IN THE QUIET OF HIS OFFICE

The aftermath of the gala felt like a fever that wouldn't break. Elena had spent the weekend scrubbing the scent of orchids from her memory, but every time she closed her eyes, she felt the phantom heat of Julian's hand brushing her shoulder.

Monday night arrived with a heavy, humid storm that rattled the windows of the Vane Tower. Elena was late. A subway delay had eaten twenty minutes of her shift, and she was rushing, her heart thumping against her ribs as she hauled her supply cart toward the service elevators.

The service lift was out of order-a yellow "Caution" sign Mocking her.

Desperate not to be flagged by her supervisor, she ducked toward the main executive elevators. They were sleek, mirrored pods of chrome and glass, reserved for the gods of the building. She shouldn't be in one, but at 11:15 PM, the lobby was a ghost town.

She pushed her cart inside and hit the button for the 64th floor.

The doors began to slide shut, but a hand-strong, tan, and familiar-suddenly shot between them. The sensors hissed, and the doors retracted.

Julian Vane stepped in.

He was wearing a charcoal suit today, his tie pulled loose, his white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the hollow of his throat. He looked exhausted, the kind of weariness that makes a man's defenses crumble.

He didn't see her at first. He leaned his back against the mirrored wall and closed his eyes. Then, the scent of her industrial lemon floor cleaner hit him.

His eyes snapped open. He looked at the girl in the navy jumpsuit, then at the mop bucket, then back at her.

"Elena," he said. The way he breathed her name in the confined space made it sound like a prayer or a curse.

"Mr. Vane. I... the service lift was broken," she stammered, flattening herself against the opposite corner, trying to make her body as small as possible.

The elevator lurched into motion.

They were moving fast, the digital floor counter glowing red: 4... 7... 12...

Julian didn't stay on his side. He pushed off the wall and took two slow, deliberate steps toward the center. The elevator was large, but with him standing there, his presence radiating a dark, magnetic energy, it felt like a shoebox.

"You left early the other night," he said. His voice was low, vibrating off the chrome walls. "I turned around, and you were gone."

"I finished the spill," she said, her gaze fixed on his tie. "There was no reason for me to stay."

"I can think of several," he countered.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. A violent crack of thunder echoed from outside, vibrating through the steel cables. The elevator shuddered, a horrific grinding sound shrieked above them, and then-silence.

The car jolted to a violent halt, throwing Elena off balance. She gasped, her sneakers slipping on the polished floor. Before she could hit the ground, Julian's arms were around her.

He caught her flush against his chest, his hands gripping her waist with a strength that was almost bruising. The momentum carried them back against the mirrored wall.

The emergency lights kicked in-a dim, honey-colored glow that turned the elevator into a sanctuary of shadows.

"I've got you," he whispered.

Elena's hands were pressed against his chest, her fingers curling into the expensive wool of his suit. She could feel his heart-it wasn't the slow, steady beat of a CEO. It was fast. Erratic. Matching her own.

"You can let go now," she breathed, though she made no move to pull away. The air in the elevator was rapidly warming, thick with the scent of his cologne and the ozone from the storm.

"If I let go," Julian said, his voice dropping to a rough, dangerous velvet, "you'll just run back into the shadows. You've been hiding from me for three days, Elena."

"I'm not hiding," she lied, finally looking up.

His face was inches from hers. In the amber light, his grey eyes looked like molten lead. He was looking at her with a raw, unchecked hunger that made her knees feel like water. His thumb, still resting on her waist, began to move in a slow, agonizing circle, tracing the line of her hip through the thin fabric of her jumpsuit.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "I'm the girl who empties your trash. This... this isn't a story that ends well."

Julian leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. He didn't kiss her. The burn was too slow for that, the tension too exquisite to break. Instead, he tilted his head, his lips hovering just an inch from the sensitive skin of her ear.

"I haven't slept since the night I found you reading Marcus Aurelius," he confessed, his warm breath sending a violent shiver down her spine. "I close my eyes and I see you. I open them and I'm looking for you. Do you have any idea how much I hate that you have this much power over me?"

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hand rising from her waist to cup her jaw. His skin was hot. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

Elena felt her breath hitch. The "flutter" had turned into a roar. She wanted him to close the distance; she wanted to run away. The tension was a physical cord, pulling tighter and tighter until it was a thin, vibrating wire.

"Julian," she choked out.

The elevator suddenly groaned. The lights flashed back to full, blinding white. The motor hummed to life, and the car began to move again.

Julian didn't pull away immediately. He lingered in her space for one more second, his gaze dropping to her mouth with a promise that felt like a threat. Then, as the bell chimed for the 64th floor, he stepped back, smoothing his jacket as if his world hadn't just tilted on its axis.

The doors slid open.

"This episode is over, Elena," he said softly, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips-the first time she'd seen him smile. "But I think we both know how the next episode begins."

He walked out into the hallway, leaving her alone in the elevator, her heart racing and the imprint of his hands still burning on her skin