A/N: This is what happens when you start to work on one story as your farewell to fanfic. Your brain veers off with a new concept. I have a lot of reasons why my other stories are languishing, and it mostly has to do with the heavy mythology in them, and also lacking a true, ardent desire to write, period. But this happened today and for now I'm rolling with it. Enjoy.

This letter had to be meant for someone else. It wasn't addressed to me specifically but did have my apartment number scrawled on the front. The author failed to leave their name behind so I had no idea who this was from. Anonymous letters? In 2016? Who does that anymore? Nevertheless, I swallowed, hands shaking a bit as I read it again. Slower this time.

The ending to our night happened much differently in my mind. That night I didn't simply let you slip out of the car and sway those hips to and fro and didn't follow. When you turned to bid me goodnight again with a wave, instead you crooked your finger beckoning me to follow. I told my driver to circle the block and wait for me, but then checked and told him to go home and I'd call him in the morning. I had no intentions of leaving until I knew for certain exactly what your cunt tasted like, felt like.

You know, you shouldn't read explicit letters in public especially not while walking over slick marble flooring. Miraculously I made it to the elevator without incident, still reading the letter.

At the thought I immediately stiffened in my pants. Your eyes looked down and saw I was more than eager to play whatever game you wanted. You smiled a little and then entered inside your home with me close on your heels, so close that I accidentally tripped you, but held you securely around the waist so you wouldn't fall. As a resort, I pressed my hard cock against your firm backside and you hissed. The sound alone had nearly been my undoing. You said something to me with a wry smirk, but I didn't pay attention to your words because I was too busy watching your mouth and thinking of the ways I would use it.

Blood rushed through my thighs headed straight for my core. Gotdamn. Who was this lucky bitch because it certainly wasn't me? The last time I felt a hard dick was two months ago compliments of my fiancé.

My fiancé. I sighed just thinking about him.

The ding of the elevator's arrival had my head jerking up. Two people stepped off the lift and I boarded, pressing the button for my floor.

I was going through something of a dry spell. A rut. My life was so damn anal it needed a stool softener to loosen up. My friends partied hard on the weekends and could barely make it into work come Monday morning. I socialized when I could, taking care to attend the right parties, read the right books, but really who the hell was I trying to impress? The Pope?

It's been a long time since I've done a bad thing. I haven't even jaywalked in front of a cop in months! My name is Bonnie Bennett and I follow all of the rules.

I wasn't following one right now. Reading someone else's mail regardless if it had my address on it. I thought about that. I flipped the envelope over, studied the number of my apartment but it didn't have my name, the city or state of my residence listed. Just the number 7206. Was this an internal thing? And if so, what the hell?

Practical joke or the initiation of a stalker, there was one paragraph left to read. My lids lowered just as the doors were closing, but a hand shot through.

A man gently forced the doors apart and boarded, but he stopped and looked at me. I stared at him for a second. Just long enough to get the gist of his features, but that glance was enough to warm my already hot face. I averted my gaze, the pulse in my neck throbbed. The squeak of rubber soles coupled with the scent of piney musk and sweat had me shuffling out of the way to make room for him.

The doors closed.

His long muscular arm speared across my view as he hit a button on the panel. I didn't look to see what floor he was going to since I was partially distracted by his arm. Pale, corded in muscles, veins, and a light film of sweat. He must have gone on a run.

"Excuse me," he said after the fact.

I waited for him to step to the far corner of the elevator since it we were the only two people on it, but he stayed close, hovering a step behind my left shoulder. He was so close I could feel his body heat. I could hear him trying to catch his breath, and what should have been a turn off…well it was actually kind of…sexy.

Get it together, Bon.

Being as short as I am, all I could really see of him from the corner of my eye was his chin and damn he had an insanely hot jawline. I cleared my throat and crammed the letter inside my handbag and pulled out my phone. Always a handy distraction when you didn't want to be social.

However, I was envisioning something I shouldn't. The man next to me as the man who wrote that letter and me in the starring role as the love interest. But I cancelled that because I was engaged, and the guy next to me was a stranger and nothing like my fiancé.

Thankfully the ride was quick and paused on—I checked to see—the fourth floor. Not my floor but on this level was the gym and swimming pool. Cold air rushed in as the door opened and the guy stepped off, casting a look at me over his shoulder.

"Have a good evening," he said and all I could manage was a near inaudible:

"You too."

