Harvest Moon (2 page)

Fifteen minutes until the luncheon started. She hurried from the car and hoped she wouldn’t miss the opening address by one of her favorite Connecticut authors. At the elevator, she tapped the “up” button and waited, jittery with anticipation of getting to her real destination. Bright orange cones placed near a used pile of yellow and black caution tape sat on the concrete floor several feet away from the elevator. She leaned forward to read a sign wedged between the cones. Please Use Stairs.

The loud screech of tires echoed against the walls. She snapped her head around to spot a red Audi TT navigate the corner. The vehicle zipped into a nearby reserved spot, close to the elevator. A rock beat rumbled from the car.

Veronica tapped “up” a few more times. Her peripheral vision caught a tall man with dark hair exiting the Audi. He leaned over and disappeared into the back seat. She gave the button another impatient swipe.

Ding.
The doors parted. She hurried inside and scanned the panel until she spotted “RGI Reception-8.” She tapped the button and pressed her back to the far wall as the doors glided together.

Bang!
An arm covered by a white dress shirt poked between the nearly closed doors, and they popped back open. The guy who’d just pulled into the lot stepped inside, now wearing a fedora, à la Justin Timberlake, and humming a song.

Their eyes met and his humming faded. She quickly looked to the safe spot right above the doors, annoyed she couldn’t enjoy her ride alone. He pressed his floor and leaned against the side wall. The doors slammed shut, and the metal box lurched upward.

Veronica peeked at her fellow passenger. His slightly wrinkled shirt hung outside the waist of black jeans and the top three buttons were opened, revealing a small patch of dark chest hair. Proper corporate attire didn’t seem to be his thing, surprising in this office building filled with company headquarters.

He cleared his throat, glanced her way. For a nanosecond, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his chiseled chin, but when his steel blue eyes softened, heat brushed her cheeks. She forced herself to look at the hardwood elevator floor.

His humming resumed. She again covertly peeked his way. He spread his thick fingers across his thigh and patted out a beat, his head moving with a slight sway to the music. She recognized it. “Oye Como Va,” by Santana. The only thing corporate about this guy was his leather attaché and prime parking spot in the garage. Other than that, he belonged in a nightclub or an opening act for JT.

His gaze slowly drifted toward her, his dark lashes flickering as he studied her from head to toe. “You’ve got something on your dress.” He spoke with a delicate, smoky tone, then motioned with his hand to her chest.

She dipped her chin. A dollop of dried toothpaste perched atop the mound of her left breast.

“Damn it,” she mumbled. “Thanks.”

She frantically rubbed the chalky mess, but the silence in the elevator made her glance his way. He watched her with interest, a little too much interest. Instead of finishing, she folded her arms to hide the mess. She’d deal with this later, without an audience.

His demeanor switched as deep lines burrowed along his forehead. “Oh, shit.” He patted his pant pockets on both sides, front and back, and took two long steps to the panel. He hit “G” several times with his thumb.

Once was all he needed, and she’d been about to let him know, but her own impatient behavior earlier in the garage made her stop.

An exaggerated groan thundered from gears overhead.
Thump! Boom! Clunk!
The steel box vibrated. Veronica swayed.
Thud!
The elevator stopped with a jerk. Veronica’s arms flailed. Her feet lifted from the floor. Her purse slipped off her arm. No control, she slammed into the other passenger, sending his hat flying. He wrapped his arms around her waist, but the force of her body propelled them both into the wall. They slid to the floor. Veronica sat posed on his lap, like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

“Jesus. You okay?” His blue eyes widened and blinked a few times as they stared into hers.

Move. Move. Move.

She inhaled, filled her lungs with air, but couldn’t ignore the protective way he still held onto her. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She wiggled to get off and he released her. She shimmied away and pushed herself to the opposite wall, where she sat on the floor and tried to regroup.

“Sorry I knocked you over.” She glanced up and followed the direction of his eyes, right to the spot where her skirt had lifted to the tippy-top of one thigh. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she tugged it down to her knees and glared at him.

