Chapter 3
Christian
Christian recoils in horror. Sweat lines his brow. He can't watch anymore. George Floyd pleading with the cops. Begging. They're choking the life out of him. Over a bad check. He minizines the window. Not wanting to see the shoddy cell phone video coverage anymore. Not wanting the horrible memories of his past to invade his mind.
His mouth gets dry and his body shakes. He's 4-years old. His mom uses cigarettes to burn his chest. Her creaky voice. He begs. Stop. Stop it. Help.
"Your father," she says, finally putting out her cigarette. "Told me to abort you. I should have listened. Fucking bastard. Stole my work and my life."
Christian hides beside their dirty couch, hoping the mood will pass.
She ties a thin black belt around her arm and then preps a syringe. Good. She'll get better. This time when she injects it, nothing happens. No manic high. No crazy eyed apology, telling him about her lost thesis. No. This time she's sleepy. Slow. Her lips grow blue.
Christian screams, wildly. Again and again. At the door.
Someone must call the cops.
A young officer breaks into the apartment. No explanation. No care.
Christian points to his mom.
The cop tips her over and shines a torch in her eyes. It doesn't help. He pours water in her face. "Wake up," he shouts. The beefy, pink-faced man says he'll come back. He doesn't.
Christian waits and waits. No one comes. He overs his mom with a blanket. Screaming didn't work. He's...hopeless. No energy to beg.
Until his next door neighbor finds him. The older woman, brings him to the hospital, explaining the situation to the emergency room. "His mom's dead. An addict. He's been alone with her dead body. I don't know how long. I called the cops. They haven't come. I have to go to my shift. Someone has to help him."
What if...what if. No. It's over. That's the past. Christian ignores the growing uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.
º-º-º-º-º
Christian starts scrolling through his lobbyist's position paper. What matters for GEH?
He finds the issues map. Okay. The square boxes all lead to nationwide social unrest concentrated in downtown centers. The needle has moved. It's time to get people out of headquarters. They'll have to find another location to work.
Christian calls his emergency planning coordinator, Kimberly. A hardworking hypochondriac.
She answers on the first ring, as expected, her concern bellowing through the phone. "Mr. Grey. Sir. Is everything okay? Any active cases?"
"No cases yet. But I need your help. Please order as much plywood as you can and get a contractor out to install it. Also check the price on insulated glass. Thanks."
He hangs up the call. Not ready to discuss the situation further with her. Not ready to discuss anything. The nightmare of this year keeps growing – losing control.
Christian walks back to the conference room. He finds the Taskforce silently at work. They have no idea. No one's seen the news. Or realized the significance. The tipping point has been reached.
"We'll reconvene tomorrow in a new location," Christian says. The surprised looks on their faces speak volumes. They don't understand.
"I apologize for the inconvenience. Due to insurance concerns, it's best if we aren't downtown this week." Christian tries to put on a reassuring smile. It's fake, not quite reaching his eyes.
The team members start packing their belongings.
Jeremy stares at him then starts scrolling through his phone. He knows something's up. Another problem.
Ros and Niall walk up to Christian. She'll demand an explanation. Not here. It's sensitive. Explaining the new normal.
"What's going on?" Ros asks, checking her watch. "What changed since lunch?"
Niall raises an eyebrow, waiting.
"We're taking precautions," Christian says, not giving anything away, while Jeremy watches. He gestures to both of them to follow him. "Come to my office."
They silently walk to his office. Not talking until they reach his spacious waiting area.
"Is this really necessary? You wanted a decision today. Now we're behind," Ros hisses. She takes her face mask off, leaving it dangling on her right ear. She told him earlier she hates wearing it. She has sensitive skin.
Christian gives her side-eye but doesn't reprimand her. He knows better than to mess with the red head when she's enraged.
"I assume this is about Minneapolis," Niall says, dragging out his words. He stretches out on the couch.
"Minneapolis? The police shooting that was just reported?" Ros asks. "What does that have to do with us?"
"Remember Occupy..." Niall says. "Should be fun around here."
Christian flinches. The 2011 movement. The targeting of his high-rise. Of GEH. Five protesters link together in a chain to protest his recent acquisitions. One throws a beer bottle at a police officer, missing Christian. He remembers the blood dripping down the man's face; it could have been his eye.
"We can't risk it," Christian says, pushing away the memory. "We can't risk everyone's safety."
