Had he seen? Did he know I was pulling my bra apart in public? Or had his attention been fixed on his phone screen the whole time? It wasn't that I liked the guy or cared what his opinion of me might be…
Well, alright, I didn'twantto care. Dr. Rook and I had interacted before, and not once had I enjoyed being in his presence. He was rude, cold, dismissive, and clearly selfish. Logically, it shouldn't have mattered if he saw me pulling out my bra pads or if I ripped off my clothes and shimmied my tits until they rotated like helicopter blades in his face. I should not care one iota what Dr. Knox Rook thought of me.
If you don't care, then why are you panicking right now?I thought with groaning despair.
Hurriedly, I tried to shove my bra pads into the front pocket of my purse before he could see them. But of course, I fumbled it. Ham-handed and lacking even a modicum of grace, I missed the pocket completely, and both bra pads plunked to the elevator floor at my feet. I stared in horror at the nude-colored foam inserts that had landed just in front of my boots.
Rook slowly rotated a look down, and his eyes landed on the bra pads. When he lifted his eyes, I did the same, catching his smooth, unruffled expression. "You dropped something," he said, completely deadpan.
The elevator doors closed. My insides writhed. "Did I?" I asked innocently.
Rook stared, not even a hint of amusement cracking through his marble exterior. Dr. Rook was possibly the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, with a tall, lean physique, sharp cheekbones, and piercing eyes the color of a mountain spring. He wore the same, nicely pressed, white dress shirt and black dress pants every day, and he combed his light blond hair into a tidy but handsome sweep away from his forehead. Dr. Rook was perfection exemplified. And I had just dropped my bra pads on the floor.
"Second floor," he said.
I slapped the second- and third-floor buttons, my heart racing and my gut boiling with mounting humiliation. Should I reach down to pick them up? Should I pretend they didn't exist? But if I did that, then someone else would find them. Or, wait… Rook wouldn't pick them up, would he? No way. He wouldn't dare. Plus, he had to get off the floor before me. All I had to do was pretend I hadn't seen anything and then retrieve them in shame when he was gone.
While I mentally squirmed in social agony, the elevator bobbed to a gentle stop, dinged, and then opened its doors to let Rook out on the second floor. I blew out a breath of relief when he stepped forward, but then it caught in my lungs as he paused. He leaned over, swiped up my bra pads, and held them at eye level for me. "You shouldn't undress in elevators. It could get embarrassing for you."
Fury scorched through my humiliation in a lava-hot wave. I snatched them from his long fingers with a scowl. "You could have ignored them like a normal person."
"You could have kept them in your bra like a normal person," he replied coolly.
"You know what, I have a better place for them," I retorted, my anger bubbling like an unwatched pot of spaghetti. "How about you take them both, fold themneatlylike so—" I folded them into a bunch, but he was already exiting the elevator, "—and shove them way up your—"
Rook turned suddenly, crowding me with his height so fast, that I barely managed to stumble into the elevator panel. I called myself five-foot-one on a good day, and I knew for sure that Rook had to be over six feet. So, when he brought his body over mine suddenly, blocking out the light from the elevator and bringing with him the smell of masculine cologne and fresh bar soap, I clammed up fast. My teeth clacked shut, and I plastered my back against the elevator panel as a pair of sharp cerulean eyes angled down to me.
"What was that?"
How could this guy be so hot and so fucking terrifying at the same time? My throat bobbed as I swallowed, tilting my head back to hold his gaze. "I'll shove them up your… nostril."
"Juvenile and predictable," he muttered, his eyes roving from my startled gaze down to my pressed lips. "I suggest you put your bra pads where they belong, Ms. Daise." He stepped away, allowing me to suck in a breath of fresh oxygen that had weirdly eluded me with him so close. "I can only hope you manage to be more professional during the rest of your day."
"Professional?" I asked in outrage.
But he was already gone, striding calmly to his practice entrance and reaching out to grasp the door handle. The elevator doors closed, and I released a bubble of incredulous laughter. Who did that self-righteous twat think he was? I turned around and pointlessly jabbed at the number three button on the elevator panel repeatedly, puffing out an enraged breath through my nose.
That did it. I had never liked Rook—he'd always been an arrogant self-righteous prick from my few interactions with him—and this only solidified it. He was officially on my shit list.
I swept out of the elevator in a huff of irritation, striding past the water feature wall that trickled calmly around Kiss-Met's modern logo, and I went straight for the coffee bar. Olivia, our receptionist, waved cheerfully from her semi-circle desk to my left, and I gave her a megawatt smile, hoping my run of bad luck wouldn't be evident in my features. "Morning!"
The smile on her round cheeks dimmed a touch. "Oh, good morning."
Yeah, I looked crazed. Perfect.
"It's fine," I muttered to myself. "This is fine. I can salvage this." I pulled a Styrofoam cup off the stack on the coffee bar, glancing around the open lobby of our floor. The coffee bar had been placed near a collection of cozy, black leather sofas, which had been arranged in front of a gas-lit fireplace with a rug and a coffee table. It was meant to invoke a feeling of home and belonging, which more or less worked out for us. People seemed to like Kiss-Met's "vibe," from the matchmakers who welcomed them, to the owner and her mysterious, fortune-teller appearance.
And truth be told, I loved my job. I loved taking the time to get to know new people. I loved using my intuition every day and pairing it with my growing experience in the field. I lovedlove. There was a satisfying kind of second-hand glow that I soaked up when I successfully matched a couple. Nothing was cozier for the soul than true love. I just couldn't seem to make that happen in my personal life.
Depressing.
"No," I chastised out loud, pouring bold roast into my cup. "You can do this, Gem. Control is calm. Calm is control. You're fine. Everything is fine."
My phone rang, vibrating my waist as it buzzed in my purse. I fitted a lid to my coffee cup and fished out my phone, already getting myself in the zone and prepping myself mentally for a fantastic, productive, absolutelywinningday. So what if I'd been dumped? He wasn't the one. Moving on. And so what if I'd embarrassed myself in front of the devastatingly handsome doctor on the floor below us? Screw that guy. I could turn this around.
I hit the call accept button and put it to my ear. It was probably another satisfied client calling to thank me for my work. Nothing brightened my day more than praise. "Hello, this is Gemma."
"Hello, is this Gemma Daise? Tenant for unit three at Mountainside Condominiums?"