He looked up without an ounce of guilt and ran his hand through his black hair, setting the strands askew. “Don’t worry about it.”

Concern etched the corners of his eyes as his gazed skipped over her. He stood and extended his arm. “Let me help you up.”

She shook her head and pressed her hand to the floor. “I’m fine.”

Once up, she smoothed her skirt, adjusted the sash at her waist, and swiped at the caked on toothpaste, loosening a few crumbs. “Next time you decide to change floors mid-ride, you could just hit the button once.”

He raised a brow but said nothing and walked over to retrieve his hat. Replacing it on his head, he went to the panel, pressed emergency several times, and started pounding on the steel doors. “Hey! Anybody out there? We’re stuck in the elevator!”

She stared, silently willing him to stop yelling. Hysteria never solved anything.

“Help! Anybody?” He waited a few seconds and turned to her. “I can’t believe this. I’ve spent the past ten hours at airports, left my cell phone in the car, unless I mistakenly left it back at the United Airlines lounge at O’Hare. And now...now this.”

He turned around and made a fist, one step from giving the door another pounding. Veronica searched the recesses of her memory for the details from an article she’d read online about elevator safety.

“You should relax. Once you push the emergency button, there’s not much more we can do.”

He glanced back and chuffed a disagreeable sound, right before hitting the door several times. After a moment, he gave up and paced in the small space.

She fiddled with the smooth beads of her pearl necklace, but they didn’t bring their usual sense of calm. The stranger continued his random patrol, his thoughts his own.

Veronica recalled the article details. She stepped to the door and peeked through the crack. “There’s light up there.” She glanced up to see where they had gotten stuck and returned to the crack, hoping to gauge how close they were to signs of life. “We’re close to the fifth floor. Someone should be here soon.”

He moved behind her, too close for her comfort. In the space above her head, he pressed his eye to the crack.

She gritted her teeth and stepped aside. “I’d be happy to move.”

He didn’t respond, only banged on the door again and yelled, “Can anybody hear us?”

She sighed, loudly, hoping to make a point. He continued banging. When he stopped, she cleared her throat.

He turned, raised his brows. “Yes?”

“Relaxing in a crisis lets you think clearly. You might want to give it a try.”

His mouth slackened and eyebrows rose, as if nobody had ever asked him to chill. Looking up, he studied the ceiling. “I’ll bet that panel pops out. I could help you shimmy up there.” His gaze dropped to the lower half of her dress, and he wrestled with a smile. “Or you help me up.”

“I’m not doing either. Want to know the first rule of elevator safety?” She tipped her head but didn’t wait for his answer. “Stay put. Climbing out is the last thing you should do. So save your energy, Bruce Willis. We could be in here a while.”

“Bruce Willis?”

“In
Die Hard
. Wasn’t he in an elevator when he fought those terrorist?” She again brushed at the toothpaste remains. “Not that I typically watch his movies.”

He chuckled and the frustration evident on his face slipped away as he considered her for a moment. He took a step toward her. “Sorry. I’ll calm down. You’re ri—”

The elevator lurched. Veronica grabbed his arms at the same time he reached for hers. They steadied themselves for a few seconds, their eyes locked. The elevator smoothed and each let go.

She leaned over and picked her purse up from the floor just as the doors opened at the fourth floor.

He motioned with a sweep of his hand. “Ladies first.”

She nodded and hurried out, greeted by a short man wearing maintenance overalls.

“You two okay?” he asked.

She hoisted her purse over her shoulder. “I am, thank you. Which way to the stairs?”

He pointed down the hallway.

“Thanks.” She hurried down the hall. If she dropped Duncan’s package off fast, she might still catch the keynote speaker’s address.

“Hey?”

She stopped and turned at the sound of her fellow passenger’s voice.

He studied her with a curious stare, then grinned, kind of sweet, as if they’d become best buddies during their quest for elevator survival. “Bye. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, right. Good-bye.” She rushed inside the stairwell, flustered but not really sure why. What else could go wrong today?

* * * *

Trent Jamieson wedged his fingers alongside the passenger seat of his car and breathed a relieved sigh when they brushed against the smooth edges of his cell phone. How it ended up there during his drive to the office from Bradley Airport he’d never know.

