The longest five seconds of my life passed in an eerie silence.
“Understood, sir.” Preston hung up, and my hope surged. This was it. He glanced longingly at Frank—like he was still debating kicking me out—before meeting my gaze. “Mr. Westbrook’s security approved for you to go up now.”
Relief weakened my knees.
“You’re a lifesaver, Preston!” I held on to the desk for support, smile straining my cheeks. “Thank you. Seriously. If my cat ever has kittens, I’m naming one after you.”
Whiskey was a tomcat who could no longer sire children, but it was the thought that counted.
Preston’s frown showed he had no idea how big of an honor that was.
“Next time, use the service entrance in the back of the building and come at your assigned time,” he said. “Your company should’ve received a badge for you to use for entry and identification. It avoids misunderstandings like this.”
I tended not to take repeat appointments from clients as nonresponsive as this one, but Preston didn’t need to know that. “I’ll follow up with my boss on that badge. Promise.”
“You do that. Samuel will ‘summon’ a lift for you now,” Preston said dryly, and I didn’t even care that he was making fun of me.
“Thank you!” Overcome with gratitude, I ran to the elevators while blowing a couple kisses over my shoulder to the front desk.
Three shiny elevators awaited me at the opposite end of the lobby, but an older teenager in a crisp red bellhop’s uniform—round brimless hat and all—waved me over to the corner. Marching down his chest, a column of brass buttons completed his look, gleaming so brightly I was tempted to ask if he polished each one individually.
He led me to an elevator hidden away from the rest.
Private.
My eyebrows crept higher with each new display of luxury.
“Very fancy,” I murmured appreciatively just as the doors slid open. “Thank you so much.”
The elevator attendant dipped his chin before following me inside.
“Oh, you’re riding up with me?” I scooted over to make room. “Cool. I’m Ellie, by the way. Ellie Darling.”
He grinned, showing off a dimple as deep as a crater. “Samuel. Welcome to the Nightingale, Miss Darling.”
He pressed a button labeledPand tapped a fancy black card against the reader, earning a softbeepbefore the huge brass doors shut.
Mr. Westbrook wasdefinitelyin a different tax bracket than my usual clients.
A shaky breath escaped me, and I finally relaxed my grip on the duffle bag strap as the elevator rose.
At least the hard part was over, and now I’d get to spend the rest of the afternoon doing one of my favorite things.
Cuddling.
cuddle muffin
. . .
Ellie
Ellie’s Guide to Professional Cuddling, Tip #3: Some clients have specific requests that may seem a little strange, but it’s important to cater to their (approved and legal) needs.
Samuel proved to be great company on the elevator ride up to the top floor of the very,verytall building. It was a bit of a one-sided conversation about a hat I’d been crocheting for my cat, but Samuel kept smiling politely and even offered me a little strawberry candy just like the ones my grandma kept in her purse.
But I put my game face on the moment the elevator doors opened at our destination.
Well…I tried to, at least.