“We’ll be in touch,” the woman sitting across from me at the conference table says.
I smooth out the front of my dress as we both stand. “Thank you.”
My interview for a position as social media manager for Culture Wave Magazine has gone pretty well, but I’m not convinced I’ll be receiving a call from them. This is my third interview of the week, and the first one ended with the HR manager of a small tech startup offering me the job on the spot. The second interview I went on was for a hockey team, and even though sports aren’t really my thing, they were so enthusiastic that I’m feeling pretty good about receiving an offer from them too.
The woman conducting this interview, on the other hand, hasn’t even offered me a smile. We shake hands, and I thank her once again for her time, then head out of the conference room into the cold office building with dim lighting.
Maybe I don’t want to work here anyway, I think to myself. This place is so dreary. It would feel like working in a morgue.
The editor walks me to the elevators, and only then does she give me a cursory smile.
“Thank you for coming in,” she says. “We still have several interviews to conduct, but I’ll be in touch.”
I think that’s her polite way of saying I’m probably not a good fit, and honestly, I agree with her. For social media especially, it really helps if whoever is running it is actually enthusiastic about what they’re promoting, and the vibe I’ve gotten at this office makes me think that would be a bit of a challenge for me.
“Thanks,” I tell her as the elevator dings and the doors open. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
I step into the empty elevator as the editor walks away. The magazine’s offices are on the top floor of the building, which is why the dreary atmosphere surprises me a bit. Adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, I reach for the panel near the door to press the button for the lobby.
“Hold it, please!”
A deep voice calls out from down the hall, and I quickly press the ‘open’ button instead, making the doors reverse their movement.
A second later, a man steps onto the elevator with me. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and as he hurries through the doors, he flashes me a smile that makes my heart flutter. He’s arguably one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, with thick brown hair, an angular jaw, and ocean–blue eyes. I have to actively think about drawing air into my lungs and letting it out slowly as he comes to stand only a foot away from me.
“Thanks,” he says, glancing down at me. “Where are you headed?”
“What?” I frown for a second, then realize he’s asking me which floor I’m going to. “Oh—the lobby.”
“Me too.” He grins and hits the right button.
The doors close, and the elevator slides into motion.
I train my gaze straight ahead, focusing on the silver metal of the doors to keep myself from staring at the guy’s muscular arms or the way his jeans hug the lower half of his body. The elevator makes a creaking noise as it moves downward—and then, suddenly, it shudders to a halt.
My heart skips a beat in my chest. The man and I make eye contact for a moment, sharing a wary, confused look.
Then the lights go out.
“Shit!”
I yelp as we’re plunged into darkness, my bag slipping from my shoulder as I instinctively reach out. One of my hands finds the railing on the side wall of the elevator, and the other one finds warm skin. I’m grabbing on to the man’s arm—his bicep, to be exact.
“Sorry,” I say, but I don’t pull my hand away. I feel his fingers gently fall on top of mine.
“It’s okay.” His voice is low in the darkness. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah?”
He laughs softly. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Um…” I swallow, trying to quell the panic rising inside me. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. Just keep holding on to me, in case the elevator jerks again.”
My grip tightens on both the metal bar and his thick bicep. “Do you think it’s going to do that?”
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “It seems like a possibility.”
“Oh my god.” The words slip out before I can stop them, my pulse skyrocketing as I start to lose my battle against the panic. “Fuck. Fuck.” I try to breathe but end up gasping instead. “What if we fall? What if we run out of air?”
“We’re not going to run out of air.” His deep voice is steady and confident. “I’ve been stuck in an elevator before. Granted, that time the lights didn’t go out, but other than that, this feels very similar.”
“What happened? How long until you were saved?”
“Not long,” he says. “We just have to hit the emergency button, and it’ll send a signal to the right people. I’m going to grab my phone out of my pocket and use the flashlight for a second, okay?”
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Okay.”
“But keep holding on to me,” he adds. “Just in case.”
I do as he says, and after a few seconds of him rifling around in his pocket, I see his screen light up. Even in the midst of my mini breakdown, I can’t help but notice that he has a lot of notifications. A couple texts, some missed calls, and tons of social media hits. I wonder if he’s someone important. I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean much.
He presses the button for the flashlight, illuminating the small space in a dim glow, then reaches out and presses the big red button at the bottom of the panel.
“There. The fire department should be here in no time.” I catch another glimpse of his white teeth and strong jaw, then he extinguishes the light. “I probably shouldn’t leave the flashlight on though, to conserve my phone battery.”
“Why would you need to conserve your phone battery if the fire department is going to be here in no time?” I ask. I’m not trying to argue or be snarky, I’m just freaking out a bit. Anxiety is welling up inside me like an unstoppable wave, and something about the idea of having to conserve our cell phone batteries sends me over the edge. “They’re going to come get us soon, right? Or were you just saying that to calm me down?”
“You want the truth?” He takes a step closer to me, and the spicy cedar scent of his aftershave teases my nostrils.
“Yes.”
“I’m fairly certain that the fire department will be here soon. But I’m also trying to calm you down, because I can tell you’re nervous. And on the off chance that we are stuck in here for a little while, I don’t want you to have a panic attack. I had one once, and they really, really suck.”
He must hear the small, slightly manic laugh that I huff out, because he chuckles along with me. Then I feel his other hand on my shoulder. He’s basically standing in front of me now, the warmth of his body radiating into mine.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“I—I’m Margo.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Margo. I’m Noah.”
“Noah.” I nod, sucking in a breath as my heart crashes against my ribs. “Hi.”
“And my favorite color is blue. Always has been. What about you? What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I say distractedly. “I like most colors.”
