CHAPTER THREE
Olivia stood in the near-empty elevator, listening to the innocuous music piped into the car, watching the numbers light up as it climbed from the parking garage’s third level. She’d gotten in late last night and had found a message waiting from Jack Marshall. He had a new assignment and wanted her in his office at nine sharp for the briefing. There’d been concern in his voice, so this case must have been an important one.
Immersing herself in a new case would be a good way to keep from dwelling over the lies she’d told her family. Why on Earth had she let them think she had a serious boyfriend? Now, instead of the news they expected, she’d have to compound the sin by telling them she’d broken off the relationship. That would send her mother off on another matchmaking spree … She couldn’t think about it now and risk a migraine over something she couldn’t fix overnight.
The elevator jolted to a stop on the main floor, and several people entered the car, forcing her back against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she moved the coffee she carried in her left hand out of the way, grateful it hadn’t spilled all over her. She swallowed awkwardly. Small spaces made her uncomfortable. There wasn’t enough breathable air in them. If it weren’t for the fact her firm’s offices were on the ninth and tenth floors, she’d take the stairs.
Glancing at her watch, she yawned. Jet lag. Her body was out of sync. The alarm had gone off at seven, but her brain had screamed, it’s only five in the morning! Her plane had been delayed sixteen hours because of the weather, and she’d been grateful to get a flight back yesterday. Traveling first class, thanks to Veronica’s Christmas present, had its advantages. Even so, she’d be exhausted when she got home tonight, but taking another day off wasn’t an option. It had taken two cups of strong coffee to get her thought processes to work.
She’d showered and dressed for work in one of the new outfits she’d purchased in Denver, hoping it would give her a much needed boost of confidence. Now, if this great assignment Jack mentioned panned out, she’d be in a better mood by lunchtime. If it was more of the same, she’d need to take a few rounds out of the punching bag in the gym to calm her temper.
Ordinarily, Olivia arrived at the office around eight-fifteen, in plenty of time to park on the first level, before most of the others who worked in the building showed up. She generally made the trip up to her office alone without the constant starts and stops of people getting on and off. Note to self, don’t be late again.
The elevator was slower than normal, crammed full of bodies and odors from different perfumes and colognes. As it slowly made its way up the building, she let her mind wander back to her visit home. Anything was better than dwelling on the combined weight of the car’s occupants.
Colorado had been its usual frigid self, but she’d missed the dry cold and the snow, far more than she’d expected she would. She’d felt the pull of the chair lift and closed her eyes as memories of flying down the slopes with the wind in her face teased her. She’d almost given in to Molly’s pleading—almost—but then someone had mentioned Erik, and her resolve had fallen firmly back into place. Running into her teammates had been the worse, and when they’d mentioned the one-legged skiing technique their new coach was using, she’d almost come undone.
The elevator lurched again, dragging her back. With each stop, the number of people in the elevator decreased, and she began to feel less confined. By the time they reached the sixth floor, there were only two people left—herself and a man. She’d started when he’d brushed against her earlier, but she hadn’t seen his face. Now, she looked up into hazel eyes staring at her as if she were the number one item on the dessert menu. She was waiting for him to lick his chops.
Normally, she’d ignore the man, but there was something about the way he was looking at her that both annoyed her and warmed her inside. He resembled the imaginary boyfriend she’d created to appease her parents and that increased her discomfort.
Get a grip, Livy.
No man had ever affected her this way—why him? Why now? Did he really look like her ideal man? Maybe, just a little around the eyes, but he was making her feel like a specimen on a microscope slide, and she resented it.
“Is there some reason why you’re staring at me like that?” She was exasperated by his perceived rudeness.
He chuckled, and Olivia’s heart jumped into her throat. The sound of his laughter was pleasant and eerily familiar.
His hazel eyes twinkled. “Is there a law in America against admiring an attractive woman?”
British. His voice sent goose bumps racing further along her flesh, annoying her. The heavy accent was similar to her father’s but far more pronounced. His appreciative gaze raked her up and down, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. She despised her fair skin and its tendency to blush. Why did this man attract her when she’d sworn never to get involved with any man again? Seeing her nephew must have reset her biological clock. So much for having it under control.
She’d never thought a man could be beautiful, but this one was. He stared at her from behind black-framed glasses, and his full beard and mustache were as neatly trimmed as his hair, reminding her of Ben Affleck, one of her favorite actors
“Admiring is one thing, leering is another,” she said sharper than she’d intended. His actions discomforted her.
He grinned, and her stomach flip-flopped.
“Touché. My apologies, but I can’t be the first man who’s ever stared at you. I’ve seen many stunning women in my life, but none with hair like yours. It’s alive, on fire.”
Olivia frowned. He was hard to understand, but she knew he was talking about her hair, a sore spot with her, and knowing it was the reason for his behavior added insult to injury. She was about to say something when she caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall and winced.
No wonder he’s staring at me.
As usual, her hair had a mind of its own. Her long, curly, flame-red tresses bounced against the shoulders of her coat. Instead of sitting flat in some semblance of the style she’d put it in earlier in the day, the dry, indoor winter air had turned it into a mass of fly-away curls intent on going in whichever directions they preferred. She looked like Medusa, her wayward locks reminding her of snakes slithering around on her head like those on the gorgon. She tried to pat her head down with her right hand, but the static just made it worse.
I shouldn’t have worn that hat.
While some people said her hair was beautiful—to her it was still the wild, unruly, carrot-red mop she’d hated as a child—the one she’d been teased to tears about on more occasions than one. She’d tried cutting it short, but she’d found it even harder to manage that way. She should have dyed it some uncomplimentary shade of mouse brown, and she would have, if she hadn’t promised Tamara she’d never do such a thing.
“Is that its natural color?”
Exasperated, Olivia growled. “No, it’s usually sky-blue pink with orange polka dots.”
Instead of being offended, the man burst out laughing.
“Aye. And a temper to match. Beautiful, Red.”
The use of her nickname further infuriated her. The doors swished open on the ninth floor, and Olivia darted out, almost hitting the mailroom attendant waiting to get on, barely holding onto her cup of coffee. The man in the elevator’s laughter followed her down the hall until the doors slid shut. She’d seen the look on his face when she’d dashed out. It was as if he knew she was running away and was amused by it. The gesture made her angrier. Now, she had to walk up to the tenth floor. This day was just getting better and better, but there was no way she could have stayed in the elevator with that man. If he’d said another word, she’d either have thrown the coffee at him or punched him. Why can’t I have an ordinary, uneventful day? Is that too much to ask for, Lord?