Chapter 16: The Elevator Tryst

 

A major client had threatened to pull their account. A software glitch had wiped out two days of critical data. Back-to-back meetings bled into late nights, and by Thursday, I had consumed more coffee than sleep and was running on pure adrenaline. Enzo and I had barely had a moment alone.

We passed each other in hallways with quick, meaningful glances. He sent texts that I couldn't properly answer until after midnight, when I was too exhausted to form complete sentences. One night, he called at 11pm, and I fell asleep mid-sentence. He told me the next morning that he'd stayed on the line for an hour, just listening to me breathe. It was sweet. It was also torture.

By Friday afternoon, I was desperate. Not just for him—though God knew I was desperate for him—but for five minutes of peace. Five minutes to remember that I was a woman in love, not just a machine that produced spreadsheets and answered emails. I was heading to the thirty-second floor to drop off a report when the elevator doors opened, and there he was.

Enzo.

He was alone, leaning against the back wall, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He looked as exhausted as I felt—dark circles under his eyes, his jaw shadowed with stubble. But the moment he saw me, something lit in his gaze.

"Amara," he said, and just my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine.

"Enzo." I stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind me.

We were alone. For the first time all week, completely alone. I pressed the button for my floor, but neither of us moved toward the panel. The elevator began its descent, and the soft hum of the machinery filled the silence. He pushed off the wall and took a step toward me. Then another.

"We've been busy," he said, his voice low.

"Insanely busy."

"I haven't seen you."

"I know."

He stopped inches from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—the same one from Rome, the one that now lived permanently in my memory. His hand came up, and his fingertips brushed my jaw, turning my face toward his.

"I've missed you," he whispered.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "I've missed you too."

That was all it took. His mouth crashed against mine, and I gasped into the kiss, my hands fisting in his shirt. There was nothing gentle about it. This wasn't the soft, reverent man from the rooftop. This was hunger. This was weeks of longing and stolen glances and late-night calls that weren't enough.

His back hit the elevator wall, and I pressed against him, my fingers tangling in his hair. He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down my back, pulling my hips against his. The report I'd been carrying slipped from my fingers and scattered across the floor, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered except his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the way he said my name between kisses like it was the only word that still made sense.

"Amara," he breathed against my lips. "I want you."

"I want you too," I whispered back. "God, Enzo, I've been going insane."

He kissed me again, deeper this time, and my back hit the opposite wall. His body pinned me there, solid and warm, and I wrapped my leg around his hip without thinking. He bit my lower lip gently, and I whimpered.

We had forgotten where we were. We had forgotten the cameras in the corners of the elevator. We had forgotten the glass walls of the building, the employees on every floor, the risk that had seemed so terrifying just days ago.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of my blouse, his fingers skating across the bare skin of my waist. I arched into his touch, and he smiled against my mouth—a smug, masculine smile that made me want to devour him.

"Enzo," I gasped.

"Say it again."

"Enzo."

His grip tightened. "Again."

But before I could, the elevator dinged.

We froze. The sound sliced through the haze like a blade, and reality came crashing back. Enzo stepped back instantly, his chest heaving. I pressed myself against the wall, trying to slow my racing heart, trying to look like I hadn't just been kissing my boss senseless. The doors slid open. A man in a grey suit stepped in, glanced at both of us, and then down at the papers scattered on the floor. He raised an eyebrow.

"Busy day?" he asked.

I crouched down, gathering the pages with shaking hands. "You have no idea."

Enzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression perfectly neutral. But I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. I saw the way his chest was still rising and falling too fast. I saw the look he shot me when the man turned away—a look that said, We're not done. By the time the elevator reached my floor, I had collected all the papers and somehow pieced my composure back together. I stepped out, clutching the report to my chest like a shield.

"Ms. Johnson," Enzo said from behind me.

I turned. His eyes were dark, intense.

"My office. Seven o'clock. We have… unfinished business."

The man in the grey suit pretended not to hear. But I saw him smile.

I met Enzo's gaze and felt the heat rise in my cheeks. "Seven o'clock," I confirmed. "I'll be there."

The doors closed, and I stood in the hallway, my heart pounding, my lips still tingling from his kiss. The report was wrinkled and out of order, and I was pretty sure I'd lost at least three pages in that elevator.

But I didn't care.

Because tonight, at seven o'clock, there would be no interruptions.

No dings. No strangers. No rules.

Just us.

I made it to my desk on shaky legs and collapsed into my chair. 

At exactly seven o'clock, I knocked on his office door.

"Come in."

His voice was low, controlled. But I heard what lay beneath it. I stepped inside, and he was standing by the window, the city lights painting his silhouette. He turned when I entered, and the look in his eyes made my knees weak. He locked the door behind me.

"No interruptions this time," he said.

"No," I agreed, setting my bag down. "No interruptions."

He crossed the room in three long strides, and this time, when he kissed me, there was no ding to save us.

There was only Enzo.

Only his hands in my hair, his lips on my throat, his voice in my ear telling me exactly how much he'd missed me, how much he wanted me, how much he loved me. And I believed every word. Because in that office, with the city shining below us and the world locked outside, there was no pretending anymore.

There was just us.

Finally, completely, undeniably us.