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Colt grabbed her by the arms to at least minimize the damage before they crashed into the back of the elevator. Even so, he knew some of the tackles he’d made his freshman year of high school carried less force. And it had to be a woman his six foot two, one hundred-eighty-pound form barreled into.
“Oh, geez. I’m so sorry.”
She hadn’t fallen completely to the floor, but he helped her to get back to a standing position. He was surprised by how solid her arms were as he steadied her, though her skin was amazingly soft. Huge blue eyes stared out of red-rimmed glasses. Glasses matching the fire-engine red dress she wore.
“It’s okay,” she said hurriedly, bending to scoop up her papers.
“Here. Let me get that.” Great. I’ve been in the building for, like, a minute and a half, and I’m already messing things up. Not only have I scattered these files, but I may have damaged an employee. I may not know much about business, but I’m pretty sure that kind of thing is frowned upon.
One page landed near the front and they both went to pick it up at the same time. He glanced over at her. She straightened her glasses, looking anywhere but at him. Awkward. They rose and he handed her the paper.
“Thank you.” She shuffled it into the pack, which was in total disarray. She turned to watch the number above the door, waiting for it to change to something new, tapping her hand on the sides of her folders.
He stood by her side, his bodyguard Dexter ever silent in front of them. Colt’s palms were sweating, and the elevator seemed to become narrower with each passing second.
This has to be the slowest damn elevator in the universe.
He slid a glance her way again, really taking in her whole outfit this time. It was not the standard professional wear. The knit dress wrapped around her neck like a choker, with little metal embellishments along the collar making it resemble jewelry all the more. Beneath, five long teardrop shaped openings fanned out across the top of her chest, without revealing any cleavage. The dress flared out from her waist and was short, but not too short. Classy, but distinctive. And definitely sexy. Interesting.
He shook himself. He wasn’t here to ogle his employees. He was going to his dad’s—his office. But it had been years since he’d been in the building. He wiped his hand over his face then pinched the bridge of his nose.
He tipped his head back, resting it on the back wall, and sighed. “Wow. I don’t even know what floor I’m supposed to get off on.” He rolled his eyes. “I am doing a stellar job here.”
No one responded, making things even more uncomfortable. If that was possible. The elevator remained silent as it ticked away floors.
It finally stopped, and the woman murmured, “Excuse me.”
Dexter stood aside.
Colt touched her arm before she could scoot out. “I’m really sorry about running into you. I hope—”
“This is your floor,” she blurted out.
It took him a moment to understand what she said. She moved out and held the door open with her arm, staring at him expectantly.
“Oh.” He nudged Dexter and they stepped out. He turned around to register the floor. “Eighth floor. Thank—” He spun, but she was gone.
He looked over. Dexter was checking the place out. Colt took a step forward and examined the area himself. A lot had changed since he’d last visited. The offices on this floor were separated by glass, the floor a deep off-white pile carpet. He would have expected the glass to give it a cold feel. But it didn’t. In fact, a warmth came from its clean, functional design. The openness giving it a “we are family” atmosphere, while the glass still blocked noise enough to facilitate coworking. Funky pieces of sculpture stood here and there on black pedestals. A wall on his left had huge black letters spelling out, “R&J Enterprises.” Colt gestured in its direction.
“In case you forgot where you worked.”
Dexter grunted, nearly smiling. It was the most animated he’d been all morning. Colt’s mom had insisted on hiring a bodyguard for him because of “that nasty business at your father’s office.” By nasty business she meant someone murdering him. The depths of her emotional detachment could still sometimes render Colt speechless.
He didn’t really think he was a target, but his mom was very protective of her assets—sons—and Sophia Remkus was not a woman who took to arguing a point. It was often easier to give in to her.
“Well.” He sighed, indicating the hallways to his left and right. “It’s a fifty/fifty chance. Which hall do you think his office is on?”
Dexter eyed them then walked to the left, his giant strides leaving Colt in his dust.
“To the left it is then.”
