Putting Out Old Flames by Allyson Charles Page A

for nothing more than an offhand perusal.
    â€œMiss Willoughby?” The receptionist hung up the phone. “Our manager, Mr. Yu, will meet you up in the ballroom. Do you know how to get there?”
    â€œYes, thanks.” Walking over to the bank of elevators, Jane pushed the up button. Chance rocked on his heels beside her, his thumbs looped in the front pockets of his faded jeans. He started whistling, and Jane ground her teeth.
    How could he be so relaxed about this? Didn’t it churn his guts to be around her? Just seeing his slightly crooked smile, hearing his deep baritone, made her heart feel like a pincushion. The fact that he was totally unaffected by her presence made her ache.
    She hadn’t meant anything to him at all.
    The doors slid open and they walked inside. The elevator was roomy, the far wall covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, but when the doors shut, the air felt close, the area tight. Chance’s broad frame dominated the space.
    She punched the button for the second floor. A grinding squeal erupted when the car began its climb. That didn’t sound good. “I hope they grease the wheels before the fundraiser.”
    Chance frowned and looked at the ceiling, as if he could see through it to the gears above. “It doesn’t need grease. It—”
    The elevator lurched to a stop. The lights flickered, and Jane reached out a hand to brace herself. Chance gripped her elbow, steadied her.
    She looked over at him, her eyes stretched wide. “Holy crap. Are we stuck?”
    Guiding her a step back from the control panel, Chance smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” He pressed the door open button. Nothing. The button to go back to the lobby. The elevator groaned but didn’t move.
    Jane sucked in a deep breath. She hadn’t thought she had a problem with enclosed spaces, but she’d never been trapped in an elevator before. How long did it take to run out of air? The box appeared to be about six feet by four feet wide, eight feet high. So the square footage was . . . oh, who was she kidding? She sucked at math.
    Chance punched another button.
    â€œWhy did you pull me back?” she asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended. But better to sound bitchy than scared. “I could have pushed random buttons.”
    He raised that damned eyebrow. “Relax. We’ll be out of here soon. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Running his finger down the certificate taped to the wall, he frowned. “Christ,” he muttered. “It figures.”
    Jane ignored the certificate and concentrated on what was important. His absurd accusation. “’Course not.” She pulled her tank away from the front of her body, fanned herself with the fabric. “I just have a lot to get done today. My to-do list for this fundraiser is huge, and I don’t want to waste time stuck in a tin can with you.”
    â€œI’m your cochair. If you’d unclench a little and bring me up-to-date, I could help you with that list.” He pushed a red button. “And you didn’t used to feel that way. The backseat of my Chevy truck was a lot smaller than this, and you didn’t have any complaints about ‘wasting time’ with me then.”
    Only the side of his face was visible, but it was enough for Jane to see the edge of his lips tipped up in a smile. Her chest burned. “I’ll have you know—”
    â€œShh,” he said, as a crackling noise came from a speaker in the panel. “Hello, anyone there?”
    â€œThis is Rajesh with Ford Elevator Company? We’re registering that you’re calling from elevator number two at the Regency Hotel in Pineville, Michigan. Is that correct?”
    â€œThat’s correct,” Chance said. “We’re stuck between the first and second floors. Can we get some help out here?”
    Silence.
    Jane leaned forward to jab the red button again.