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close and the elevator would leave and I would be able to keep a tiny ounce of my dignity intact.  But then his hand shot out, catching the doors, and I wondered if this is what it would feel like to die from politeness. 
     
    He arched an eyebrow and I realized I was still standing there like an idiot.  But he was smiling now, smiling at me as if the entire world wasn’t in shambles.  “Going down?” he said, his voice edged in humor, though the light in his blue eyes said it wasn’t at my expense.  The first sound of his voice always sent a shiver up my spine, and even now I twitched and almost purred to hear it.
     
    “You have no idea,” I muttered out, my penchant for sarcasm getting the better of me, and immediately blushed bright scarlet. 
     
    “Oh, I’m quite good at guessing,” he chuckled, reaching out with his free hand to grasp my elbow and propel me forward.  He must not have been convinced I could do it myself, and he might have been right.  Either way, I felt the shock of contact as his fingers touched my skin, the same I’d always felt when we shook hands at the reception desk.  The same I imagined when I was alone in my bed at night, picturing his gorgeous face and bringing myself to spiraling heights of pleasure.
     
    I slid in beside him, noisily adjusting my cardboard box as the doors closed.  Suddenly it occurred to me how very small elevators actually are.  I could smell the subtle musky tones of his aftershave, could hear his even breaths echoing in our little box.  My own breath was coming in nervous hiccups, and I could feel myself blushing again.  “Thank you,” I whispered, not exactly sure what I was thanking him for.  For not mentioning how disheveled I was, for being kind when he didn’t need to, for just existing and giving me something to keep me warm once I made it home and downed a bottle of wine.
     
    I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and could see him smiling again, and he nodded.  “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially.  “Once I buy this place, I’ll sack the lot of them.”
     
    It surprised a laugh out of me, and then he grinned so brightly that I couldn’t stop laughing.  He joined me, and the tension between us dissolved as we both relaxed and I remembered that it wasn’t the end of the world.  It was just a job, and I would find another one.  “God, I needed that,” I sighed, still smiling as I wiped at my cheeks again, though the few tears I’d shed were from laughter rather than the horrified shock of earlier.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sellers.  I’m sure you didn’t expect to have to deal with my mess today.”
     
    “Richard,” he corrected quickly.  “And on the contrary, Regina,” he said, sending a flutter through me at hearing my name in his posh accent.  “I would have been quite upset to have visited again to find you mysteriously gone.  Though I am still unhappy at the prospect of saying goodbye to you,” he said, catching my eye and giving another of his quiet smiles.
     
    I fidgeted with the corner of my box, feeling suddenly self-conscious.  Was he just being polite?  I bit my lip, and his gaze wandered down to my mouth, and I felt another jolt of that electricity between us.  Was this really happening?  “I’d hate to make you unhappy,” I murmured, surprising myself with my own boldness, but I was officially an unemployed artist.  What did I have to lose?
     
    His bright blue eyes shifted back up to meet mine, and for a moment I couldn’t think.  Then the damnable elevator bell rang, and the doors opened onto the lobby of the building.  I blushed again and turned to go, but before I could take a single step I felt his hand slide comfortably into the curve of my lower back.  “In that case,” he chuckled, guiding me out of the elevator and across the floor, “lunch is on me.  I assume you haven’t any plans for the rest of the day?”
     
    I laughed again, enjoying the