He retrieved the device and hit the “on” button, but nothing happened. Well, a phone with a dead battery was better than one sitting at O’Hare. He tucked it in his pocket and got on the elevator, despite what just happened. Even in his crappy life, with all his crappy luck, he didn’t think he’d get stuck twice in one day.

Maybe the stalled elevator was a foreshadowing of his future. The powers above hinting he should be glad this was his last day working at RGI. Or maybe the message was he should stay here, in a steel box for the rest of his life, not even try to make a fresh start.

Duncan had pushed for him to leave the company when RGI sold and wanted him to join him at Litchfield Hills Vineyard as VP of Marketing. Having his brother nearly beg him to make the change made him consider it more seriously. Only a few years ago, his brother had almost fired him from RGI, but Trent mended his ways. This new offer was quite generous.

The steel doors parted. He headed down the hallway to his office, the brunette he’d been stuck with making him smile. The cute way she’d played with her pearl necklace was revealing and the honesty of her comments refreshing. A bit uptight, and yet, there was something about her he liked but couldn’t pinpoint. The perplexed look she’d given him when he said good-bye made his ego deflate, but if their time together was any longer, he’d have bet he could change her view of him. He loved a challenge. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to want one.

He entered his office, catching a nice view of downtown Hartford from his window. Empty bookcases and cardboard boxes stacked in the corner meant his secretary had done some packing. She’d even cleared the top of his desk, except for a note.

He searched through his briefcase for his phone charger, plugged in the phone, then read the note.

Welcome back. I’m at lunch. You’re packed except for some personal items in your lower drawer.

Back by one. T.

P.S. You’re very messy.

He opened the drawer. No wonder Tina passed on this one.

One by one, he lifted items from the pile, a potpourri of things he had no other place to store. Notes he’d saved from women he’d met in his travels were tossed into the nearby trash can, along with some paperbacks used to entertain him while flying around the globe. He smiled as he removed a small statue of a hula dancer given to him by the resort manager at their Maui location. Exotic Luanne, who’d taken him to see the sights when they weren’t working. He pushed the dancer to the keeper pile.

At the bottom he came across a framed photo of Gemma, one he’d tossed in the drawer the day he’d been served the divorce papers. A gentle ache pressed to his heart, an ache for everything that had gone wrong in their marriage. She’d taken no interest in following him on the road to sobriety. A journey she needed as badly as he had. He’d tried to get her to join him in rehab, but she wouldn’t. Her request for a divorce had blown him away. All so she could marry a man Trent had witnessed dabbling in the world of cocaine, the same bad place he’d successfully left several years ago.

One thing he’d learned in rehab was you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to help themselves. Sometimes, keeping himself afloat was all he could bear.

“Knock, knock.” Duncan stood at the doorway dressed in khakis, his new casual style in the office since he’d announced the sale of his firm. “Tina said you survived an airport nightmare.”

“Barely. My first flight was delayed. I missed my connection. They canceled my second connection, and the rest is history. Another reason to be thankful my traveling days are over. When is the big powwow to sign the papers on the sale?”

“Two.” Duncan frowned and ran a hand through his sandy curls. “I hope the new owners will stick to their word and keep most of the current staff.”

Trent nodded. “Me, too. Hey, be glad you’re getting out of this building. The damn elevator got stuck again. Second time this year it’s happened to me.”

The mahogany eyes of the dark-haired beauty from the elevator teased his thoughts, making it hard for him to let go.

“Damn shame,” Trent mumbled.

“What?” His brother laughed, shaking Trent loose from those long, lovely legs.

“What?”

“You’re talking to yourself.”

“Am I?”

The brothers laughed together now, yet the woman he’d never see again didn’t dodge his thoughts. Instead, a part of her settled inside him, in a vulnerable place he rarely visited. His own laughter died down, and he wished he’d introduced himself.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Duncan said.

Only then did Trent realize he’d fallen silent again. “A penny won’t cut it.”

“Okay, a dollar.”