Kathy Lyons - Taking Care of Business

“Soo,” drawled Karen with a knowing look. “Sounds like you should enjoy things some more. Just do it, Julie. Let yourself go for once in your life. It’ll reset your qi.”

“Stop! I can’t just do someone in the elevator.”

“Of course you can. You got condoms?”

Julie nodded. She’d bought them weeks ago, and they’d been burning a hole in her purse ever since. She wanted to use them. It was insane, but she’d been thinking about it for two months now. She wanted to stop the elevator, hand him the condom and let herself do what she’d been fantasizing about.

“Meanwhile,” Karen said with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got to get home. Tomorrow’s lecture awaits.” Thankfully, Karen also taught at the Chicago School of Design. The collapse of their company would require a box of Kleenex and another of chocolates, but she wouldn’t be out on the street. Julie, on the other hand, would have to sell her laptop to pay for the bus ride home.

“Hey!” Karen cried as she playfully swiped at Julie’s leg with her portfolio. “Don’t stay here all night stewing. Go find Elevator Man. Or someone else.”

“Karen—”

“Seriously. Something will come up. Just have faith.”

Would it? Julie wondered. And if it did, did she still have the heart to pursue it? Instead of answering, she gave her friend a warm smile. “You’re the best,” she said. “I’m glad I picked you to go belly-up with.”

“Three more weeks,” Karen returned. “We’re not done until the rent expires in three weeks.” Then she was gone, heading out into the darkened expanse of the downtown office building.

Julie didn’t speak as their suite door clicked shut. She couldn’t. Her throat had clogged up and her eyes were watering. Three weeks or three years, it didn’t matter. She just didn’t think she had the heart to keep trying. Besides, she told herself sternly, she wanted to go home. She missed her family. What she couldn’t get past was that she’d be returning home a failure. A bankrupt failure.

It was on her twelfth birthday that she’d started talking about making it big in the big city. Her two younger brothers had laughed. Her sister, too, right after she’d said, “Julie always tells stories.” Even her mom had patted her head as if to say, isn’t she cute, dreaming the impossible dream. Only her father had taken her side. He’d told her then she could do anything she wanted, even move to Chicago and make her fortune.

It had taken fifteen years to make her dream a reality—or so she’d thought. But now she realized that her sister was right. Web Wit and Wonder was just another story that never came true. Pushing away that morose thought, she turned to her laptop and started typing. She stayed at her desk for hours more, searching for something, anything, to tide them over for another month. She didn’t find it. No jobs for an ad agency. Nothing even for a talented copywriter. She was out of options and out of money. It was time to go home.

Glancing at her clock, she was startled to see that it was nearly ten. Way too late for Elevator Man. She would have to count on her own fantasies for relief tonight. Just as well. She was feeling much too vulnerable right then. She didn’t even have a plant to go home to. Nothing but the ever-present certainty that she’d failed.

She closed up her laptop with a definitive click. She didn’t have a coat today despite the early fall cold snap. She’d chosen instead a wrap sweater top over dress pants. It was soft and warm, a gift from her younger sister for her birthday. Wearing it felt like being wrapped in cashmere love, though it was simple cotton. And except for Elevator Man, it was the only thing that had caressed her in a very long time. She must have known this morning that she’d need a hug by night.

Her thoughts were getting too morose. “Tomorrow, I can begin again,” she said out loud as a way to bolster her spirits. She stepped into the dark corridor, locking the office door behind her. The building was designed like a big rectangle around a central courtyard complete with trees and a water fountain. Way up high, the glass-paneled roof let in sunlight by day. Tonight, a big brilliant moon pierced the darkness. Only the robotics firm on the top floor had lights on. Robotics, apparently, weren’t affected by the sluggish economy, unlike small advertising firms.

She walked to the elevator bank and pressed a button. Her thoughts returned to Elevator Man, and she sternly reminded herself not to hope. At this hour, he had surely gone home already. That left her free to imagine all sorts of wildly erotic scenarios. The elevator took a long time coming, so she was able to fully steep herself in her fantasies. She pictured him behind her and all of Paris spread out before them. She imagined the thrust of his erection, the caress of his hands on her body. She was a wild woman, desired by a hot guy and completely free to enjoy her body. No work, no cares, just a man taking her to the ultimate sexual peak. God, it was heaven!

She was smiling as the metal doors parted, then she gasped in surprise. There, leaning back against the glass rear panel was Elevator Man. His usual coveralls were gone. Instead, he wore sneakers, dark jeans and a well worn cotton tee. The color was indigo fading to gray. Whatever image had once been there was now long gone, leaving little to distract her from the rippled shadows created by his sculpted torso. God, his forearms were nothing compared to the muscles across his chest.