Ros shoulders slump. She puts her face mask back on. "Alright. Tell me what you need me to do. I don't know if I can travel. You know Gwen. I have to make sure she doesn't go out too much. She's worse with lockdown than me," she says, walking toward the door.
"Join us remote. We need you to arrange the financials which comes after the decision's made. Niall and I can handle the breach," Christian says, as she slams the door shut.
Niall shrugs. "She'll get over it. We're going to the farm, right?"
Christian freezes for a moment. Vancouver's a little over two hours away. The rural spot would be great for social distancing.
"Yeah, great idea. Will you call Andrea and set it up?" Christian asks.
"Yeah no problem," Niall says. He gets up and walks out, leaving Christian alone.
Christian sits, drowning in with his thoughts. He shakes his head, trying to force himself to focus on getting the building ready or the breach. Or, anything productive.
Downtown won't be like 2011. He won't be getting death threats in the mail telling him his business increases the burden on the working poor. This is a different. Right?
º-º-º-º-º
It's dark outside and Christian backs his chair away from his desk. Orders are in. The farm is ready. Everyone's gone. Where's Taylor?
Christian walks down the hallway looking for him, when he remembers Ana. Damn it. He forgot to tell her to leave. Maybe Niall did.
He opens the heavy metal door of the file room and finds her sitting on the ground, comparing two files. Every wall filled top-to-bottom with gray shiny handles. How long has she been in here?
"Miss Steele," Christian says, his voice harsher than anticipated.
Ana reacts nervously, jumping up to face him. Her pupils get larger. Her face mask nowhere in sight. How long has she been sitting her alone?
He softens his voice a little, reminding himself that his problems aren't her fault. "Why are you still here? It's late."
"Just finishing up." Ana picks up a large file from the ground, bending from her waist. Why doesn't she squat? If she was his, he'd get her in better shape. Thinness isn't everything. "This one is for someone who never worked here–Jack Hyde."
"We'll get to it later. It's time for you to go home, now."
Ana rolls her eyes at him and scowls. She quickly covers her reaction up. Smiling politely. Interesting choice.
Christian steps closer to her, preparing to comment, when his phone rings. Another contractor.
"Yes," Christian answers gruffly, "I ordered them from Yamaha. I wanted it started today–the plywood, the clear coating for all the windows."
He eyes her, as he waits for confirmation from the contractor. No one else is in the building. They're alone. Together.
She's packing her backpack, rushing. Clearly avoiding eye contact. But having to struggle to do so. Staring hard at the marble floor. She reminds him of certain gamblers in Las Vegas. The ones drawn to the game. They want to spend money but know they shouldn't. Hmm…an unusual reaction. Most women go the other direction. Chase him.
Christian hangs up the call. He'll get confirmation later. His focus is gone. Wait, he should bring Ana along. She can help setup things tomorrow. She should consider it a career opportunity. As Andrea's replacement. Strictly business. An inner voice calls bullshit on his convenient excuse. He doesn't want to go alone. That's all.
Pointing his finger towards the ground, he looks into Ana's blue eyes. "Wait, here. I need your help with another project."
"But you just said to leave..." Ana says. She looks skeptical, her eyebrows scrunching together like he's a madman.
"I underestimated your work ethic. Consider it a promotion opportunity. I need you to fill in for more of Andrea's duties. At the farm."
"The farm? What farm?"
With almost untraceable condescension, Christian says, "I'll explain later. Text Andrea while you wait, tell her to set up Charlie Tango. Headquarters to Vancouver."
Christian's heart races he pulls the door open. Should he drive or fly to the farm? He glances back at Ana before leaving.
She puts her hands on her hips. It's cute. A little innocent.
Fly. They should fly. Sink or swim sweetheart.
º-º-º-º-º
Anastasia
I've been staring at the steel door for five minutes. Snap out of it. He might not come back.
I check my phone. It's 7:05 PM. Too late to be at work. Kate's probably worried. She'll think I'm nuts if I tell her my boss's boss just mentioned taking me to a farm…I'm starting to think I'm nuts. I pull my phone out of my backpack. There's a missed voicemail from Kate.
"Ana, we're headed to capitol hill at 8. Come now. We're planning!" Her voice sounds breathless–there are people in the background. Weird.
I should have told Christian no. Something like, "I need to leave now. I have a commitment. I'll see you with the Taskforce tomorrow." But I didn't. Fail.
