The Millionaire And The Glass Slipper. Christine Flynn

been there to support the women now running it.

      “Why do you have to be?”

      “Because I need the job to help support my grandmother,” she admitted, too concerned about being trapped to care that he was so blunt. They were talking. That was all she cared about just then. “Jill pays me too much to go anywhere else.”

      “Do you live with your grandmother?”

      “No, I… No,” Amy repeated, and promptly told herself she really should shut up. At the very least, she should change the subject. She couldn’t begin to deny the unease she felt knowing she was ten stories up, trapped in a box with nothing but whatever mechanical wizardry he understood but she didn’t to keep it from dropping to the basement. She just wasn’t in the habit of sharing her problems with people she knew, much less with a stranger she’d be faced with again when he returned for his next appointment.

      “Then, she lives with you,” he concluded.

      “She’s in an assistant living facility.”

      “What about your stepmom?” he asked, before she could move on. “Why isn’t she supporting her?”

      “Because Grandma Edna is my responsibility. She’s my mom’s mom and the only real relative I have left,” she allowed, though she might not have added the latter had she not been where she was. If the elevator fell, there wouldn’t be anyone to see that the increasingly eccentric older woman was properly cared for. Edna could be a handful. Jill couldn’t stand her.

      “Can we talk about something else, please? Tell me about your company,” she suggested, desperately wanting not to think about falling down the shaft. “You must be excited about pulling it all together. Is having your own firm something you’ve always wanted?”

      J.T. didn’t know which caught him more off guard just then; her obvious resignation to her position in the company, the abrupt change of subject, or her assumption that he felt any excitement at all about his possible venture.

      She’d also just confronted him with the sudden need for an acceptable explanation for his own circumstances.

      He could hardly tell her that the idea of starting his own company had nothing to do with realizing a dream. It had simply been the logical thing to do, given what his father had thrown at him. He couldn’t tell her, either, that once he’d decided what he had to do, that he’d approached the task with the same methodical, get-it-done attitude he intended to tackle in his pursuit of Candace-the-potential bride. There had been nothing resembling excitement involved.

      The thought gave him pause. Standing there with the dark masking his disquiet, he couldn’t honestly say he felt energized, eager or enthusiastic about much of anything he did anymore. Even his last climbing trip in the Swiss Alps had left him oddly dissatisfied and restless. It almost had been as if pushing himself to conquer yet another mountain was no longer enough.

      He didn’t care at all for that unexpected thought, or the strange, empty sensation that came with it. Certain both were there only because he was being pushed to do things he didn’t want to do, he dismissed the matter as inconsequential—and simply told her what he could of the truth.

      “I didn’t start thinking about my own firm until a couple of months ago. It just seemed like it was time.”

      “To break out on your own?”

      “Something like that.”

      “Then, this isn’t a goal you’ve worked toward for a while.”

      He hadn’t been prepared for the conclusion in her voice. Or, maybe what he hadn’t expected was her insight.

      A hush fell between them, long seconds passing before her soft voice finally drifted toward him.

      “I’m sorry.”

      “For what?”

      “Overstepping myself. I didn’t mean to pry.” Sympathy joined the apology in her tone. “I just assumed that starting your own firm was something you’d wanted to do.”

      She clearly recognized that it was not.

      For a moment J.T. couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t sound like confirmation—or like too much of a protest. He handled his life the same way he played poker. Straight-faced and close to the vest. He wasn’t given to showing his hand. Yet, in a matter of seconds, this quietly unassuming woman had recognized his ambivalence and pretty much called him on it.

      Feeling exposed, not caring for the sensation at all, he dismissed her perception as a fluke. At least, he did until he considered what he’d learned about her job and realized she might well be wrestling with her circumstances, too. The inherent unfairness in her situation did strike a vaguely familiar chord.

      “What would you do if you didn’t have to work for the agency?”

      Amy shifted against the wall, uncomfortable with having trespassed onto sensitive ground. She wasn’t usually so straightforward with a client. Not that Jill had her deal with any of them directly very often. Most of her contact was over the phone or by mail. It was just that this man’s vague responses had left her with the feeling that his new venture had been precipitated by something unexpected. A divorce, perhaps. Or a problem within the firm he now worked with. Personality problems within the partnership. Cutbacks.

      Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to her to be at all enthused about striking out on his own. She’d simply responded to that. Much as she’d responded to his touch moments ago, and the tension she sensed in him now.

      That faint tension seemed to reach toward her, wrap itself around her, increase her own.

      Not at all sure what to make of her reactions to him, she tried to ignore them all. “If I could do anything…”

      A faint thud sent her heart into her throat.

      Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you hear that?”

      “Hear what?”

      “It sounded like something hitting metal.”

      “Might have been a door. Is the stairwell near the elevators?”

      “It’s just around the corner.”

      “They’re probably evacuating the building. Go on,” he coaxed, sounding far less concerned than she felt. “You’d… what?”

      The elevator doors were too thick to hear much of anything else going on beyond them. It was also possible that they were stuck between floors, which meant they were further insulated by the six or so feet of crawl space and whatever else existed between the building’s various levels from anyone who might pull the doors open from the outside.

      Thinking of how big he was, how quietly powerful and confident he seemed, she inched closer to his voice. “Get a degree in marine biology,” she said, “find a research position, then tackle the rest of my life list.”

      More concerned with being stuck while everyone else was leaving than with the list she’d barely begun to complete, she strained to see if she could hear anything else.

      All she heard was the curiosity in Jared’s voice. “Life list?”

      “It’s a list of things I want to do before I…” die wasn’t a word she wanted to use just then. “Before I’m too old to get around,” she concluded.

      “Getting your degree is at the top of it?”

      “At the top was to buy my own home.” Having her own home had been at the top of her list ever since her father had married Jill and sold the one she’d grown up in. She’d promised herself then that she’d someday have a home no one could take from her. “I did that a few years ago,” she told him, ever grateful for the down payment allowed by the modest insurance policy her father had kept for her.

      Trying to stay focused, she thought about the next item on the old piece of blue notepaper she kept tucked