Lifting her gaze a little higher, she saw his chiseled jaw, slightly darkened by five o’clock shadow. His eyes were at half mast as his nostrils flared. He was inhaling, his chest expanding as he clearly took in the scent of her. She’d started dabbing heavy amounts of sandalwood on her wrists ever since she’d noticed he took a deep breath whenever he was near her.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. He was lounging against the back panel watching her with a predatory expression. As if he’d been waiting for her. As if he’d known she was getting on the elevator right then and was daring her to step into his lair.

Karen’s words echoed in her mind. Just do it. Let yourself go for once in your life. Julie bit her lip. Could she? She had three weeks before she left Chicago for good. In three weeks, she would return to rural Nebraska and a wholly different life. Suddenly, three weeks felt like the perfect amount of time. Just enough time to revel in all her fantasies of the urban jungle. Three weeks to indulge however she wanted—passionately, frivolously, sexually—whatever she desired. Three weeks of time to be the wild woman she always pretended she was. After that, she would go home and start again.

All she had to do to begin was step through the door and let Elevator Man do whatever he wanted. Hell, she didn’t even need to wait for him. She could stop the elevator herself and let him know she was willing. That she’d wanted this for the last two months. Could she do it?

Yes. Tonight she was going to reset her qi because why the hell not? Tonight, she was going to do what she’d been fantasizing about for months.

With that thought in mind, she crossed the threshold. Then she did what she always did at the beginning of one of their encounters. She turned around to face the elevator doors, though her back prickled with awareness of him right behind her. She extended her hand and pushed the garage floor button.

The elevator hummed to life, the doors shutting slowly. But Julie didn’t let her hand drop away from the panel. Instead, her fingers hovered over the Stop button. Now, she told herself. Pull the Stop button now!

SAM FINN’S HEART—and dick—leaped forward, but he didn’t move off the elevator wall. He feared if he shifted at all, nothing would stop him from grabbing Miss Julie Thompson and dragging her back to his cave, so to speak. So he held himself still and gripped the railing until his hands hurt.

She had paused before strutting into the elevator, her pert chin lifted in challenge and her hips swaying slightly in anticipation. Was tonight the night? Finally? After months of foreplay, would he finally get up the nerve to push them to the next level?

Nearly two months ago, Sam had also stood at the back of an elevator while she sauntered in. Later, he learned what her name was. Later, he figured out that she was the owner and creative force behind Web Wit and Wonder. Later, he realized that she’d been in her “creative” mode, dressing and walking with a flair that he found especially sexy.

At the time, all he noticed was that she was a bright flash of yellow sundress, bouncy hair and strappy sandal attitude. All woman, very perky in all the best ways, and a night-and-day difference from the corporate stiffs he was about to face in his own boardroom. Then she had stuffed her delectable body close, he’d caught the exotic scent of sandalwood, and his dick had the normal, predictable reaction. He’d gotten a boner the size of the Sears Tower.

Nothing unusual there. Every male above the age of eleven had suffered through an embarrassing erection. But then she’d done the unthinkable. She’d pressed backward against him. Far from being shocked and repelled, she’d actually, swear to God, squeezed him. Well, that’s what his lower half believed. And then, while his brain was scrambling desperately to hold on to sanity, she had stepped away. Seconds later, she was off the elevator while he was harder than granite. He’d needed twenty minutes before he could face his employees.

It could have been an isolated incident, the kind of random thing that sometimes happened in a city the size of Chicago. It probably would have remained an isolated event if he weren’t owner of the office building in which they both worked.

But he did own the building and he had access to all sorts of interesting security devices. Nothing intrusive, but it took less than a minute to learn everything official about Miss Thompson and her ad agency. And given that this was a building outfitted with the latest and greatest technology of the time, he could easily tie its security feed to his own laptop. There was no surveillance within her office suite. That would be a breach of privacy. But in the hallway outside her door? Absolutely. He knew when she came and went from her office, he knew what she wore, and most importantly, when she would be heading for the elevator banks.

So the stalking began. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Had her caress been a product of his fevered imagination? Or would she welcome more? Could such a beautiful woman really want his touch? He had to know if he was imagining her response or if she was just into kinky, anonymous sex play.

It took nearly a week, but he’d managed to arrange to be in another packed elevator with her. His heart had been beating triple time, but after a week of fruitless speculation, he’d had to put the question to the test. He’d reached for the elevator button by way of her breast.

He’d tried to be subtle. If she started screaming, he could pretend he’d stumbled, it was an accident … He had an entire litany of excuses ready. He’d extended his hand, brushed across her breast and then pushed the button. And damn if on the way back, she didn’t “accidentally” fall forward enough that he was nearly cupping her.

He’d almost collapsed. He had nearly convinced himself that she would scream bloody murder. That he’d be facing a sexual harassment lawsuit. But when none of that happened, his mind had simply shut down with shock. That, unfortunately, gave free rein to his inner stalker.