Not knowing what else to do, I follow Christian's instructions. I text Andrea: Mr. Grey would like you to set up Charlie Tango. Headquarters to Vancouver.
Andrea messages back: On it.
I guess she never stops working. Maybe last-minute plans and shifting expectations are a normal part of GEH life. All the executives must work this late…right? Yes. This is normal. Totally normal. An inner voice screams NOPE. He said farm. I'm an admin assistant. Not a planter.
I should get home. Figure out what Kate's talking about. The file room feels cavernous. Too many cabinets. I've been in here too long. I decide to risk it and leave. Maybe Christian won't notice I left.
I bolt to the elevator. I punch the button and pray it comes soon. A small voice tells me Christian won't be pleased. He seems detail oriented. He'll notice. The elevator dings and I breathe a sigh of relief.
But I catch a glimpse of a figure coming towards me. Christian. He blocks the elevator door just as it opens.
"I'm–" I say, trying to figure out what to say. "I have a…"
Christian's eyes pour into me.
I can't get any more words out. I'm…I'm a little dizzy. His expectations are stupid. It's late. I'm not one of his execs. But I like…being close to him.
"I told you to wait," he says.
"I waited," I say, taking a deep breath. I can do this. "But it's late now...and I don't know much about farms. So, I thought, I'd head out. I texted Andrea for you. She's on the um…Tango arrangements. So, if you wouldn't mind."
Christian doesn't budge.
My heart beats faster. I move past him to punch the elevator button again. I push my shoulders back and refuse to look at him.
"Miss Steele," Christian says. His voice sounds more professional.
I turn to face him. There's something he's not saying. He's too tightly wound. He doesn't need my help that bad...or does he?
Christian grinds his teeth. He reminds me of past customers at Clayton's Hardware. One guy who was frustrated with our returns process. He used to make that face. A suppressed grimace.
The elevator doors opens and then closes.
I slow my breathing. Something happened. Is this why Kate's planning to go to Capitol Hill? "Mr. Grey, I could help in the morning…maybe if Andrea would send me the address where you want things setup."
"There will riots," He says, softly. "Never mind. I'll handle it."
"What happened?" I ask, forcing myself to look him in the eye.
"A police shooting," Christian says. There's a trace of emotion on his face. Maybe sadness. After a few seconds, his unreadable expression is back. "People will be angry. The crowds will take their frustration out on downtown businesses. It's not safe to have employees here. Not that it was with the virus…"
I press into the balls of my feet. "In Seattle?"
"The shooting was in Minneapolis." He sighs, suddenly looking tired. "But I expect national outrage. Downtown Seattle won't be safe. Soon...never mind. This wasn't planned. Don't worry about it." He starts walking towards Andrea's desk.
"Where is the um…farm?" I ask, following him. "Are you planning to setup the Taskforce there?"
"Outside Vancouver Washington. It's rural. Yes, we'll reconvene there tomorrow. But not everyone can travel. Don't worry about it."
My mind is bursting with questions. This has to be a dream.
He's sorting through papers on Andrea's desk. His attention has drifted.
I calm myself down and force myself to whisper. "When are you leaving?"
His emotions are hidden, but there's a wrinkle forming on his brow. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I brought it up. Thank you for your work today. Report back to Andrea tomorrow."
"No." I stammer.
His attention's back on me. He didn't expect that.
"I mean I'd like to help," I say, quickly. "I just um…wasn't sure I was qualified. And I didn't understand the assignment. What would you like me to do?"
Christian stares at me then back to Andrea's desk. He's debating something.
I'm not going back to telecommuting. Not yet. I want to explore this...the butterflies. Besides it's a career opportunity. Maybe I'll get promoted. I force myself to stand still and wait. I don't let myself stare at him. I stare at me feet, pretending he's a difficult customer Claytons, who needs to make up his mind.
Christian takes a ballpoint pen from his pocket and starts writing something down. "Use the cart. Take the files and put them on Andrea's desk. Taylor will load them and give you further instructions."
I nod. Okay. More filing. Easy enough. Better than remote work.
"Here's my card." Christian leaves it on Andrea's desk. The fresh black ink contrasts with the satin-like material. "Thank you, Miss Steele."
"Your um…welcome," I mutter, as he heads towards the elevator. The ding goes off, and he's gone.
I touch the dried ink, knowing it's his private number. I should call Andrea. Ask her how to do her a job. Ask about the farm and Charlie Tango.
An inner voice stops me. Andrea might not like that…this was supposed to be a short and simple assignment. Now, it's not.
