Loving the Ladies’ Man by Kristin Canary

Chapter 3

My americano wore off hours ago. The time has come—I must resort to break-room coffee.

I click Save on my computer and stand to stretch. My back twinges and my stomach gurgles, not surprising since it’s been something like eight hours since I ate at one o’clock. Maybe it’s time to order some food for delivery and take a break. I’ve hit a wall in this story anyway. Turns out Sally wasn’t as far along as I thought she’d be, and I’m basically starting from scratch.

I snag my favorite coffee mug, which has a picture of Colin Firth, aka the real Mr. Darcy, saying:

Hey girl, don’t mind me.

I’m just admiring your fine eyes even though I hate your family.

And by the way, will you marry me?

Makes me smile every time.

Since I kicked off my shoes hours ago, I step into the hallway barefoot. At this time of day (or should I say night), the fluorescent lighting has dimmed and there’s a quiet hum coming from somewhere. Other than that, there’s no sound. I’m alone and it’s peaceful. Just the way I like to work.

I find my way into the break room that consists of a fridge, a small counter with a sink and a commercial coffee maker, a few tables and chairs, and a vending machine. Methodically, I add the filter and ingredients to the coffee machine and wait for the brown sludge to drip into the pot. While the liquid plinks into the glass, I walk to the window at the edge of the break room and stare up at the mountain that backs our building. Thanks to the full moon, I can make out an abundance of rocks and tall trees. Several houses stand sentinel on the mountainside, the scattered lights a reminder that other people are spending their Friday evening at home.

I think back to the texted picture I received about an hour ago from Kayla—her, squished together on a couch with fitness instructor Lauren, kindergarten teacher Shelby, and purple-haired graphic artist Alexis—all making kissy faces at me.

Sighing, I find my way back to the coffee pot, grab my mug, pour myself a cuppa, and stare into Mr. Darcy’s gorgeous brown eyes. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Fitzwilliam.”

And then, Mr. Darcy betrays me.

Or rather, the ground beneath me does.

There’s a sudden large jolt and my coffee sloshes over the side of the mug, dousing my white shirt with hot liquid. A curse that would make my mama blush—and yes, Mr. Darcy too—flies out of my mouth. But before I can even think about peeling off the blouse to check for third-degree burns, the floor shakes.

Hard.

Fast.

I drop the mug and it breaks at my feet.

The table and chair legs make such a racket as they bounce that I toss my hands over my ears before I fall to the ground, unable to keep my feet underneath me. Plates and cups fall from the cupboards over the sink, adding to the noise.

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is how I die—alone, at work, with Mr. Darcy in shattered pieces around me.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

But before I know it, the shaking stops. The lights overhead flicker, then go dark. It takes a few seconds, but half the lights come back on.

I stand, shaky, using the counter to support me. Other than some knocked-over chairs and the broken dishes, nothing else seems to have been affected by what is the first real earthquake I’ve experienced in my time here in California. My head swims and I blink rapidly, trying to clear away the tears I don’t remember crying.

Still, I’m safe. I’m whole—albeit a mess.

For a minute, I just breathe. But then I hear some sort of distant rumbling. Is that normal after an earthquake? An aftershock, maybe? Do they come this quickly on the heels of the initial shaking? I should have done more research on what to do in this situation. Oh, well. Too late now.

Taking a step, I wince at a sudden pain in my foot. Oh look, my big toe is bleeding from the broken mug. But I don’t have time to think about that. I limp toward the window—and what I see makes my blood run cold.

Trees snap and boulders fall, rolling as the land slides and rushes—right toward the building where I’m standing.

I turn and run back toward the door, dodging a table as I go and crying out when I step once again on the broken bits of Mr. Darcy. But nothing prepares me for the sound of glass breaking behind me.

A scream comes from somewhere and it takes me a minute to figure out that it’s me—I’m the one making the high-pitched noise. But as I glance back, it’s with good reason, because a large jagged tree branch is now poking half inside the fifth-story window where I was just seconds ago.

More glass breaks in other parts of the building and I start to hyperventilate. The air in my lungs feels tight and I gulp for it. Gulp again. Where can I go? What if the dirt and mud come surging inside? Is that how it works? Can the whole mountain come down on top of me?

Maybe I really will die here all alone. And what will my friends and family put on my tombstone?

Here lies Evie Denmark.

She worked a lot and still had nothing to show for it.

All of her efforts weren’t any good to anyone.

“Oh, God. Help. Help.”

One second, I’m crouched in a ball in the middle of the kitchen, shivering and alone. The next, strong arms are around me and I’m suddenly warm. So warm.

And I don’t even care that I’ve died, because heaven smells really, really good. Almost like …

My head pops up. “Connor?”

Sure enough, he’s squatting beside me, his dark brow furrowed. Other than the fact his tie is loosened in that sexy honey-I’m-home look, he is the same—unflustered and completely put together—as he was earlier today. Completely the opposite of how I’m sure I appear.

And it’s then I realize that the rumbling has stopped. Well, the rumbling outside the building.

The rumbling inside my body is stronger than ever.

