42nd & Lex (3 page)

I’ve managed to stay close to the front for
an easy escape. Just as the doors begin to close, a woman jumps on in front of
me. She’s in the midst of a very animated conversation on her cell phone, flailing
her free hand about, unaware that the hot coffee she’s welding is sloshing out
of the top of her travel mug. I am trying to dodge the spray. “Oh, sorry,” I
mutter as I feel my heel crush down on someone behind me. The words force me to
breathe. 

“No problem,” says a velvet voice. 

The voice caresses me from behind and I
flush from the intimacy of it. I feel drawn back against him even though I’ve
managed to shuffle a few inches away. Lindsey kicks me. She is standing in
front of me, undoubtedly staring at the owner of that voice. I don’t dare turn
around. Her face is placid but her eyes tell me he’s something worth looking at.
My imagination is already filling in the blanks. Tight space, flushed face. Not
the condition I want to be in to meet the man attached to that voice. I take a
couple of deep breaths to steady myself. 

“30
^th
Floor, going up.”
The
elevator voice announces our arrival and I ready myself to shove forward out
the door. Maybe I’ll get a good knock in on the coffee woman on my way out. Lindsey
shakes her head and grabs my arm to pull me out. 

“It is so sad that you are afraid of
elevators and in New York City of all places. I hope your new place isn’t on
the top floor.”

I scoff. “Like I could afford a penthouse
with what they pay here.”

“True,” she agrees. “Abri you really should
have taken a look at that man in the elevator. He was beautiful. Godlike even.”

“Godlike? Really Linds?” I dismiss her. “I
was already hyperventilating, like I needed another reason to freak out.”

Lindsey just shakes her head at me again and
turns to make her way back to her office. My last comment stops me dead in my
tracks. I am hyperventilating. That means I wasn’t holding my breath. I can
find no logical explanation other than the distraction of that man’s voice.

Max is waiting for me with several new files
to review so I force myself to dismiss it as random chance. The remainder of
the day flies by full of emails, voicemails, and drafting Sarah’s divorce
petition. I head home around seven thirty happy my Monday has turned out to be
at least serviceable in spite of its rocky start.

Tuesday starts out much like Monday with me
not wanting to get out of bed. Only this time I am not hungover. This time I was
up until damn near four o’clock in the morning thinking about the man in the
elevator, replaying the sound of his voice over and over again in my head. Something
long neglected began to unfurl itself inside me.

Lindsey had come into my office on her way home
to gush again about how cute he was and how disappointed in me she was for not
turning around to look. “It was like he was staring into your soul,” she’d said.
“Like he was lost until you.” Those were strong words to describe someone who
only saw the back of my head. It’s more likely he was staring at the moron
who’d nailed his foot with her heel. Leave it to lovelorn Lindsey to confuse
serendipity with a sore toe. 

It is going to be a long day on three hours
of sleep and tonight is the monthly associate’s happy hour. The partners sponsor
it each month in a feeble attempt to keep the natives from getting too restless.
It’s going to take the largest coffee at Chen's to get me going this morning. I
quickly decide against the train and opt for a cab instead. I am too tired to even
walk to the subway station. I hail a cab outside of Chen’s Deli and try not to
doze off as we lurch through the morning traffic. My mind starts wandering back
to my elevator guy. I can already tell this is going to eat up a large portion
of my day. My soul is restless again.  

The ride takes longer than I planned. As
soon as my beloved building comes into sight, I flip the fare and a decent tip
though the open vent and bail out. Maybe the shocking cold of the block-long
walk will calm the stirring in my chest. 

Lucky for me my delayed cab ride causes me
to miss the morning rush for the elevators. I will get to freak out alone
during my ride up. Maybe I should start budgeting to take a cab every morning. The
door begins to close and is forced back open by a hand.

“Thanks for holding the car.”

