Penthouse Perfect
By
Carolina Moon
Copyright © 2013 ButtonFly Books
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief (200 words or less) quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Penthouse Perfect
Lia Davies was staring blankly at herself in the mirrored elevator walls when the chime sounded, interrupting her thoughts. Blinking, she realized that she was going up instead of down. She sighed and curled her fingers into loose fists, then tried in vain to loosen the muscles in her shoulders. What next? I’m already twenty minutes late for work because of this damned elevator.
No wonder there was never anyone else on this elevator. It was faster to walk.
She and the maintenance guy Tim had tried to get her car battery to charge, to no avail, so she’d had to run back upstairs to change out of her grease-stained dress and call her boss to warn him of her impending but momentary absence. The problem was that this stupid elevator was so. Freakin’. Slow. By the time she got to her home phone, she was already ten minutes late.
And now, instead of going down to her bus ride – the car didn’t start at all – she was headed up.
Part of the problem was the size of the building. It was fifty-two stories in all, and she had inherited her Gran’s apartment on the twenty-first floor. It was a lovely apartment, but very far from the ground. Gran had loved it, because of the view, but then Gran hadn’t had to get to work on time every day.
At least it’s got an elevator.
Why? It wouldn’t hurt you to climb a few stairs.
HA! On the twenty-first floor, that would be three hundred and fifteen stairs. No thank you, brain.
You could do that. In fact, you should - twice a day. You could be a size ten in no time.
I could be crippled, too. Or dead of a heart attack. Remember – if I die, you die.
Her brain had no answer for that.
Just as she began to gloat over her silent victory, the chime announced the penthouse, the smooth doors slid open and Joel Cortran stepped inside, looking through some sort of leather book. Today he was wearing a black suit with a silk dress shirt, but the jacket was thrown carelessly over his arm.
Sigh-worthy.
Definitely.
I’m glad we agree.
Like it matters.
The man was so far out of her league that he was playing a different game altogether.
She fervently wished that she was wearing something a little sexier, or not. She wasn’t fat, exactly, but she wasn’t a size three, either, and revealing clothes made her feel naked. Still, the plain blue dress must offend his very eyes. At least her black heels were sexy.
Lia swallowed hard, mumbled hello, and stared at the floor…the softly lit buttons…her hands… Anywhere but at him. She felt her face turn red and gave up breathing altogether. Which was good, because whatever delicious aftershave he was wearing made her knees instantly weak.
It wasn’t because of him – the couple of times that she had spoken with him, he had been a perfect gentleman. He had even invited her to his housewarming ( penthousewarming? ) party, but she had been too flabbergasted by the invitation to actually go. It was cowardly, but she couldn’t help it.
So, no, it wasn’t him. It was all those fantasies she’d had about him. Night after night she had imagined them in exotic locales making sweet, sweet love. She imagined running her fingertips through the dark, too-long hair that feathered around his collar and glinted with reddish highlights. She imagined reaching up to caress the hard chest that resided just under the silk shirts
By
Carolina Moon
Copyright © 2013 ButtonFly Books
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief (200 words or less) quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Penthouse Perfect
Lia Davies was staring blankly at herself in the mirrored elevator walls when the chime sounded, interrupting her thoughts. Blinking, she realized that she was going up instead of down. She sighed and curled her fingers into loose fists, then tried in vain to loosen the muscles in her shoulders. What next? I’m already twenty minutes late for work because of this damned elevator.
No wonder there was never anyone else on this elevator. It was faster to walk.
She and the maintenance guy Tim had tried to get her car battery to charge, to no avail, so she’d had to run back upstairs to change out of her grease-stained dress and call her boss to warn him of her impending but momentary absence. The problem was that this stupid elevator was so. Freakin’. Slow. By the time she got to her home phone, she was already ten minutes late.
And now, instead of going down to her bus ride – the car didn’t start at all – she was headed up.
Part of the problem was the size of the building. It was fifty-two stories in all, and she had inherited her Gran’s apartment on the twenty-first floor. It was a lovely apartment, but very far from the ground. Gran had loved it, because of the view, but then Gran hadn’t had to get to work on time every day.
At least it’s got an elevator.
Why? It wouldn’t hurt you to climb a few stairs.
HA! On the twenty-first floor, that would be three hundred and fifteen stairs. No thank you, brain.
You could do that. In fact, you should - twice a day. You could be a size ten in no time.
I could be crippled, too. Or dead of a heart attack. Remember – if I die, you die.
Her brain had no answer for that.
Just as she began to gloat over her silent victory, the chime announced the penthouse, the smooth doors slid open and Joel Cortran stepped inside, looking through some sort of leather book. Today he was wearing a black suit with a silk dress shirt, but the jacket was thrown carelessly over his arm.
Sigh-worthy.
Definitely.
I’m glad we agree.
Like it matters.
The man was so far out of her league that he was playing a different game altogether.
She fervently wished that she was wearing something a little sexier, or not. She wasn’t fat, exactly, but she wasn’t a size three, either, and revealing clothes made her feel naked. Still, the plain blue dress must offend his very eyes. At least her black heels were sexy.
Lia swallowed hard, mumbled hello, and stared at the floor…the softly lit buttons…her hands… Anywhere but at him. She felt her face turn red and gave up breathing altogether. Which was good, because whatever delicious aftershave he was wearing made her knees instantly weak.
It wasn’t because of him – the couple of times that she had spoken with him, he had been a perfect gentleman. He had even invited her to his housewarming ( penthousewarming? ) party, but she had been too flabbergasted by the invitation to actually go. It was cowardly, but she couldn’t help it.
So, no, it wasn’t him. It was all those fantasies she’d had about him. Night after night she had imagined them in exotic locales making sweet, sweet love. She imagined running her fingertips through the dark, too-long hair that feathered around his collar and glinted with reddish highlights. She imagined reaching up to caress the hard chest that resided just under the silk shirts
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