Breach of Honor by Naomi Porter
6 Miranda
THE TEMPERATURE in the room dramatically increased when William had arrived. I should have never worn the ivory cashmere sweater. My pits were sticky and damp. God, I hoped my deodorant didn’t fail me. I’d never sweated like this before in a meeting.
Despite the tingling in my panties, I didn’t allow myself to lose my train of thought. Winning the gala project was my number one priority. I couldn’t let seeing Mr. Dreamboat distract me. I had to get this account. The success of my business depended on it.
I was confident I dazzled every one of them. Most importantly, William. His eyes didn’t leave me once and I loved it, but he had distracted me even though I tried to ignore him, and that wasn’t okay. The way he made me feel was precisely why dating and relationships were off the table. I was the girl who would pour myself into a man. Well, okay, into Freddy way back when.
How could I risk a repeat of my old ways?
Mrs. St. James told me she’d get back to me early next week, which I expected. The glint in her eye put my mind at ease. If I were Lily, we’d celebrate tonight with a bottle of Prosecco, but I wasn’t and wouldn’t breathe a word about the assurance in Mrs. St. James’s vibrant, brown eyes. With my portfolio in hand, I stood from the chair, and William followed suit.
“Thank you for this opportunity.” I smiled, making eye contact with each person. “Good day.”
“Have a lovely day, dear.” Mrs. St. James waved. Mr. St. James nodded stiffly, but there was a smile in his eyes. The two executive assistants were huddled together whispering. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but I didn’t care, needing to get out of the sweltering conference room.
“Let me walk you out,” William whispered behind me. He opened the door, and I walked out. “Jason, wait here. I’ll be back.”
I fought my hand from reaching for my earring, but my nerves were freaking out. All eyes shot my way as we walked side by side toward the elevator I had been in with Jason. Now, I recalled seeing him at the club last weekend. I assumed he was William’s friend.
My escort pushed the button beside the stainless-steel doors and stood there staring at me. A bell dinged and the doors opened.
“Thank you for showing me out.”
He nodded, directing me inside with a slight brush of his hand on my back. After I stepped into the elevator, he entered as well. The doors closed, trapping us.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m showing you out, Miranda Bradford.”
“Well, I can ride in an elevator alone to the lobby, Mr. St. James.” I stared forward with annoyance.
“But I’m not ready for you to leave… me.” He turned toward me, a veil of determination on his face.
I stepped back, hitting the wall behind me unsure of what he was doing. Flirting? What about the cameras? I could lose the event if anything inappropriate happened in this moving box. My mouth went dry.
“Why did you leave with that guy?”
“What?”
“The guy, that douchebag at the club. I saw you leave with him in a black convertible. Why did you leave with him?”
He remembers me?
“I’m sorry, but my personal life is none of your business. Or did you forget the compromising position you were in? I recall a dark, dingy hallway, a woman on her knees, your—”
He put his fingers on my lips. I stood firmly against the wall, unyielding to his intimidation, the gall of him.
William leaned away, pushed a button, and the elevator stopped. I looked up at the panel above the doors, showing the sixth floor. A shiver went down my spine, not the exciting kind but the kind I feared most.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded. Crap, I hated confined spaces. “Push the button.”
“I want more time with you,” he calmly said, inches from my face, an arm bent against the wall and his breath on my cheek.
Holy hell!
“I don’t care what you want. This is inappropriate! There are cameras in here. I could lose the event.” Any other time I would have welcomed his advances. The man was positively beautiful. But not here. Not while I was hoping to land this account and not while trapped in a fucking elevator.
“Don’t worry about any of that. I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“You can’t be serious.” I felt the back of my neck get clammy, beads of sweat forming in my hairline. I was seconds away from a full-on panic attack. “Please, push the button,” I pleaded, heart racing as I tried to move toward the panel on the wall. But he wouldn’t let me, his hand gripping my waist.
“What’s the matter? Do I make you nervous?” He grinned a celebrity-worthy grin that would under any other circumstances make me swoon. Instead, I wanted to slap him for being cocky at my expense.
“Don’t be an arrogant ass!” I pushed him back, but he didn’t budge. My breathing hitched, and I gripped my neck as the air grew thicker, suffocating me. I blinked back tears, losing the battle to not fall apart. “Please, push the button. Push the fucking button!” Tears rushed down my face as I gasped for air. My legs wobbled as I bent at the knees, my arms weakening with my ten-ton portfolio pulling me toward the floor.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry.” He slammed his hand on the button just as the room went dark.