The other admin assistants will be jealous. I've heard how they talk about…him. Keep my mouth shut. Yes. It's just filing. My stomach twinges. Too bad I want it to be more.
º-º-º-º-º
Re-entering the file room, Christian's expressionless face flashes in my mind. That stare evokes something in me. A detective quality. I want to uncover what he's thinking. To know.
"Stop it," I say out loud. I should mind my own business. Admin. This is about unexpected admin. That's all.
I walk to the laptop cart. The tingles his glare caused are just a coincidence. It's normal to be scared of your boss. It's my first professional job. He's intimidating. That's all. I squash the inner voice saying it isn't fear. It's attraction. Unreciprocated attraction. Nothing's more.
Taking a breath, I recheck my work. There's one file left to find. Then, I'll bring them to Andrea's desk, just like Mr. Grey instructed. Mr. Grey. Not Christian. Keep things formal. It's safer.
Reaching into the drawer, I notice a file with a zipper enclosure behind it–the only one I've seen.
Knowing I shouldn't, I pull out the mysterious folder–it's labeled Christian Trevelyan Grey. Who keeps a file on themselves? I unzip it and sift through the various documents. Test scores, property records, and insurance information.
Scanning the data, I read the contents of a personality assessment. He's been classified as a Challenger, a person with enormous willpower and vitality. No surprise there. The life insurance document lists someone named Mia as the beneficiary. It says here he's adopted. Hmmm…
"Miss Steele," a masculine voice says, loudly, causing me to jump. It's Taylor.
I slam the folder shut, but unzipped, shoving it back into the drawer. I'll fix it later.
"Are the files ready to transport?"
"Yes." I grab the overflow folders from the ground.
Taylor takes them from my hand and places them on the cart. "Let's bring these downstairs."
"Of course," I say, grabbing my backpack as I follow Taylor. He pushes the cart to the elevator, pressing the button.
"Is it necessary to relocate tonight. It um…seems rushed," I ask, as the elevator dings.
Taylor grunts and we enter the elevator. "Normally no. But, there's nothing standard about 2020."
Our eyes meet and we laugh.
º-º-º-º-º
I duck underneath the parking garage gate, regretting my shoe choice. Taylor is finishing loading the van. He didn't tell me what's happening next, so I decided to explore a little. Downtown can't be that bad. The shooting. It was in Minneapolis. Not here. Kate's heels cause blisters, as I walk toward the street.
Everything's quiet.
Christian must be a a control freak. Or he could be running from the mob. Hmmm...or there could be more to the story. It seems like we could have left tomorrow.
I hear a strange cackle behind me and a dry cough. Crap. I don't want to the virus. I better head back until Taylor tells me when we're heading out. I'm forgetting about something. Maybe it'll come to me if I sit in the lobby.
Another cackle. Louder this time. I stiffen in place. An awful smell fills the air. Body odor.
A man stands a few feet away from me. Staring. Does he work at GEH? No...I've never seen him before. His stomach pokes out of his ill-fitted shirt. I back away slowly, inching towards the nearby parking garage. We're alone out here.
The man's eyes are wild and crazy. Drugs. Yes. Or something else. My breath shortens and my heart races. There's no reason to be afraid. Another car will come through the intersection soon. Soon we won't be alone. He'll stop looking at me like that. Like he can see through my dress.
No car comes.
The man picks up a large rock from the ground. Oh...it's a piece of a brick. Moving closer to me. Teasingly.
I continue backing up, time slows down as I maintain eye contact with him. Don't show weakness. He's just a man. Nothing more.
I put my hands in front of my chest. If he gets closer, I'll claw his face and punch back.
Moving fast, he hits my knees with the brick, then runs up to me. He grips my waist and pulls me close to him.
"AAaaaaaaahHHHh," I scream. Sounding like a pained animal caught in a trap, like a squirrel if squirrels could scream. Not like a lion. Not as good as my original plan, but it's better than nothing.
He clenches me tightly. His smell overwhelms me. His nails are dirty. He's trying to drag me somewhere. Somewhere with this light.
"AAaaaaaaahHHHh," I force out another animal sound.
The man doesn't reply. His hands tighten on me.
A state of shock fills me. Ray. Ray. Think of him. I force myself to picture my stepdad as the man drags me toward the parking garage. What would he want me to do? I try to get my elbow into the man's chest, loosening his grip and preparing to scream again.
