Mira

Mira Vasquez turns into a parking space, spins the knob to kill the AC, and cuts the engine of the paint-worn hatchback. Releasing the steering wheel, she lifts her phone and glances at the time. Seven-fifty. Perfect. Stuffing the device in the inner pocket of a black, faux-leather shoulder bag, hot air fills her lungs as rays of the rising sun pierce the dark structure, heating the humid air in the small space. Sweat threatens to coalesce into beads on her forehead and she shoves the door open. She fights fanning her face and waving her arms like a chicken to stave off soaking her outfit as her heels clack across the pavement. Nose twitching with protest as the pungent smell from a nearby trash can fills her nostrils, she reaches the elevator and presses the button.

UNDERWRITTEN BY

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Her skirt seems to wick the water from the air and it clings to her thighs. She adjusts the thin cream blouse in her black waistband. An elevator ding offers hope of relief from the heat, but her wishes evaporate as she crosses the threshold. Musty, warm air engulfs her. With a short breath, she presses the button for the lobby. Two floors up, the cart opens to a swoosh of cool air. Crossing the marble lobby to a bank of elevators, she pushes the button. A door in front of her slides open, and she steps into the space. Watching the lights above the door, she exhales. You’ve got this. She grips her shoulder strap.

Doors open to a small vestibule, and as her foot falls on a dense rug, the heel gives in the soft fibers. She smiles as a woman beyond the glass doors lifts her chin and stands, the sides of her lips turning up. Seeing the nude, sleeveless dress on the woman, Mira regrets her suit choice. Black is classic, right? Within two strides, she pulls the brass handle and enters the cream-hued office.

“Good morning, Mira. It’s great to have you at Jordan Realty, officially.” The woman, wearing a name tag that reads Kimberly Knight, Jordan Realty, Inc., uses a voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you. I’m supposed to be meeting Sirena.”

“Yes, she’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you.” Mira marvels at the space—the wall of glass overlooking the park below, the hardwood floors spread with exotic textiles, paintings of the rolling hills of the Kentucky horse lands in subtle hues gracing the walls—and mentally pinches herself. Jordan Realty. The top real estate firm in the city seems like a pipe dream until someone earns the top ranking in the most grueling program in the state.

“Perfect Office Pact”

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Four days ago, she packed a small box from her fluorescent-lit client accounts cubicle and turned in the key card, saying goodbye to a three-year career at a regional bank. Now, she does her best to keep from swiveling her hips and waving her arms above her head in a celebration dance over the feat of occupying one of the most coveted slots in Lexington. She smiles and locks her hands in front of her body.

“No, not you,” a husky voice calls from behind her.

Blood rushes to her hands, and she stretches her fingers as her arch nemesis strides into the room. He’s an arrogant, gorgeous ass, wearing khaki-colored linen pants with a sharp line down the front of both legs, a white shirt with a starched collar, and a blue blazer, and he stops beside her.

She forces a smile. “Cade, are you—”

“Gorgeous? The smartest? Still? Yes. And working here? Yep. They hired the top of the class.” Sliding both hands into his pockets, he rocks on his heels.

Spreading her shoulders, she mentally recites the first lines of the Lord’s prayer. Thy will be done. This guy ignites every immature neuron in her brain.

“And you are Cade Jordan.” She angles her chin.

His lips morph into a smile. “Everybody thinks that we’re related. I hear this place is cutthroat. Hope you can handle the heat.”

Opening and closing her mouth, she locks down the urge to remind him she beat him by six-tenths of a point.

“Oh, good, you’re getting acquainted. We like our new hires to bond. It can really help to have a buddy to navigate these first months.” Dressed in a khaki suit and white eyelet blouse, their mentor appears before them.

After a whispered greeting to Kimberly, the woman waves Mira and Cade down the hall, explaining how the tech person will set up our computers first. Stopping at an interior office holding two desks separated by a glass divider, the woman leaves the pair to find the tech person. No, Mira’s mind screams. If I have to share an office with Cade, I’m doomed. She sets her bag on the closest desk, staking her claim.

“It’s okay.” Cade leans in, his warm breath washing over her cheek. “I’ll have the office to myself soon.”

Later that evening…

Declan

Dark brown hair catches Declan’s eye. He’d know that form anywhere. It’s the one that unnerves him beyond reason. Why he’d approved her hire, he has no clue. Well, he does. She made the most sense on paper, but she pricks every nerve in his body. Bold and charismatic, she smells of jasmine, and his brain literally stops when she’s around. It makes no sense, but it’s like she’s just too much energy to take in, and his mind stops processing. He grips the steering wheel.

Who is she with? He notes the garage-logoed shirt dangling from the slack jeans. It’s a garage employee, either off duty or out of uniform. Mira’s head turns one way then the other in jerky movements. This looks odd even for her. He catches sight of her wide eyes and knows something is wrong.

Mira

Motion catches her eye, and a silent, incredibly-shiny, black vehicle appears beside them. Praying the person in the car isn’t with the guy beside her, she stops. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her temples pound. Think, Mira. Your computer. She grips the straps of her bag, intending to lob the thing at his head and make a run for the exit if need be.

The car stops, and the dark window opens. For as much as he grates her every nerve, she’s never been so happy to see Declan Jordan in her life.

His eyes pan to the guy beside her and then to her face. “Mindy? I thought that was you. I can’t believe it. It’s been forever. How have you been?”

He opens the door, and cold air washes over her. She releases a breath as he steps out of the car. A head taller than the stalker, Declan’s still got nothing on the other guy’s wide shoulders and biceps.

Crossing in front of the guy, Declan leans in and hugs her. “You look amazing. What’s it been? Like, two years?”

Running her hand through her hair, she nods. “Wow, yeah. You still in Lexington?”

“It appears so.” He places his hand in the center of her back. “Are you headed to your car? I can give you a lift.”

The stalker steps towards them. “She was sort of walking with me, so.”

Eyes on Declan, she raises her chin. “That’d be nice. I’d love to catch up.”

Arm between Mira and the stalker, Declan motions her towards the car. She winds around the front, and Declan follows.

“Okay, yeah, well, I’ll see you around.” The stalker guy backs away.

Passing her, Declan opens and closes his palms then touches a button. The door rises, and she climbs into the vehicle, sitting on the cool leather seat. Her hands shake as she reaches for the seatbelt. Out the front windshield, she watches the stalker cross the lot and walk down the adjacent ramp. Forehead pouring sweat, drops rolling down her nose, she angles the air vent right to her face, digs in her bag for a tissue, and pats her arms and face. I’m safe. And Declan Jordan hugged me?

Almost soundlessly, Declan slides in beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the smooth hero moment.”

Maria Jane is an award-winning author and Georgia native who has called Colorado’s Front Range home for almost 20 years. She began her writing career as a technical writer in the patent field and added fiction to her resume with her first published novel, penned under Tricia Copeland, in 2015. Tricia/Maria has released over 20 novels in young adult fantasy fiction, dystopian fiction, women’s fiction, and romance genres. Learn more at mariajaneromance.com or triciacopeland.com.