“What about a favorite flower? Do you have a favorite flower?”
That, I do know the answer to. “I love sunflowers.”
“Sunflowers, huh? That’s cool. I like them too. Especially the ones that grow super tall. I saw a picture once of a field of massive sunflowers, ones so high that they would even tower over me. And that’s saying something, since I’m just about six feet and three inches. Let’s see, what else? Do you have a favorite drink?”
“Um, a Manhattan, I guess.”
“Classic,” he says. “I like it. Keep it simple. Do you like cherry or no cherry?”
“Cherry,” I rasp out. My breathing is becoming more labored by the second, and I try my hardest to just focus on the soothing rumble of his voice. “Keep talking. Please,” I whisper, licking my lips. “It’s helping. God, I’ve never had a fear of elevators before, but… fuck.”
“It’s okay.” He rubs his thumbs back and forth over my arms where he’s holding them. “I get it. I’m not so much scared of elevators, or being trapped in them, but I’m very afraid of flying. And snakes. The latter I don’t run into all that much in my line of work, thankfully, but flying is a different story. I have to face that fear multiple times a week sometimes, and it sucks.”
“You fly multiple times a week?”
“Sometimes. It depends on my schedule.”
I’m about to ask him what he does for a living when the elevator groans, the sound echoing against the walls of the empty shaft above us. My entire body goes tense, my skin flushing hot and then cold as my breath catches in my throat.
Noah holds on to me a little tighter, moving his body closer to mine. I can feel his breath on my neck.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs.
I nod frantically, wrapping my arms around him instinctively, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back. “Yes,” I squeak.
“Just breathe with me, Margo. Okay?” He takes a big inhale and lets it out slowly, and I can feel his chest moving beneath my cheek. “I can feel how fast your heart is beating, and I want you to try to slow down your breath, alright? It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”
“I… I can’t.” My voice is shaky, barely above a whisper. “That sounded really bad, didn’t it? Didn’t that sound like the noise an elevator makes right before the cord snaps and we fall to our deaths?”
“That won’t happen. There’s more than just one cord holding us up right now,” he says soothingly. “Elevators have a ton of failsafes, I promise. Let’s just keep talking. Tell me your favorite song.”
I close my eyes and try to focus on the words he’s saying instead of the invisible hand that seems to be squeezing my heart.
Favorite song. Favorite Song.
The answer hits me, and I tilt my head to look up toward his face in the darkness. “I like that song by The Beatles. I think it’s called ‘All You Need Is Love.’”
“Great song. Can’t go wrong with The Beatles. I’m personally a little more into alternative rock, but you know, The Beatles walked so that a lot of newer rock bands could run. Where would we be without ’em?”
“You’re being quite the yes-man,” I point out, a shallow laugh bursting out of me despite the tightness in my chest. “Are you just agreeing with all my opinions to keep me calm, or do we really have that much in common?”
He chuckles. “Maybe a little of both.”
He keeps going, asking me more questions about my likes, dislikes, and other random things about me. Most of the questions are pretty simple and easy to answer, but there are a few that I have to think about for a while. It’s a welcome distraction from the terrifying feeling of being suspended in space in the dark.
“Favorite food?” he asks after I finish telling him how I like my coffee.
“That’s easy. Pizza. From Tino’s, over by Highland. I love everything they make at Tino’s, but the Margarita pizza is probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
“I’ve never been there, I don’t think,” he says. “So there you go, that’s one thing we don’t have in common. Now you know I wasn’t just being a ‘yes-man,’ or whatever. But I do like pizza, so technically we also have that in common. Have you ever been to Slices over by the univers—?”
He’s cut off by a loud twanging sound that echoes in the elevator shaft above us, and the fear that’s been slowly ebbing away spikes all over again. I jerk, my knees wobbling, and Noah’s grip on me tightens protectively.
“It’s alright. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
He adjusts his stance a little to steady us, pressing me back against the wall of the elevator so that I’m pinned between it and his muscled body. I can tell he’s trying to hold me securely, and I wonder if it’s so that if we do fall, I won’t go flying around the little space like a rag doll.
Oh my god. Don’t think about that, Margo.
Tears prick my eyes as visions of plummeting through inky darkness rush through my mind, and I hold on to Noah like he’s the only thing that will save me. I barely know this man, but right now, that doesn’t feel like it matters. He’s a stranger, but he’s also my anchor—the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely.
He’s murmuring something, and even though I’m almost too overwhelmed by my fear to pay attention to the words, I pick up small snatches of what he’s saying.
“…okay. It’ll be okay. I won’t let go. You’re safe, I promise. … You’re safe.”
My entire body is pressed up against him, and as he shifts his weight a little, his thigh slips between my legs. A jolt of sensation shoots through me as the thick muscles of his leg press against my clit, and I gasp.
He stiffens, his words breaking off as he realizes what happened. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Before I can think about it or let the rational part of my brain take over, my arms tighten around him again, silently begging him not to move.
He goes still, and I can feel his chest rise and fall with a slow breath. “Is that…” He clears his throat. “Do you want…?”
I don’t answer. I just roll my hips tentatively against his thigh again, letting the rush of feeling burn away a tiny bit of the panic threatening to overtake me. He groans softly, holding me steady against the wall of the elevator so that I have more leverage to grind against him.
A little noise spills from my throat, and his hands slide down to my waist.
“Is that helping?” he murmurs, his voice strained.
“Yes,” I breathe, too lost in the desperate need to feel something good to be embarrassed about admitting it.
His fingers tighten on my waist as he wedges his leg deeper between my thighs.
“Then don’t stop.”