In seconds, it was clear they were on the correct path, because conference room after conference room gave way to large offices, and then even larger offices. At the end of the hall, he found his Elevator Girl in an office on the left, already ensconced in her work, typing away at a keyboard with a headset on. To the right stood what had to be his father’s office. Dexter waved an arm, indicating he should enter. Colt hesitated then crossed the threshold with some trepidation. He half expected his father to pop out from somewhere. Then remembered he had been laid in the ground. Colt flashed briefly to throwing a white rose on his coffin.
He approached almost reverently, putting his hand on the huge black desk and walking around it with deliberate steps. Smooth and no dust. Someone must have been taking care of it. The middle of the desk was a large black leather pad. The leather was supple, the smell reminding him of his father’s saddles back on the ranch. Everything was so neat. Had his father been this orderly? He came to the chair. Oh, God. Am I really doing this? He slowly lowered himself into it like a man sitting down in the electric chair. A dread—perhaps similar to the one those sentenced to death experienced—weighed on him, and he sank into the cushions. He glanced up, and Dexter was watching him.
“Umm...” Colt was surprised to find his voice was choked. “Do you think you could give me a minute?”
Dexter nodded and left the office, closing the door behind him. He stood to the left of the entry, legs wide, hands clasped behind his back. Colt wondered how long he could stand like that. I’ll find him a chair in a minute.
He sat forward. Then he flashed to a scene in his father’s office. The old one with the walnut paneled walls.
Colt must have been around four or five. His father was chasing him around and he was giggling, ducking under his desk to escape from him there.
“Hmm... Where’d he go?” His father’s face appeared under the desk, sending Colt off into a wave of giggles. “Yup. There’s my boy.”
His mother sauntered in. “Tyler. This is a business establishment.” She slung her purse over a chair.
“Yes, but I’m the boss,” his dad countered gleefully, scooping Colt onto his lap. He offered his hand for a high five and Colt gave it a resounding slap. “Ouch.” His dad shook his hand, smiling at him.
“Tyler, really, I only got Colton into that suit minutes ago, and he’ll get filthy playing on the floor.”
“Nonsense. My cleaning staff is exceedingly thorough.”
She raised her arched brows even farther.
Colt held up a letter opener. “Daddy? Is this the golf club I gave you?”
“Why, yes it is.”
His mother stepped closer, eyeing the cheap, brass golf club letter opener. “You actually brought that in here?”
“Of course I did, Sophia!” he snapped. It was one of the rare times Colt recalled him raising his voice to her. His dad held it up like it was a treasure. “I love it.”
His mom stared down her nose at them, but apparently decided to leave it. She sighed. “Come on, Colton. We’re meeting the Danburys for lunch.”
“Time to leave, son.” His father set him on the floor. Colt turned and looked at him. “Go on. Off with your mother.”
The phone screamed out, making him jump. He glanced over into the opposite office. Elevator Girl didn’t seem to notice. She was talking to someone on the headset and swiveling around in her chair while tapping a pencil on its arm, legs stretched out in front of her.
Colt stared at the phone. Nine buttons. One was lit. Taking a chance, he lifted the receiver and punched the blinking button. He cleared his throat. “Colton Remkus.”
“Colt. How are ya, buddy?”
It was DJ Palmer, his bassist and best friend. “Deej. What’s up?”
“Not much, my brother. You smoking on some fat cigar up there in your ivory tower?”
“Nah. Just got here.” Hmm. Good idea. He opened a drawer, searching for cigars. The pleasant scent of pine and pencil shavings drifted up to him. “How’s Pam?”
“Good. Good. She’s right here. She sends her love and condolences.”
Colt withdrew a daily calendar from the drawer and placed it in the middle of the desk. “Tell her thanks.” He closed the drawer, having found nothing but paper clips, the calendar, some tape and a stapler. On second thought, he pulled out the stapler and had it join the desk calendar.
DJ became serious. “You sure you’re doing okay? It’s gotta be... kinda...weird.”
Colt sighed. “Weird doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He swung in his chair and saw Elevator Girl across the way. She had a shoe off and was examining her foot. He wondered if he stepped on it during their collision. “I already cleaned one of my employee’s clocks. A female employee.”
DJ laughed. “I hope she was at least attractive.”
