Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“So we meet…” I trailed off as the lights in the elevator flashed, and then stepped forward when the car gave a huge jolt. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed as Grace let out a high-pitched squeak.
The elevator slammed to a stop, groaning loudly, and the lights flickered. I looked across the small space into wide, terrified eyes. We were stuck.
CHAPTER 2
Grace
As the elevator groaned to a stop and the lights flickered one more time, fear trickled through me like acid. I didn’t like small spaces. Not at all. Dark. Tight. No air. I sucked in a deep breath and practically threw myself at the phone cubby, yanking open the small metal door and pulling the handle of the phone. I pressed zero and as it rang, my eyes darted to Carson who was standing in the corner, leaned against the wall, watching me carefully.
“Maintenance,” a gruff voice answered.
“Hi, hi! Yes, hi, this is Grace Hamilton. I’m a guest here this weekend.” I pulled in another breath. The air was starting to feel thin. “We’re stuck in an elevator. It just stopped suddenly and…” The phone crackled and then died. No, no, no! “Hello? Hello?” I made a panicked sound in my throat, dropping the phone, and then taking three big steps over to my large purse, abandoned in the corner. I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the bars at the top of the screen. No service. Shit!
Breathe. Breathe.
No room. No air. It’d be gone soon. All of it.
Carson was still staring at me, unmoving, just watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. He was useless!
“Don’t just stand there! We’re trapped! Do something!” My breath hitched in my throat and I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I lifted my fingers to my throat and felt my pulse racing wildly. I attempted to take a deep breath, but my throat suddenly felt as if it were swelling shut. I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe. No air. No air.
I stumbled back against the wall, making eye contact with Carson, who now had his brow furrowed as he moved toward me. I gripped the bar on the wall behind me, knowing I was about to die of asphyxiation, here in this elevator, the last eyes I saw those of Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer. Oh no, no, no, no. Not like this.
“Hey, calm down, buttercup,” he said smoothly, wrapping his hands around my upper arms just like he did when we collided in the hotel lobby. “Deep breath, take a deep breath. You’re okay. They’re going to get us out of here, all right? Just take a deep breath. Keep your eyes on me.”
I blinked rapidly as his face swam before me, my breath now coming out in raspy exhales as I fought to take in oxygen. The walls were closing in. I wanted to cry but there wasn’t enough oxygen in my lungs for that.
“Shit, buttercup, come on, you’re not going to pass out on me in this elevator. Deep breath.”
For several minutes we both stared into each other’s eyes, the worry in his deepening as he watched me struggle and begin to flail.
Oh God, Oh God, air, air!
The wall of the elevator met my back and Carson stepped away and started looking around the elevator, eyes wide, panicked now, searching for what, I didn’t know. He flew over to the phone and lifted it and listened for a second, and then slammed it back in its small box and kicked the door shut. “Shit!”
I’m dying. Oh God, please, air.
He turned back to me, and my eyes were tearing up in my effort to take in what little oxygen was making it down the tiny passageway that was now the inside of my throat. I was sure I was turning blue.
“Sister Christian, oh the time has come!” Carson suddenly belted out.
Even in the midst of my panic attack, I startled. What the—
“And you know that you’re the only one to say, okay.”
He took a step back as my eyes followed him, my breath still sticking in my swollen throat as I struggled to draw in air.
He pointed at me. “Where you going, what you looking for?”
What the hell is he doing? What the HELL is he doing? Oh! A little air. That’s good, that’s good, Grace.
“You know those boys don’t want to play no more with you. It’s true.” At the last two words of the stanza, he lowered his chin and gazed into my eyes.
Better, better. More air, better. Okay, okay. I’m okay. Why is he singing while I’m almost dying here? He actually has a really nice voice—deep and slightly throaty. Figures he’d have a really nice voice. Figures he’d have a SEXY voice. Ah, air. Okay, I’m okay.
My arms lowered, my splayed hands coming away from the base of my throat. My breathing slowed marginally and I realized that the instrumental of “Sister Christian” was playing over the sound system. Carson was singing along to the elevator music. And doing it well. To distract me from my panic attack. And it was working.