Chapter Two
Izzy hitched her tote bag over her shoulder and headed for the elevators, feeling downright giddy over the way her first day on the job was going so far. She’d spent all morning with her team, shadowing the HR Generalist whose position she was filling, and it’d been - no joke - fun. Seriously. Everyone in the department seemed to get along, the work seemed challenging but not too stressful, and she actually had an (incredibly small) office with her name on the door. In addition to that little nugget of fantasticality, Incite Fitness - the city’s hottest health club - was located on the 12th floor of the building next door, and Ellis employees were able to use it for free. For. Free. So Izzy had just run three miles on the treadmill, and now she was ready for Part 2 of her amazing day. She saw the elevator doors starting to close and called out wait, just in case someone was listening and wanted to be nice. She expected nothing, so she very-nearly squealed with delight when she saw a big hand reach out and stop the doors. Could the day get any better? “Thank you,” she sang as she ran over and hopped into the elevator. “No problem,” the guy inside said, “What fl--” “Ohmigod.” Izzy’s mouth fell wide open as she came face-to-face with Mr. Chest from Starbucks. He was still wearing his fancy suit (sans coffee-stained shirt), but the tips of his hair were wet, like he’d just showered, and she could literally smell his soap. Mmm - fresh. She breathlessly said around a laugh, “It’s you.” He looked just as surprised to see her, but then his mouth turned up into one of those toe-curling, genuinely happy smiles that bumped an exceptionally-handsome man right up to a work of art. He said in that ridiculously deep voice, “Talk about your small worlds.” The elevator doors slid closed, and he gestured with his thumb to the floor buttons. Izzy managed, “Oh. Yeah. Lobby, please,” even though she was so shocked she could barely remember how to form words. All morning, she'd been forcing herself not to think about Mr. Chest because not only did she need to focus on the new job, but there was also no way in hell a Starbucks meet-cute would ever pan out into something real. But now - here he was. Dun-Dun-Duuuun. “So, um,” he asked, “Do you work around here, or do you belong to this gym?” “I was working out,” she started, but then he nodded and cut her off with-- “Okay, I don’t normally do this sort of thing, but someone’s going to get on this elevator any minute now so I have to talk fast.” His face was purposeful and intense, but his mouth was relaxed, like he was slightly amused by the situation. Izzy watched the numbers lighting up on the display over the doors as they descended. 11-10-9… Please don’t stop, please don’t stop. “I know we’re strangers,” he said, his eyes so focused on her that she felt like fixing her hair or fidgeting with her lip gloss. “But--” 8-7-6… Izzy reached out and hit the emergency button behind him, making the elevator car jolt to a stop. Mr. Chest stopped talking as she stumbled in her pumps, which propelled her a little closer to him, and his eyes narrowed just a fraction. A wrinkle appeared in-between his brows and Izzy shook her head. “No, no - I’m not stopping for creepy reasons. I swear I’m not that bunny-boiler from Silence of the Lambs, trying to seduce you in an elevator or something. I just--” “Fatal Attraction.” “What?” “The bunny boiling was in Fatal Attraction,” he said, and the wrinkle of concern that’d been between his brows disappeared as his mouth twitched into a tiny smirk. “Oh, yeah - Fatal Attraction; duh.” She rolled her eyes and said, “I just want to hear what you have to say without reaching the ground floor first. That’s all this little stoppage is about.” “What I have to say.” He stepped a little closer, but not in an intimidating way. It was more…intimate. It reminded her of the way Darcy said Mr. Wickham? and stepped closer to Elizabeth during his rain proposal in the hand-flex version of P&P, and Izzy thought she might faint dead away for the first time in her life. He put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and said, “Is. I have meetings all afternoon, but can I please call you later?” “On the telephone?” Izzy noticed he had perfect eyebrows as she said, “Like a psycho?” “Well, I’m shit with the emojis,” he said, looking half-serious and a little boyish. “Send a lot of accidental eggplants?” “No,” he laughed. “Use the same tired cry-laughing smiley for everything like a total wank?” “Is that a wank thing to do?” “Absolutely it is.” “Well, then, um, yes.” He cleared his throat and said, “But my absolute wankiness aside--” “Wankitude. Or is it wankery?” “Wankiness,” he said, rolling his eyes as he continued, “I rather like hearing the voice of the person I’m talking to.” Izzy made a noise in her throat and felt like she needed garlic or some type of dagger she could plunge into Mr. Chest’s chest as protection, because statements like that were a straight-up assault on her ovaries. He rather liked hearing the person’s voice? Just take my heart now, you gorgeous wank. “I’ll give you my number,” she said, trying not to seem too eager. “But I make no promises on the whole phone-talk thing. I fear I may start mashing the numerical keypad and shouting emoji names at random out of confusion.” “Eggplant, eggplant?” he said, with an absolute straight face. “Our conversation will have to take a pretty wild turn for that to be my emoji-shout of choice, but you never