Colt’s gaze rose from her foot, all the way up the length of her long leg. Thank you, Father, for making glass offices.
“Mmm...hell, yeah.”
“Wow. She earned a hell, yeah? Maybe I need to come up and meet this chick. ...Ouch. I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Back off, woman.”
Colt smiled, leaning back in his chair. “I hope you’re talking to Pam.”
“I am. ...Go on. Get out of here.” DJ chuckled. “Sorry, Colt. How did you...how’d you put it? Clean this gal’s clock?”
“I was rushing to get away from that Harpy, Carrie Connors, and a swarm of other reporters.”
“If you ask me, I think she has the hots for you.”
“That may be, but I’m not going there. Too high maintenance.” Colt snatched a piece of paper from the printer, laying it on the desk and folding it carefully.
“You may have a point. So besides literally hitting on one of your employees, how’s it going? Learning the ropes?
“Are you kidding? I wasn’t even sure how to answer the phone when you called.”
“Well, you managed it. Besides, I could have called you on your cell, but I thought I’d give you the thrill of having me as the first person you talked to on your work phone.”
“Gee. Thanks.” Colt eyed the trash can, sized up the trajectory, and let his paper airplane fly. It crashed short of its destination. He couldn’t help but feel that was what he was doing. He laid his head on the back of his chair. “I don’t know, man,” he mumbled. “I thought I wanted to do this, but I don’t know. Maybe I should forfeit the business.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want anymore. I mean, it’s stupid trying to prove something to your father if he’s not even around to see it, isn’t it?”
“Well, maybe you’re not proving it to your father. Maybe you’re proving it to yourself.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He twirled around in his chair, then stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “But you’d be so much better at this. You ran the show when we first started off. Booked our gigs, counted our take, invested for me—”
He chuckled. “Hey, that was just a lucky stroke. I had no idea what I was doing.”
“Lucky stroke or not, you made us a bundle. Anyway, it should be you here, not me.”
“No way. That’s your old man’s business. Not mine. I can’t stand all those corporate uppity ups. I wouldn’t know my soup spoon from a gravy bowl. And I bet your mom even has you in one of those monkey suits, doesn’t she? Huh? She does. Admit it.”
Colt yanked on his tie. “Yeah. You got me, you a-hole.” He grinned for the first time in a week. “Man, it’s good to hear from you. Even if you are giving me a hard time.”
“Ha. That’s what I’m here for. Listen closely, my little Coltie, and I’m gonna give you all the wisdom I garnered from marathoning The Office this weekend.”
“Wow. I can’t wait for this.”
“If there is one thing I learned from Michael Scott, it is you can be a complete idiot and still be the boss.”
Colton grabbed another sheet from the printer, rethinking his aerodynamics. “You’re such a sweet-talker.”
“Ain’t I though? And another thing—you need an ally. Someone who can really run the show for you while you sit around and make paper airplanes and prank phone calls.”
Colt paused mid-fold. “How did you know...?”
“How did I know what?”
“That I was making paper airplanes.”
“Because that’s what I’d be doing.” He laughed. “You’re really making paper airplanes?”
Colt checked his new design, took aim...and overshot. “Damn. Yes. And it’s harder than I remembered.”
“Shit. Maybe I should come up there. At least I know how to make a decent paper airplane.”
Colt’s third attempt hit the mark. “Yes!” He quickly checked his office neighbor. She was up and talking on a cell phone in front of her window. Silhouetted as she was against the solid background he could check out every inch of her shapeliness. “Do you have anything else for me?”
“Nah. That was my best nugget of wisdom for you. Oh, and don’t trust anybody named Toby.”
“So, make an ally...and make sure his name is Toby.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“That I am. Thanks for calling, man. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“All right. You do that. And, seriously, call me if you need anything.”
“Why would I need anything? You gave me that whole ally/Toby thing.”
“And don’t you forget it. See you.”
“Bye.”
Colt returned the receiver to the cradle and sat with both hands on his desk for a moment. He jumped to his feet with new life, crossing to the door to pull it open. “Come on, Dex. Let’s go make us an ally.”