This time I didn't glance, I cataloged. Scanned. He had black hair that was wild and tousled. His light grey T-shirt, damp with sweat clung to his broad shoulders and muscular back. Black sweat pants hugged a very tight booty. A half-finished bottle of some energy drink dangled between long, tapered fingers. The most memorable thing about him was the color of his eyes. The bluest of blues, like looking up at a Nairobian sky. I had never seen him before. Then again I traveled a lot for my career and had only been living here for about three months.

Making it to my apartment, I sat my purse on the breakfast bar. That letter was burning a hole in the bottom of it. I could feel it.

Something small and furry darted into the room. A cute kitten face stared up at me while a tiny pink tongue licked impossibly long whiskers. A delicate "meow" followed by a low hiss let me know my two-year old cat, Sphinx was hungry.

Sphinx moved forward and wrapped his lanky body around my ankle before trotting off into the living room to wait for his dish to be filled with water and Fancy Feast. It was time to go into 'mommy' mode.

"TBD," I say aloud, tapping the handle of my purse. "To be continued."

They called me…tame. Safe. Boring. The dependable one. Good names that signified I wasn't a threat to anyone. But what I really am is observant, clever, resilient. I hadn't once pouted it had been more than a week since I heard from my fiancé, or received another anonymous letter, or had run into my sweaty neighbor. No, I had too much on my plate to focus on any of it.

I was running late for a dinner meeting with prospective investors who were also running late since their flight had yet to land at Vancouver International. That gave me about an hour to change into something that said 'give me your money but don't expect a blowjob for it'. I also happened to be on the phone with my business partner, Dietrich Thames. He couldn't be anymore English than his surname.

Dietrich and I met seven years ago through a mutual friend I was no longer on speaking terms with. He rubbed me the wrong way at first—his arrogance he thought had been charming, but really it was grating. After getting plastered a few times together, I discovered Dietrich did have a soul that was older than his biological years. We shared similar views, and the man was very good at management. Without him it would have taken me longer to get to where I am today.

"We can't get the equipment up there because the permits haven't come through, which means production will be a week behind schedule," I imagined him rubbing at the perpetual scruff around his chin.

"How the hell did that happen? I thought everything was squared away with the county?"

"They had a special hearing because citizens," Dietrich patronized, "were worried about the possible pollution to the local forest, and how their town will be depicted."

"AKA they want more money," I grumbled.

"AKA they want more money," Dietrich agreed. "Our budget is already tight enough as it is, and intuition is telling me they won't be happy with an additional ten grand."

"That's all we have left in auxiliary funds and they can't have it. What was the second location the scouts found?"

I rushed inside of my high rise apartment complex. There hadn't been anymore letters, and after a week passed I stopped expecting there to be. Yet that small anticipatory rush that today the drought might end sprung up each time I checked my mailbox, which was exactly what I was doing at the moment. Reaching in pulling out a bundle of mail, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder, the activity of my neighbors checking their boxes ceased to be a factor.

There it was. Same ecru envelope. Same numbers of my apartment scrawled across the middle. I licked my lips. Dietrich's accent forced me back to the present.

"Port Deposit, Maryland."

"What?" my nose scrunched because I had completely forgotten what we were talking about.

"The second location," he barked.

"Oh, right. Port Deposit…what a name."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he replied gruffly.

"Try to get Thalia and Remy to see if they can work something out with the comptroller at our parent company. If not, we'll figure out how to move things to Maryland. One bridge at a time."

Though I was the owner of an independent production company there was nothing truly independent about it. Unless you were a billionaire making films as a hobby, everyone in the entertainment business was indebted to someone else.

Themyscira Films was my baby. Shorts, independent films, and documentaries were our specialty. One of our films premiered at Sundance in Cannes this past spring. Critically it did okay, generating some buzz, but not the type to catapult it on a broader scale. The director and writer was one of my close friends from college, Iris West who convinced me to play a small part. That would be the first and the last time I'd step in front of a camera.

My better half had been there to walk me down the red carpet but the whole time his mind had been preoccupied. It had been fine because I understood. My fiancé is an architect; one of the best. That's why his company outsourced his talent to their German brethren and sent him packing to Dusseldorf. Deadlines, tight schedules, measurements that had to be so exact marched through his thoughts the entire time we were in France together. That had also been the last time we saw each other in the flesh. If I felt the disconnect then, I was surely feeling it now two months later.

Getting out of my head I stared at the letter wondering about its contents, but more specifically the author. Why was I being targeted? Should I bring this up to management and see if they could perhaps screen who dropped off mail?

Those decisions would have to wait because I needed to get ready for my dinner meeting.

