The Elevator. Angela Hunt

then sits on the edge of her bed and picks up the phone. Though she is determined to reach Parker, she hesitates before dialing his number.

      Odd. Though she has no trouble telling people at her office what to do, she wouldn’t dare try to order Parker’s day. Strength and independence are two of his most attractive qualities, and he is one of the few men she has never been able to intimidate.

      Still…she needs to talk to him.

      She dials his office number, punches in the extension for the executive suite and holds her breath until he picks up. As always, her heart does a double-beat when his voice rumbles over the line.

      “It’s me, Parker.” She lowers her head and plucks a dark thread from her white cotton robe. “Am I interrupting anything important?”

      His voice, which had been toneless when he answered, warms with huskiness. “You are a delightful surprise. I almost didn’t pick up—I’ve heard from too many clients who would like to fry my hide for their mistakes.”

      She chuckles. “That’d be a terrible waste of a perfectly good hide.”

      “Listen to you—you always know how to make me feel better.” He laughs. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you’d sleep in.”

      “You’re not the only one with responsibilities. I have things to do, too.”

      “Like what?”

      “Well…I have to close the storm shutters, fill the bathtub with water and back up all my computer files. You know, the usual prehurricane preparations.”

      “Didn’t you buy bottled water?”

      “Sure.”

      “Then why are you filling the tub?”

      She smiles at the teasing note in his voice. “Because Lauren told me to, okay? She’s a native. She knows about these things.”

      Silence rolls over the line, then he says, “I loved last night.”

      “I loved the rose you left for me.”

      “My pleasure.”

      Michelle wraps the telephone cord around her wrist. “Parker…”

      “Hmm?”

      “What are you doing now?”

      He laughs again. “I’m cleaning up. Thought I’d take a shower and shave this stubble before I frighten someone.”

      “I like your stubble. I’ve always thought a salt-and-pepper beard is attractive.”

      In the background she can hear the sound of running water, so he must be talking on the extension in his private bathroom. Closing her eyes, she can almost see him, phone in one hand, razor in the other.

      “Have you heard the latest on the weather?” he asks.

      “Yeah. Felix’s still on a northwestern track.”

      “Coming straight for us?”

      “Looks like it.”

      “Then you need to lock those shutters. Make sure—”

      “Listen,” she interrupts, unable to wait a moment more, “I was thinking about driving in. I need to pick up a file at the office.”

      “Can’t it wait? They issued an evacuation order for all of the downtown area. They’ll be closing the interstates soon.”

      “But you’re downtown.”

      “Well…I have connections. But you should stay put. It could get dangerous out there.”

      “Not for a while. They say we have at least twelve hours before Felix arrives.”

      “Things can get wicked in a hurry if tornadoes form in front of the storm. You ought to stay put.”

      “Lauren says there’s nothing to worry about. Something about the Native Americans killing a chicken and making predictions—”

      “What?”

      “Never mind. Please, Parker, will you wait for me? I can get my file and we can leave together. We could even evacuate, maybe drive someplace north of here.”

      He lets out a long, audible breath, then speaks in a voice heavy with apology. “I’ll wait if you promise to come right away. I don’t want to hang around much longer because I need to get home. The kids, you know.”

      She draws a breath, about to ask why they don’t pick up his kids and drive to Ocala or Gainesville, but Parker is no fool. If he wanted to knit her into his family life, this would be the perfect opportunity.

      Obviously, he’s not ready. Yet.

      She swipes at a tear with the sleeve of her robe. “I suppose—” she steadies her voice “—you need to stay in the area for your clients. If Felix comes ashore here—”

      “I’ll be as busy as a dentist in Hershey, Pennsylvania. That’s why I can’t leave, sweetheart. I need to stick around. For my business and my kids.”

      She lowers her gaze, grateful he can’t see the hurt welling in her eyes. Any man might have said the same thing, but she has a feeling his refusal has more to do with his children than his client list. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

      “Be careful. And, by the way, your timing’s perfect. I ordered something special for you and it arrived late yesterday. I was going to save it for your birthday—”

      “Good grief, Parker, that’s two months from now.”

      “—then I thought maybe you could wear the surprise when I take you out for dinner next week. I mean, why wait?”

      Michelle smiles as a blush heats her cheeks. Is he really ready to commit?

      “Parker,” she breathes, “what have you done?”

      “You’ll have to see, love. Come on up, I’ll be waiting.”

      

      As Donna Summer continues to warble from the CD player, Isabel raps on the inner-office door, then uses her master key to enter. A quick glance assures her the space is empty, but she hesitates at the sight of a burning lamp. Though the computer behind the desk whirrs continually, the lamp is usually dark when she cleans this suite.

      She shakes her head. More waste. Americans are always complaining about the high cost of gasoline, but still they burn lamps in empty rooms and run their computers all night and keep their air-conditioning so low she has to wear a sweater while she works. Maybe Americans just like to complain.

      She blows a stray hank of hair from her forehead, then walks over to the executive’s waste can. Wadded papers and soda cans spill from the edge of the container, so she tamps down the trash before carrying it to the cart outside the door. No candy wrappers lie at the bottom of this bin; no cigarette butts, either. This boss, whoever he is, has few obvious bad habits.

      She frowns as she returns the trash can to the side of the desk. An unusual amount of clutter covers the work area, so perhaps she shouldn’t try to dust. A pile of papers litters the blotter, an uncapped fountain pen atop the stack as if the man—Mr. Rossman, according to an envelope on the desk—has just stepped out of the office.

      But no one comes here on Saturday, and no one would come with a hurricane spinning in the Gulf of Mexico…would they?

      Maybe she shouldn’t have come downtown. Carlos did not want her to come to work. When she insisted they needed the money, he told her to hurry home because Rafael will want his mamá if the weather gets ugly. So she promised to work quickly, even though her paycheck will be short if she doesn’t put in her full eight hours. There will be little money for groceries in the week ahead, but Carlos will put in extra hours at the gas station if he has to. If the storm doesn’t come and the gas station stays open.

      Somehow, they will—how