I don’t even bother to look up from my coffee
lid; I am too busy distracting myself from the ride by repeating my elevator
mantra of “Don’t fall. Don’t crash.” As if he can sense my apprehension, my
elevator companion moves to stand against the far side of the car. He probably thinks
I am afraid of being alone with him. I feel bad about that, he probably doesn’t
look the least bit like a serial killer. Amazingly, worrying about this
stranger’s feelings has distracted me enough that I’m actually thinking rather
than mindlessly placating my irrational fear. In fact, I am relaxed and
breathing steadily in and out. Grateful this distraction has allowed me another
breakthrough, I start to glance over and at least acknowledge he’s spoken to me
with a polite smile.  

 “
30th Floor. Going down
.” The
elevator voice signals my destination, interrupting my train of thought. The instinct
to get off as fast as possible overrides my attempt at courtesy. 

“Thanks again,” he says. I feel a little
shockwave go through my body and my cheeks start to pink. I’ve been standing
next to the man of my dreams for the past thirty floors. Thank God, I didn’t
realize it was him from the beginning or I would be unconscious right now. I am
so flustered and embarrassed that I devoted an entire night to fantasizing
about the very man standing before me that I can’t even bring myself to meet
his eyes and acknowledge his gratitude. He doesn’t know this but I am still
ashamed. I leave him standing unacknowledged in the elevator. 

I stop off in the ladies’ room to collect
myself. Some cold water and a few deep breaths have me feeling better so I
hurry down the hall to my office with seconds to spare before I’m late. I see Max
peeking around the corner of the copy room and he looks as exasperated as I
feel. 

“I have the weirdest story to tell you,” I
whisper. “I will explode if I don’t tell someone.”

“Girl, it will have to wait. I have
something to tell you.” It must be good for him to ignore my having a story to
tell, especially one that will make me explode.

 “Whatever it is I’m sure it will not top
mine, but go ahead.”

“There is a guy here, a walk-in, he says he
knows you and he needs an appointment right now.”

My heart skips a beat. I refuse to admit
that I want it to be the man in the elevator. “We don’t do walk-ins.”

Max looks around and leans in conspiratorially.
“I know. So he walks in and demands to see you but Stacey tells him that he
can’t unless he has an appointment. He persists so she calls me to check with
you, thinking maybe you do know the guy and are expecting him. No offense Abri,
but this is not the kind of guy that you know.”

Perturbed by that statement, I try to look
around the corner to the lobby to check out this mystery man. There is no way
it can be my mystery man, I left him on the elevator. Though two in one day is
probably a world record. “Exactly what kind of men do you think I know or don’t
know, Max?”

“He’s not in there,” Max whispers and points
down the hall. “He’s in your office.”

“Seriously? What the heck are you and Stacey
thinking, letting some stranger back into my office without an appointment? He
could be some disgruntled ex husband out to kill me!”

Max makes a clucking noise. “Girl, there is
a hot man in your office that says he knows you and stopped at nothing to get
in here and see you and you want to call security? You’re even more hopeless
than I thought.” Is he really saying this?

“Hot? Well, you didn’t say he was
hot
.
I mean, that makes all the difference in the world now doesn’t it? He couldn’t
possibly be a murdering psychopath
and
hot now could he?” Part of me wants
to slap the crap out of him for being such an idiot. The other part of me is
curious.

“Abri, would I lead you wrong? Stacey checked
first. He’s not related to any file in this office and he doesn’t have a criminal
record either.”

 “What’s his story then? Any obvious
connections between me and this—what did you say his name was?”

“Didn’t.” Max draws the word out. “It’s
Lucan O’Reilly.” He looks at me anticipating a positive response to the name. 

“Sorry, Max. I don’t know any Lucan O’Reilly’s.”
What a formal sounding name. I would remember a name that like. Max brakes my
train of thought.

“Duh, I told you that, but he
wants
to know you apparently. What are you waiting for? Go in there and see what he
wants. He wouldn’t say earlier.”

As I head for my office, I try to calm
myself. It has already been a harrowing morning with my fantasy elevator man
showing up again and now some other guy is lurking in my office. I am still
ignoring the fact that I hope the two situations are related, though I know
they can’t be. I also ignore the fact that the two situations have occurred in
the same lifetime. This is the most male interaction I’ve had in months and I
feel as if I might explode. I snap myself out of my daydream and politely knock
on the door as I open it.

