Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
The doors open on the sixth floor and an older woman squeezes in, her black Chihuahua hugged to her ample chest.
Yap! Yap-yap-yap-yap!
The dog continues yelling at all of us for even existing. I reach over to pet it and it howls. Cute, annoying, little shit. The woman sees me and scoots away from me, glowering my way.
Whatever.
I sigh heavily and opt for checking my phone for the millionth time since this will be the longest elevator ride ever apparently. My phone shows zero bars. Wonderful. I cram it back into my pocket and glare at the numbers on the panel as we slowly ascend. We lose and gain people several times on our way up. The woman and her dog disappeared several floors ago. Just two more floors to go.
The last of the people on the elevator exit when the doors open and three more people enter. A man, about Aaron’s age, wearing a suit, an older woman with a white-haired bun and yellow cardigan, and a younger, nerdy-looking guy with thick-rimmed glasses wearing suspenders.
“He listens to you better,” the suit says to the woman. “I’m just the complainer.”
She chuckles. “You’re not a complainer. Your job is important and you need quality help. We’ll find you the right person soon.”
The power flickers as the doors close. I consider mashing the button to let me out so I can run the last flight up the stairs but hesitate long enough that we start up.
And then the power flickers again, this time, plummeting us into darkness for several long seconds. I hold my breath, waiting for the power to return. With a weak flicker, it does. Along with it comes the sound of a low buzzing within the elevator.
The suit reaches over and hits the top floor button. Then, over and over, he hits it like persistence will do the trick. Nothing.
“It’s stuck,” he says in exasperation. “What the hell?”
“Maybe give it just a minute,” the woman says, voice unsure.
“We could call for help,” the geek offers.
The suit shoots him a withering glare that has the geek wilting. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“Kyle,” the woman admonishes. “I didn’t hear that.”
Kyle flashes her a wolfish grin. “Hear what? You know I’m your favorite, Barb.”
“Apologize to Brian,” Barb orders. “He’s only trying to be helpful.”
Kyle smirks at Brian. “Sorry, little dude.”
Asshole.
Ignoring the three of them, I reach past them and hit the help button. It trills and then a deep voice answers.
“We’re stuck,” Kyle tells the operator. “Send someone to get us out.”
“All the elevators in the building have ceased moving,” the operator says in a bored tone. “We have maintenance on the way. Please sit tight until we get them going again.”
“Sit tight?” Kyle grumbles. “As if we have a choice.”
“How much longer?” I ask, already irritated at being trapped here with this douchebag.
The operator prattles on about it taking anywhere from fifteen minutes to a few hours.
Unbelievable.
There goes my damn tip.
Kellen
This is ridiculous.
I’ve waited over an hour since the app showed my sandwich in the damn building. What could this idiot possibly be doing? Delivering subs to every floor until they reach the top? Honestly, I dare the incompetent delivery person to show up at this point. Dare them. Not only are they not getting a tip, but they’re going to get a nasty review too. Unbelievable.
“Kellen,” Frannie says, peeking her head in my office. “Your food has arrived. Also, Barb wants to know if she can have a minute of your time.”
Barb is human resources. What does she need from me?
My already terrible mood sours even further. Kyle. I shouldn’t be surprised. I told him to involve HR if he needed a new assistant, but I didn’t think he’d be so quick to want to move on. Irritation of this shitshow of a day has long since boiled into something bordering on wrath. First things first.
“I’ll see her in a minute. Send the delivery person in, please.”
Frannie frowns but nods before shuffling away. I roll my head over my shoulders, attempting to release the tension in my neck muscles. I’ve had a headache ever since the strange pressure change earlier and it hasn’t subsided. Probably doesn’t help that I’m starving as well.
A kid—no more than eighteen or nineteen—saunters into my office like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His ball cap is flipped backward and he’s sweating. I’m not greeted with a polite smile or perfuse apologies for the wait. No, the little shit starts to unzip his bag like I’m actually going to eat that sandwich that’s probably ice-cold by now.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I growl, unable to keep my anger in check. “You can keep your shitty sandwich.”
The kid pauses mid-zip and snaps his attention to my face. “What?”
I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with a furious glare my evil father would be proud of. “You heard me. I’m not accepting the damn sandwich.”