was a party to tonight.” She pulled her keys out of her purse.

“Okay, that’s fair. But maybe I was saving you.” He bowed at the waist. “Sometimes white knights have tattoos, princess.”

Before she could respond, he was off. Her heart pounded. What a ride home. The arousal she felt was due to adrenaline, she told herself. It had nothing to do with picturing where exactly on his body his tattoos might end.

Verity Michaels
@VerityPics03 If my boss tries to see my cooch one more damn time, I’m putting hot sauce in his coffee. #EyesUpHere

Verity Michaels
@VerityPics03 Oh, how did you get home tonight? “The usual. Felony combined with crazy.” #NeverAgain (TwitterPic)

Verity Michaels
@VerityPics03 Okay, a guy with a neck tat can be sexy, right? That’s allowed? #ReplacingBatteriesInTheRabbit

Unedited first chapter to the sequel of Going Down. Coming Fall 2016.

Find it here on Goodreads:
http://bit.ly/1O0tBG6

Getting Off

Chapter 1

“Cole, have you seen my shoes?” I searched behind the dresses packed in our closet for the eleventy millionth time.

“Which shoes?” he called from the living room.

“The black ones.”

He walked into the bedroom with his arms crossed. “You’re going to have to narrow that down for me.”

“The black ones with the things on top.” I made a gesture with my fingers to signify ornamental shoe decoration. Or I made a gang sign. It could have gone either way.

“Honey, do you know how many black shoes with
things on top
you have? I can’t keep up. We really need to get on the road though.” He uncrossed and recrossed his arms.

I scanned the shelf at the top of the closet again. “I’ll be ready as soon as I find my shoes. And change my earrings. And maybe my skirt.”

Cole started pacing while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cici, baby, we need to go now. I swear, if John gets all the cranberry sauce, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Maybe they’re in a box under the bed,” I said to myself.

Cole stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Can’t you just wear one of the other thousand pairs of black shoes you own?”

I saw his pinched nose and raised him a glare. “None of those shoes coordinate as well with my outfit. We’re not animals, Cole.”

He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. “I’m going to make sure everything is turned off and unplugged while you do…whatever it is you’re doing.”

Good grief. You cause two tiny, little fires and all trust is gone. He does this routine every time we leave the apartment.

Cole returned as I finished looking through the first of the under-bed storage containers. “Everything is off. All small appliances are unplugged. All open flames are banned from this apartment, so that shouldn’t be an issue. Leroy has food and water for the days we’ll be gone.”