“Mr. O’Reilly, is it?” No need to pretend I
know someone I don’t. The man in question is standing in front of my window with
his back to me. 

A little wave of nervous excitement hits my
stomach and I’m glad I haven’t eaten anything this morning. Puking is no way to
make a first impression.   

He is dressed in a light blue dress shirt
with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, jeans that fit him better than any jeans
ever had a right to, and black boots. I notice a leather jacket slug over one
of my chairs that is worn and lived in, though I can’t tell if it is from
actual use or cleaver manufacturing. It reminds me of my grandfather’s WWII bomber
jacket that always hung in their guestroom closet. It smelled of mothballs and
motor oil. I half wonder if this one does too. His black hair is short and
looks more tousled than styled. I feel that unfurling begin inside me again and
I want him say something, to turn around.

“Lucan—er, Luke. Please call me Luke.”

The first syllable out of his mouth sends a shockwave
through my body like a chorus of church bells. It’s him. I left him in the
elevator and now he is standing in my office telling me his name. I have somehow
hit the cosmic lottery. This is unbelievable and I fear I’m actually still at
home dreaming.

Luke O’Reilly turns to face me. He is the
most beautiful man I have ever seen. His impossibly blue eyes stare right into
my soul. Lindsey was right; he is godlike.

His face is boyish and yet there is a cool
masculinity in the line of his jaw that makes you feel forewarned and completely
ravaged. His skin is pale, but not in a sickly kind of way, more luminescent. He
reminds me of a dark haired Anderson Cooper but I stow that thought away for
later. His blue dress shirt tugs against his muscled upper body in all the
right places. For that matter, so do those jeans, as he makes his way across
the room to me. I am in complete awe.

“Luke,” I repeat, realizing it’s been a while
since it was my turn to respond. I try to shake the image of what might be
under those jeans and that shirt, what I’ve thought about all night long, out
of my head. “What can I do for you? What brings you in?” I at least sound
professional and calm, inside I am on fire. 

He gives me a crooked, almost knowing smile.

My heart jumps in my chest and I can hear
the blood pulsing in my ears. Undoubtedly, my face is fifty shades of crimson. Luke
gestures for me to sit down at my desk. He makes no effort to shake my hand,
which is strange as he has an air of good manners about him. My sweaty palms are
thankful nonetheless. “Thanks. Please, sit,” I offer, discretely wiping my
hands on my pants.

He sits down in the empty chair in front of
my desk, looking so at ease as if we are old friends and he’s been here
hundreds of times. 

“Ms. Cole. It is a pleasure to meet you,
first off. May I call you Abri?”

He can call me whatever he wants,
I
think and narrowly miss saying aloud. “Sure, but I’m a little confused. My assistant
tells me that we know each other?”

Luke leans back in the chair and rests one
foot on his knee. “We haven’t met formally, but I know you.”

Well that was vague and stalkeriffic. I
hardly consider two trips in an elevator together knowing one another. I try
not to shift in my chair, revealing my uneasiness. I start to close up again
inside. I am vulnerable, although I don’t know to what exactly.

“Please don’t be frightened. I didn’t mean
it the way it sounded.”

I’m not sure there is another way to take
that, actually. His face looks pained, as if he is really sorry for what he
said but can’t find the words to repair it. I relax a little. He is vulnerable
too. I refuse to ask him about being in the elevator with me, though I know
it’s true. So I try to refocus our conversation. “What type of family law
matter are you here for?”

“I’m not,” he answers.

This is going to be harder than I thought. “Okay,
listen Luke—Mr. O’Reilly, I only practice family law. So what is it that you
feel I can help you with? My assistant said you urgently needed to meet with me
and that we knew each other, which, by your own admission, we have now
established that I do not.”

 “Abri, I’m sorry. This isn’t turning out
like I thought.” He uncrosses his legs and moves forward in the chair, leaning his
elbows on the edge of my desk. His proximity takes my breath away. His blue
eyes look into me again and I have trouble remembering why it is I am upset
with him. “I guess I really mean I know who you are. I’ve seen you before. I
rode up in the elevator with you and your friend yesterday and with you this
morning.”