º-º-º-º-º
Christian
A piercing scream echoes, breaking Christian's concentration. A woman. Hurt. Where? Christian turns to his contractors, who're holding up sample plywood pallets for the front windows.
"What was that?" Christian asks. Fully alert.
The older one, Dane shrugs, then continues to measure the front door. "It's probably some joy riders."
"Sounds like an animal." His young assistant says, scratching his dreadlocks. "Or a woman. Near the traffic light."
"We'll finish measuring later," Christian says, starting to jog towards the traffic light. "I still have employees in the building." Christian's heart beats faster. Ana. What if she's hurt? Because of him…he asked her to stay late. He picks up the pace, now running.
"AAAHHHHHHHH," a female voice. Shrieking. It's no animal. A struggle. Between two people. About what?
"Who's there!" Christian shouts, when he gets closer to the traffic light. Near his parking garage gate. "No unauthorized entry on GEH property."
The perpetrator makes eye contact. Scum. Never seen him before. He's holding someone, with his greasy heart thuds in his chest. Everything tightens.
"Let her go," Christian shouts, as he gets closer to the man, within ten feet. He feels for his pocket knife. Still there. Readying it.
The attacker loosens his grip on the woman. Christian can't tell who he's holding. But something within in him screams. Maintain control.
The woman pushes back at her attacker, pulling at his shirt. A domestic squabble. No, the man's eyes. He's not stable. It reminds him of something. His past.
The woman digs her elbows into the man, right as Christian closes in on them. She wiggles free.
Recognition hits Christian. Ana. He can't breathe. His employee.
The attacker runs, just as Christian closes in on them. Faster than he looked.
Ana falls to the ground shaking. She's bleeding. Upset.
The two contractors catch up with him.
"That fucker," the young one shouts, taking his phone out. He tries to snap a picture of the attacker but the man's too fast.
Touching her shoulder, Christian pulls Ana up from the ground. He's shaking. His jaw slackens as it hits him. What just happened? A fucking oversight. Should have sent her home. On her first day too.
Ana's eyes plead with him.
Christian grabs Ana's hand and starts walking her towards the building. To safety.
Not knowing what to do, Christian calls Taylor, "We've had an infiltrator. I want the entryway completely closed off. File a police report," he barks into the phone, hanging up on Taylor.
Christian squeeze Ana's hand, feeling the energy between them.
She squeezes back.
As they walk uphill towards the elevator shaft of the garage, Christian forgets he's at work. The insurance rates don't matter anymore. He's completely awake. And occupied by the woman beside him. He can't catch a break this year. Yet, something surges in him. A protective energy. It's new and uncomfortable.
He drops her hand. The spark between them. Gone as quickly as it came. "A report will be filed. It won't happen again. Your welcome to report any concerns to human resources. I understand if you want to work from home. This was unprecedented."
"I'm okay, the farm sounds good.." Ana says, softly. Her downcast eyes scare him. "I want to get out of here. Out of Seattle."
Christian follows her gaze and his breathing gets heavy.
Her knees. The blood drips in streams down her legs, piling near the front strap of her heels.
Christian scowls. Fists forming as his hands lay to his sides. Not happening again. Not at GEH. He'll make sure of that.
º-º-º-º-º
Anastasia
Christian opens a door in the hallway. It leads to a secret locked staircase. Damn this place is weird. I guess we're leaving for the farm now. But aren't we driving there? Taylor packed the van.
I want to ask but an inner voice tells me not too. It's better to go with the flow. No more questions. I'll help with setup tomorrow.
We start climbing up the narrow metal stairs. It's been sanitized. The smell is strong, it wakes me up. I'm forgetting something. More than one thing. My backpack's here. I put the files in…My car!
"My car's in the garage," I say breathlessly, my heart pounding as I follow him up the staircase.
"Taylor will take care of it," Christian replies simply, turning to face me from the top of the stairwell. "Do you have your keys?"
Making eye contact with him still startles me. I pull out my keys and reach to give them to him.
He grabs them then asks, "Are your knees ok?"
I nod. Okay enough. I cringe a little, avoiding his eyes. I don't want him to see me this way. Weak.
Christian takes my silence as a reply and continues climbing.
When we reach the roof, the breeze blows in my face.
A helicopter sits on the concrete circle. It's huge. What the actual fuck? He didn't mention we'd be going by air.
Two guys with hazard vests on hold glow sticks.