Cinching the letter with the rest of my mail, I hustled to the elevator. I was only five feet away but I ran for it anyways and saw him. My feet forgot how to work. I tripped over absolutely nothing and pitched forward into the lift. My shoes flew off. Whatever was in my hands went flying in every which direction. If only that had been the end of it.

Of course not.

Nothing but air and fumbling hands could really stop my momentum but it was far too late. My cheek crashed into a tight, flat stomach, my knees tasted the marble floor, and then I was sliding down, face planting in his crotch.

It is very possible to die from embarrassment.

In situations like that you had two options: laugh or cry. I opted for the former but it sounded more like a strangled groan.

"Are you all right?"

"Are you okay?"

"Ohmygod!"

Perfect, there were other people on the elevator with us as if landing face first in a stranger's groin wasn't bad enough. There just had to be witnesses. It's a good thing I'm a black girl because otherwise my face would be beet red.

Hands gripped my shoulders and my hot face was suddenly cool. The man, my neighbor this time dressed in a suit and not workout gear was peering down at me, cheeks rosy but not as rosy as the first time I saw him. I didn't want him to speak to me, and I wondered if his cock was hurting as badly as my knees since I pretty much head butted him. I blanched at that particular analogy, and tried to wrench myself free. Unfortunately, his hold was too confining and I couldn't move.

"You okay?" he asked calmly. Almost too calmly.

"I…um…yeah. I'm sorry."

He helped me up. My gaze automatically lowered to my shoeless feet.

"Here you go, miss," the other guy handed me my purse and mail.

"Thanks."

I accepted my shoes from the lady and smiled my thanks.

"You're bleeding," the guy I crashed into said.

I thought he meant my knees, but he was staring too intently at my face, and that's when I felt it. The blood coming from my left nostril. My hand flew to cover it. It happened sometimes. Nosebleeds. An aliment I've been dealing with since I was seventeen.

"Oh," I skirted around him, pressed my back into the wall. Three pairs of eyes blinked at me and I hated it. "I'm fine."

"Should I call 911?" the woman was already digging for her phone.

"It's all right. It happens sometimes. Not a big deal," I tried to reassure her.

No one looked convinced, but we arrived on a floor and someone was hesitant to leave. Finally the man, not the one I literally ran into, got off.

"Here," the blue-eyed Adonis whipped out the handkerchief in his breast pocket. He stretched it out to me.

I accepted it and quickly wiped away the blood that stained my mouth, and used a corner to plug my nose. He never once stopped looking at me whereas I stared at everything but him. We arrived on another floor and the woman reluctantly got off, offering again to call for an ambulance.

I was glad when the elevator doors closed in her face.

It was just he and I once more. I guess I could ask for his name since I now had a vague idea of how big his dick was. Impressive to say the least, but talking while holding a handkerchief to your nose was an unflattering look. Plus, when I was mortified, I found it extremely difficult to converse.

"Are you sure you're okay? I have been hitting the crunches pretty hard lately," he joked. "I should check to make sure my abs didn't break your nose."

I wheezed a laugh. "I'm fine."

He stepped closer and I couldn't go anywhere since my back was already braced against the wall. His warm hand pulled mine away. He framed my cheeks and tilted my head back. Nope, this wasn't awkward at all. Having a man who looked unreal like him looking up my nose which he was a hundred percent focused on.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked to break up the silence.

"No."

Then what the hell are you looking for and why are your hands so soft, I almost said. But I stood there like a block of ice that soon began to thaw the second the pads of his thumbs lightly caressed my cheeks.

That was too intimate. I had been deprived and he was too good looking for this not to tip over into fantasy territory. I almost asked him if he tasted better with whipped cream or chocolate but bit savagely into my cheek. I had to think hard about my fiancé, real hard, but once his image was cemented, my lids shuttered and I was back in aloof airspace.

This man's ridiculously blue orbs roamed my features, pausing for too long on my lips.

The elevator slowed to a stop on my floor. Freedom.

"This is where I get off," I said. And realized how that sounded. My stomach flipped. The innuendo made my neighbor smile.

"Glad I could help you get off."

Okay. I was so not going to have a reaction to that and would deny my inner muscles clenched. Just a little.

I maneuvered my head out of his hold, inched by him, and bolted once the doors opened.

Damn, and I still don't know his name.

A/N: Thoughts? I know you have to be curious who Bonnie's fiancé is, who's sending her those letters, and especially about ole blue eyes. Please, let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.