know.” Izzy looked down at his shirt. “Do you have a closet full of fresh shirts at your office, or did you have to go home after I drenched your Calvin Klein?” “I ran home.” She still felt bad about that. “Please tell me you live close to Starbucks.” “You seem pretty interested in my personal information," he said, his eyes getting a teasing glint that made her want to ruffle his hair. "You sure you’re not a bunny boiler?” Izzy tilted her head and wondered if he had pets. “Do you have a bunny?” An eyebrow went up. “Why do you want to know?” “I’m fascinated by the pets people keep,” she said, her eyes wandering all over his face, “And if you told me you had a bunny, I think I’d find you to be the most interesting man in this elevator.” He smiled a little more and his dimples popped. Fucking dimples. I’m going to need that dagger STAT. He said, “Words cannot express how much I regret to inform you that I am not one in possession of a rabbit.” Izzy bit down on her lower lip to hold in the laugh. She looked up at him and said, “It is tragic, but perhaps you might consider adopting one…?” He leaned a little closer and just like that, there was white-hot electricity in that elevator. Their faces were close, and Izzy was very aware all of a sudden that they were alone in a stopped elevator car. Her oxygen was now his freshly-showered scent and she wanted to breathe it in until she hyperventilated. His voice was quieter, huskier, when he said, “Swear to God if I didn’t already have a cat, I’d be begging you to go with me to the shelter to pick out a bunny this very minute.” “You have…a cat?” she asked in a near-whisper, defeated with the realization that even a dagger through the heart couldn’t protect her if Blake was a cat guy. “I have two,” he said, and then he grinned. A dirty grin. He knew. Somehow he knew he was killing her and her lady parts. “You’re the worst,” Izzy said, unable to hold in the smile. “I’m gonna need that number,” he replied, pulling out his phone and waiting. She barely got out all ten digits before the red phone in the elevator car started ringing. “We should probably turn this thing back on before the authorities arrive,” he said, his jaw doing a little clench/unclench thing that Izzy felt like she could watch for hours. “Yeah,” she said, taking a step away from him and touching her lips. “I don’t want to have to answer that phone.” “Afraid of panicking and screaming evil smile?” He asked as he depressed the emergency stop button. "Yep." Izzy watched the number display start counting down again as they resumed their descent, and she wondered what he’d do if she reached around him and pressed it again.
Blake Blake hit “save” on the spreadsheet and glanced at his watch for the tenth time that hour. It was 5:15, he’d just finished his last meeting, and he needed to wrap up a few things before he could take off for the night. He usually worked late - at least until seven - but he hadn’t been able to focus since running into the girl from Starbucks in the elevator at Incite. What in the hell were the odds? The last thing he was looking for was a relationship. He and Skye had just called off their engagement three weeks ago, and he planned on staying single for a long-ass time. Forever sounded pretty fucking awesome to him at that point. But there was something about the Starbucks girl. Amy. After so much dishonesty from Skye, so many little white lies that piled up as teasers to her Big Ass Lie, it was refreshing to be around someone who seemed so open. He’d only met her for a total of five minutes, so technically he knew nothing about her, but compared to his just-let-me-explain former fiancé, she felt…real. And it was kind of blowing his mind. Blake hated small-talk - and most people in general - yet talking to her had been fun. After they’d gone their separate ways earlier, he’d sent her a quick text, just so she had his number. Testing 1-2-3. She’d responded immediately. NOW who’s the bunny boiler? I JUST left the building and you’re already texting. Obsessed much, Joe Goldberg? He’d stopped walking to reply: Did I mention that one of my cats is blind? Because the look that had crossed her face in the elevator when he’d said he had cats was fucking golden. She replied: You are a menace and I should probably block you for that sort of filth. Also, on a random side note, when you call tonight, make sure you have the kitties nearby so I can hear their little meows. Dammit, he was really looking forward to calling her. Fucking lunacy, that. “Knock-knock.” He looked up and Pam Carson - the HR manager - was leaning into his office. “Hey, Pam,” he said, hoping this would be quick. “Hey.” She smiled and said, “Listen, Isabella Shay, our new generalist, started today and I just wanted to introduce you before she goes home. If you have a second.” “Sure,” he said. Blake didn’t really give a rat’s ass about the new generalist, if he were being entirely honest. Pam - and the entire HR department – ran like a well-oiled machine. Technically, on the org chart, they were part of his team, but unless something unusual was going on, the HR Director handled everything and he had very little contact with them. Except when Pam showed up at his door every few months to introduce him to a new-hire. “Isabella, this is Blake Phillips, one of our AVPs.” Pam stepped sideways in the doorway and a brunette smiled and raised her hand in a casual wave. He opened his mouth to say nice to meet you, but the girl standing just