I squint at the various colored lights, my general confusion blurring my vision. Didn't someone famous die in one of these recently? I try to remember, as I walk tentatively towards the helicopter. The air's safer than the streets. It'll be fine.
Christian's sits in the pilot seat. He's pressing buttons. He's the pilot…what?
I get within three feet of the aircraft when he sees me, his head turns, and he's touches another control. The passenger door opens.
"Go ahead, Miss, it's safe." One of the vested men calls, he even has a reflective face mask. Weird.
I forgot my mask in the file room. Shit. Today's a mess. And things keeps getting weirder. Everything interesting that's happened to me in 2020 so far packed in one day. The universe has a sense of humor.
Pulling myself into the helicopter, I try not to ogle the machinery. New. High tech. Buttons everywhere. The cockpit sounds are distinctive. Rhythmic. Almost calming.
Christian reaches over me, strapping me in, tightening the belt. He straps himself in and starts talking to an air traffic controller.
I'm awake now. Full of energy. No longer sleepy. Or thinking about the attack. Andrea probably rides in this all the time...it must be part of her job. Maybe she gets to travel internationally. That could be cool...if I could get a handle on my hormones. If I could stop staring at him like a school girl with a crush.
We start rising and I grip the hand rest.
Christian's still talking to the air traffic controllers as the helicopter lifts us up. It rises faster and jerkier than a large commercial aircraft which is my only comparison.
Everything seems smaller from this height, including the distance between us…Christian seems more human under these conditions. Less unattainable. Less intimidating. More like a normal person who worked hard and got lucky. I'll have to figure him out.
º-º-º-º-º
Christian's talking to two men with glow sticks and reflective face masks. We just exited the helicopter. My hair's poofy. I started to pat it down and ended up walking into a corn field. My shoes sink into the dirt – not a great place for high heels. I'm still forgetting something. I can't remember what.
I hear footsteps. Crap. Where's Christian going. I'm still on edge. Not a good day for being alone.
He's walking down the path towards a big white building with mounted gas lamps. There's a red barn in the distance.
I turn the heel of my shoe back and forth, getting it unstuck. Then hurry towards him.
Christian pauses and waits for me. His eyes droop some. "I'll take that." He removes my backpack from my shoulders. Then continues to walk.
"Thanks," I murmur to him, while trying to catch up. We walk for fifteen minutes until we reach the white building's porch. I finally remember what I'd been forgetting. I don't have clothes and I need to text Kate. "Mr. Grey, I don't have any clothes with me or a phone charger."
"Let's check the storage. We should have supplies for past work retreats," Christian says, opening the building's front door using the palm of his hand to unlock it.
Not knowing what he's talking about, I tread on his heels, entering the lobby. The light fixtures are new. Modern. But, the architecture has an older feel to it. Maybe it used to be a hotel. For GEH team building.
Christian's walking too fast.
I can't take in the surroundings.
We end up in a laundry room. It has rows of washing machines, dryers and two parallel storage shelves full of miscellaneous goods. We walk towards the shelves, again finding ourselves in close quarters. My heart skips a beat. It's too tight a space. Too personal. If I'm not careful, I'm going to start thinking we're friends. We're not. He's a stranger.
Grabbing a soft looking t-shirt out of a canvas bag, Christian moves towards me and pulls the shirt down over my head. "Reach your arms in," he says sternly.
I comply. The shirt's too big for me. It falls to my knees.
"Good enough," he barks, handing me the bag.
I just nod, no longer caring about having a change of clothes. I'm too busy, trying to pretend everything about this is normal. If only he was older…or less attractive. It wouldn't be this weird. Or if I hadn't spent the past three months under lockdown. No men for months. Now this.
"A room key should be in the bag. I'm sure you can find it. I'm not sure when the other team members are coming. You have my number." He walks out in a hurry, like he's got somewhere to be. It's late and we're at a farm. He could have a girlfriend to call...that's probably it.
Glancing around the storage area, I'm smoldering, cheeks hot, body turned on. If this continues, I'm not going to last here without making some sort of colossal professional mistake. I sit down on the cold floor and take a gander at the parallel shelves.
A specific scene from a TV episode comes to mind. The lawyer confessing he's not a lawyer. The way, he took the paralegal in the storage closet. The tension release from all the past episodes that built up. The mutual attraction. I push it out of my mind. It won't help me to think about that...about him.
I find the room key in the bag and stand up. I know what will help me sleep.