I woke to a bell dinging, my weightless body cradled as a rush of fresh air filled my lungs. As I focused my eyes, my vision was flooded by a regretful, pained expression on William’s face as he carried me out of the elevator.
“God, Miranda, I am so sorry. So incredibly sorry.”
“What happened?” a woman asked. “Should I call for an ambulance?”
“Yes!”
“No.” I shook my head, filling my lungs with air. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? Jesus, I’m sorry.” He laid me gently on a leather sofa and whipped his blazer off and folded it into a pillow, then tucked it under my head. He was on his knees beside me, brushing the hair out of my eyes and caring for me protectively. “I’d feel better if you were examined. What happened in there? Are you diabetic? Joyce, get some juice!” he yelled.
“No, really. I’m claustrophobic, not diabetic.”
He released a deep breath and pressed his forehead to mine. With a crowd forming around us, I didn’t know what to do nor did I have the strength to care. Frankly, I enjoyed having his hands on me. But dang was this an awkward situation.
“William! Oh my, what happened?” Mrs. St. James’s voice echoed in the lobby and the clacking of her heels jolted me. “Miranda?”
I was done. The job was no longer mine; I was sure of it. Mrs. St. James would see me as a drama queen. Or maybe she’d think I pulled a fainting stunt just to secure the account. Either way, I could kiss this once in a lifetime opportunity goodbye.
“She fainted in the elevator. Claustrophobic.” William pulled back and stood. “She’ll be fine. I’m going to drive her home or to her office,” he said decidedly.
“No, no, that’s okay. I’m fine.” I raised up to a sitting position. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”
“Nonsense, William will drive you. I insist.”
How could I argue with her? Claire eyed him, a slight curl to her lip. Weird. But I was probably never stepping foot into SJI again, so I wouldn’t worry myself about it.
Boy, I hoped my fainting in an elevator didn’t make the evening news.
Will
I decided to have Maurice, my mother’s driver, do the honors of driving Miranda back to her office. I wanted to be with her in the back seat. Feeling like the worst person on the planet, I had to be sure she was okay.
I typed out a quick text to Jason as Miranda continued breathing deeply. The pink had returned to her cheeks, and even with a tear-streaked face, she took my breath away.
Will: Miranda fainted in elevator. Order in lunch. Taking her to her office.
Jason: Fainted? Did you scare her with your micropenis? Where should I wait? How long?
Will: Fuck off! My office. 2hrs.
Jason: OK.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, still in disbelief at my luck seeing her again. But the shame I felt was acute. I turned toward her. “I’m truly sorry about—”
“Please, stop apologizing. You had no way of knowing I was claustrophobic.”
“Yeah, but what kind of man traps a woman he hardly knows in an elevator?”
“A cocky man,” she said directly. “What I don’t understand is why. Intimidation? Arrogance? A cheap thrill? A bet between you and your friend to see if I’d get on my knees for you like the last girl?” She shook her head, clearly disgusted with me. Hell, I couldn’t blame her.
“No, never. I wasn’t trying to do any of that.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and hung my head—crestfallen with regret. My behavior had been wholly inappropriate and uncharacteristic in the elevator. Bad moments were all she seemed to catch me in. “I wanted some time alone with you,” I told her honestly. “To convince you to have dinner with me. I haven’t stopped thinking about you and never thought I’d see you again.”
As I’d watched her laugh beside my mom, winning over the room, the tide changed in my life. The gloomy clouds had parted, the sun broke free issuing its approval, and my path had been determined.
And what did I do? Within minutes, I messed it up, trying to sweep this angel off her feet.
“I’m such an idiot.”
“Don’t say that.” She laid her hand on my knee. Every nerve in my leg sparked and electrodes raced into my heart. “We’ll call it a lapse in good judgment. It’ll cost you… dinner.”
I raised my head, unsure I heard her correctly. Cautiously, I hoped I had. “You’ll have dinner with me?”
“Only if you promise never to trap me in an elevator again or any small space.” Her lip curled in a small, playful smile. I could have kissed her right there, but I held back. I wouldn’t screw up again with her. I’d do everything with St. James precision and care.
This was my second chance with Miranda Bradford.