I slump fully onto my bottom and the cold tile seeps through my skirt onto the backs of my legs. “What are you doing here?”

He looks at my feet and frowns. “You’re bleeding.” His gaze roams my whole body from there, stopping at my torso before he quickly averts his eyes.

I glance down and gasp. Thanks to my run-in with spilled coffee, my white shirt is plastered to my chest—and completely see-through. Fabulous! My lacy pink bra (the one sexy thing I own) is basically on display for the whole world to see.

Or just Connor. But still!

My cheeks heating, I turn a complete one-eighty on my butt so my back is to him. “You didn’t answer my question.” And yes, my voice is a bit growly, but how should a girl who’s just been through a terrifying earthquake talk? “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, I’d guess. Working late.”

And then something like silk surrounds my whole body and the scent of Connor’s cologne is stronger than ever. He’s given me his suit jacket. I mumble a thank you as I slip my arms inside and fumble to fasten the large buttons. I’m not a petite girl but I’m still swimming in it. Thankfully though, it covers up my traitorous shirt.

The wind is howling from the broken window on the other side of the kitchen. I turn back to face Connor, but he’s already standing at the kitchen counter, rummaging through the cabinets and grabbing something off the top shelf before moving toward me again. He sinks down, a first-aid kit in hand. The adrenaline is slowly dissipating from my veins, but that doesn’t stop the electric currents that flow from his fingers to my right foot as he gently lifts it closer to his face to examine my cuts.

“What are you doing?”

His lips quirk in that oh-so-Connor way. “Just making sure you don’t have any glass stuck in there.”

“Shouldn’t we call 911 or something?”

“I already tried when I saw the landslide start. Couldn’t get through. I’m sure the phone lines are jam-packed with calls. Not just to emergency personnel, but to family and friends too. They tend to get overwhelmed right after an emergency like this.”

“Oh.” I wouldn’t have thought of that.

“Don’t worry. We’re safe for now.”

Safe, huh? I shove his hand away. “I’ll feel a lot safer when I’m out of this building and back home.”

“Can you even walk?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just go downstairs and get out of here before the earth decides to tilt again.” I try to stand, but cry out at the pain in my feet.

“Whoa, there.” Somehow, Connor leaps to his feet and catches me before I fall.

My hands grip the front of his blue button-up work shirt—and hello, rock-hard chest. Nice to meet you. I’m not sure how long I stand there stupidly leaning on the parts of my feet that aren’t stinging, my fingers splayed across his pectoral muscles. All I know is I’m completely mortified when Connor clears his throat and breaks the spell that his hotness has cast over me.

I squeak out a sorry before sitting on the ground again.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re going anywhere for a while.” He takes it in stride and lowers himself beside me once more. “Before I knew you were in here, I was watching out the window from my office and saw the landslide block the front doors and the emergency exit.” He opens an antiseptic wipe and unfolds the square. “Do you want to do this or should I?”

“I can.” Because letting him touch me again is a really bad idea right now. I’ve read waaaay too many romance novels and my imagination is going a teensy bit wild. Remember, you don’t even like this guy. It doesn’t matter that he rescued you and is hotter than hades on a summer day or that he gave you his jacket like some sort of freaking Prince Charming. “Thanks.”

Thankfully, the cuts aren’t super deep, just painful. I take the wipe from him and dab at the two largest gashes, one on my left big toe and another on the arch of my right foot. Hissing at the contact, I bite my lip. And there goes my dumb hand trembling again. What in the world is wrong with me?

Oh, I don’t know. You almost died, that’s what.

Stop being so dramatic, Evie.

You stop being so dramatic.

Oh, dear. I’ve turned into a raving lunatic, talking to myself in my own mind.

Fortunately, Connor has no idea of my inner turmoil. Or maybe he does, because without a word, he eases the wipe from my fingers and finishes cleaning the wounds. Then he gently applies antibiotic cream and bandages. “There. All better.”

I swallow, my throat parched. “Thank you.” Blowing out a breath, I play with a button on Connor’s jacket, which I’m still wearing. “So, we’re stuck?”

“For now. We could try seeing if there’s a window we can climb out of, but since the upper windows don’t open, we’d have to go through a broken one.” Connor stands again and throws away the trash, putting the first-aid kit back in the cabinet. “I’ll try calling 911 again in a bit, but I’m guessing we might be spending the night here at least.”

Evie, don’t think about the book you just edited. You know, the one where the hero and heroine get stuck overnight in a village apothecary shop and—

Oh my.

I said DON’T think about it!

Right. Gah. Shaking myself from the reverie, I fan my face with the excess material from Connor’s sleeve. “Okay. Well, it seems we still have some power.” Maybe no internet, but thankfully I don’t need that to do some basic editing. “I guess I’ll just get back to my work.”

Connor nods. “Sounds good. I’ll let you know when I get through to 911.” He helps me to my feet, but when I grimace, he scoops me up and I’m literally floating until he deposits me into my office chair.

Then before I can even thank him, he’s gone.

And the silence I once found peaceful now deafens me.