outside of his office looked exactly like - no, holy shit, it was - Starbucks Amy. What in the actual hell? Izzy “You have got to be kidding.” Izzy knew she was beaming like a toddler looking at an ice cream cone, but what else could she do but grin? Fate was literally throwing this man at her. She said, “You again?” “This is getting ridiculous.” Blake looked super important, sitting behind the huge desk in the huge office. He was giving her a smile, but that wrinkle was back between his eyebrows. “Do you two know each other?” Pam asked, smiling inquisitively and swinging her gaze back and forth between the two of them. “I kind of spilled coffee all over Mr. Phillips at Starbucks this morning.” And also gave him my number. “It’s a shockingly small world.” Blake leaned back a little in his chair and crossed his arms, looking every inch the executive. A very expensive-looking watch peeked out from under his right cuff. “Pam called you Isabella.” “Yes…?” “So I thought you said your name was Amy.” Awww, crap. She’d been so locked in on the pretty of his face that she’d forgotten all about the stolen coffee. Her face felt warm as she muttered, “Oh. Yeah. So funny thing. I didn’t actually say my name was Amy. I think you made an assumption after seeing my cup.” She smiled and tried making him laugh with, “You know what happens when you assume.” He didn’t laugh, and instead asked, “Is Amy your middle name or something?” She suddenly felt like she was on trial. He looked like a stern judge - hot thought to be revisited later - and Pam was like a juror, quietly watching the cross examination. Izzy opened her mouth and was about to consider grabbing onto his middle name excuse like the liar she’d apparently become, when Pam said, “No - her middle name is Clarence. Right, Izzy - isn’t that what you told me when you filled out the I-9 form?” Pam laughed and said to Blake, “I think she said it was her grandfather’s name. Isabella Clarence - can you imagine?” Izzy rubbed her lips together for a second - shit, shit, shit - and then she said, “Amy isn’t actually my name at all. It’s, uh, kind of a funny story.” Blake’s head tilted just the tiniest bit. She said, “Just let me explain.” Pam kept smiling, looking at Izzy like she was waiting for a hilarious tale, but Blake was doing that jaw-clench thing and absolutely not smiling anymore. He kind of looked pissed. “Okay, so, I was running a little behind and didn’t want to be late for my first day at Ellis. I paid for my drink, but the line was super long. Like, so long that I was going to have to bail before I even got my coffee, right?” Pam was still into it, listening in amused anticipation, but Blake just looked impatient, like he knew the rest and wanted her to shut the hell up. She looked down at her feet and rushed out the words, “So after they called for Amy three times, and no one came for the drink, I, um, I might’ve told the barista I was Amy.” “You did not,” Pam said, glancing at Blake while laughing uncomfortably. Izzy tried giving Blake her best playful smile as she said, “It didn’t pay off, though, because I ended up spilling the drink all over Blake here.” “Um.” He cleared his throat. “Are you saying that you took someone else’s drink?” “Well, I mean,” Izzy said, trying to make him understand. “I paid and we ordered the same thing, so--” “So does that make it not her drink then?” He looked at her like she’d just confessed to beheading a puppy. “Amy’s drink is fair game for anyone who prepaid for the same order, is that what you’re saying?” “It was a very uncool thing to do, I know,” Izzy said, mortified by his offended reaction. “I don’t know about uncool,” Blake said, his eyes pinning her in place like he was the hawk and she was the mouse he found too annoying to eat so he just wanted to play with her until she was dead. “But it was definitely dishonest.” “So very, very dishonest, Mr. Phillips.” Izzy gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay calm because she wanted that job more than she wanted to tell off the ultra-hot, uber-judgmental Chest. She crossed her arms, breathed in through her nose, and said, “You have no idea, at his moment, how much I regret every single thing that transpired today in relation to that dishonest cup of coffee. If I could go back and undo all of it, every single moment, I absolutely would.” His eyes stayed on her, unwavering, and his expression was unreadable. “I’m going to take off and let you get back to work,” she said, raising her lips so her baring of teeth looked like a smile. “It was very nice meeting you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Was it?” “Of course,” Izzy said, coughing out at little laugh and smiling at Pam to make sure she knew that everything was fine. But the second Pam looked away from her, Izzy couldn’t stop herself from giving Blake a tiny head shake and mouthing the word NOPE. That made his jaw clench and his eyes narrow just the teensiest bit, which made Iz feel like she'd scored some sort of point. “We’ll get out of your hair now, Blake,” Pam tittered, and Izzy let Pam lead her away from the office and out to the elevators. She knew she’d just gotten herself fired, and right as she thought that, Pam explained that even though he could sometimes be perceived as arrogant, Blake Phillips was actually a really nice guy. He was just very serious and incredibly focused. Izzy rolled her eyes. Focused. Was that what it was called? It seemed to Izzy that he was focused on being a total dick.