After-Hours Negotiation: Can't Get Enough / An Offer She Can't Refuse. Sarah Mayberry
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don’t you blame your problems on me,” he countered. “I can’t see why you’d make me the bad guy in all this. Contrary to your belief, I have never disliked you. I barely know you.”
She raised an eyebrow skeptically, her whole attitude one of disbelief.
“I know what you said about me,” she shot at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard.”
Genuinely baffled, Jack raised his hands in the air, palms up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have better things to do than spend my spare time hanging around talking about you.”
That got her! The color was back in her cheeks, and she glared at him fiercely.
“You called me prissy! So don’t you dare stand there pulling that Mr. Innocent act,” she hissed at him.
Jack frowned. What the hell was she going on about? He’d been speaking the truth when he said that he didn’t spend his time sitting around talking about her.
“Sorry, but I think you’ve got that wrong, lady,” he said bluntly.
“Really? We’ll just have to ask my good friend Katherine Kirk when we get out of here then, won’t we?”
Although his expression didn’t change, Jack felt a moment of doubt. Now that she mentioned it, he could vaguely remember having a beer with Katherine some time ago after work. He’d just had a run-in with Claire in an editorial meeting and come out second best….
He made a mental note to thank Katherine for dumping him in it.
Claire was waiting for his response, hands on her hips.
“Well? What do you have to say to that?”
He shrugged. He’d said it, might as well own it. It wasn’t as though it wasn’t true. “Prissy might have been overstating it. You can be pretty anal, though.”
She made a hissing sound, kind of like a kettle about to blow its top, then opened her mouth to retaliate just as the phone rang. They both jumped, startled. Praying this was good news, he reached for the receiver with alacrity.
“Hello?” he asked, feeling her eyes on him, sensing her hopes, like his own, beginning to rise at this contact.
“This is Ted Evans from Security. I’m making contact to ascertain the exact number of persons in lift number six,” an officious voice asked.
“Well, Ted, there are two of us, and we’d sure as hell love to get out of here.”
Claire made an exasperated noise that he guessed was supposed to signal her wholehearted agreement.
“Two. Right. Well, uh— Who am I talking to?”
“Jack. Jack Brook.”
“Right. Jack. You’re the one with the red Porsche, yeah? Nice little number,” Ted said, his tone all male appreciation. “It’s an early 2002 model, right? The one with tiptronic transmission? Very nice.”
Jack reined in his frustration. This guy didn’t seem to have a real tight grasp on the urgency of their situation.
“About the elevator, Ted,” he hinted.
He glanced up as Claire shifted restlessly, a frown creasing her forehead as she no doubt wondered what was going on. He could imagine her reaction if he told her Ted wanted to talk cars.
“Well, we’ve got a bit of a situation here, Jack. There’s been a major power blackout across this whole part of town—something about a fire at the power plant—and most of the building’s services have shut down. Air-conditioning, security systems, elevators. You know.”
Jack rolled his eyes. Claire shook her head with confusion.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He tried to look reassuring as he returned his attention to Ted.
“So there are other people stuck in elevators?”
“Sure are. Only two of the twelve cars were empty. Elevator four has ten people in it,” Ted reported with relish.
Jack grimaced. Ten people would make for a cozy lift compartment. Thank God it was just him and Claire. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted her frown deepening. On second thoughts, maybe a cozy, friendly elevator wasn’t such a bad option….
“So how long are we talking here? Half an hour? Ten minutes? What?” he asked, deciding it was time to force Ted to the point.
“Can’t tell you that just yet. We’ve contacted the manufacturer, and they’re sending a team out.”
Jack tried to control the sinking sensation in his gut.
“So…we could be talking hours here,” he said reluctantly.
He could feel Claire stiffen even though she was as far from him as she could get.
“That’s not good enough,” she said, striding across to pull the receiver from his hand.
“Who am I talking to?” she demanded.
He resumed his lounging position against the wall. He was all for making a little noise if it was going to get them rescued sooner, but he wished her the best of luck up against the remarkably prosaic Ted.
Jack inspected his fingernails as Claire quizzed the security guard, trying to suppress the swell of satisfaction he felt when she returned the receiver to its cradle a few minutes later, her shoulders slumped: she hadn’t gotten any further than he had.
“Could be worse. Could be ten people in here,” he said lightly, taking in her white face.
She was silent as she crossed back to her side of the space, but he could see her hands were shaking as she brushed her hair back from her face.
Damn. He took a deep breath, then let it out. She was scared. Anyone could see that. And as much as she probably deserved for him to simply ignore her, he couldn’t turn his back on her distress.
“Listen, I’m sure they’ll have us out of here soon. I think I remember reading somewhere that elevators have manual override functions where they can just winch us down.”
He kept an eye on her, noticing her chest was heaving a little now.
“Ah, Claire, you wouldn’t happen to be a little claustrophobic at all, would you?” he asked.
She was concentrating fiercely on the carpet in front of her toes, completely unresponsive now.
Okay. He tried to think of something to say or do to help her out. Not being afraid of anything himself, he found it difficult to understand this sort of thing.
“I learned this meditation technique once at a temple in India—” he began to say tentatively, but then Claire slumped against the wall and began sliding down it and he realized she’d fainted.
He leaped across the distance between them, catching her before her head hit the ground. Her hair was soft and silky against his hands, and he could smell her shampoo as he gently guided her onto the carpet. Vanilla. Nice.
A quick once-over revealed that her skirt had ridden up a little, and that her legs were skewed awkwardly, but her eyelids were flickering now and he decided he’d rather stick his head in a crocodile’s mouth than be caught adjusting Claire Marsden’s clothing while she was semiconscious. Still, he couldn’t help noticing that the shortened skirt length belied his previous impression of her legs. Not bad. As a rule, he preferred tall, slim, modelesque women, but Claire’s legs were really something of a surprise. Almost as though she could read his mind, Claire made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, and then her eyes popped open.
* * *
CLAIRE CAME OUT of the empty darkness and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she tried to reorient herself. Where was she? What