“It means that you’re from the fifteenth floor. One of the guys with the condescending smirks and the grabby hands that happen when no one is looking. You’re the executive who pays no more attention to the girl from the mail room than he does the shit he sells. Shit that only fits the eye-candy he wears on his arm instead of fitting the everyday woman who would kill to feel sexy like that for a single moment. That’s what I mean by the fifteenth floor.” She nods resolutely like I have a fucking clue what she’s talking about when I don’t before looking back down and gathering the scattered panties.

I fight the square of my shoulders at her words. At her observations. At everything I haven’t noticed over the past eight months since my grandfather unexpectedly died because I’ve been so busy taking the crash course in learning how to run this place.

Christmas bonuses not being paid to all our employees. Sexual harassment by the executives. Christ. More things I need to look into. More ways I need to bring Garters & Lace up to speed from my grandfather’s antiquated ways.

And at the same time though . . . I remember the chill of the mail room. The miserable hours and unappreciated work. The dismissive attitude of the top floors toward those who work the bottom floors. The crappy food that was months past its expiration in the vending machines.

I might be running things now, but Gramps made me learn this place from the ground up.

“So what floor are you on, huh?” Jules asks and pulls me from my thoughts.

“I don’t work here at Garters & Lace.” The lie rolls off my tongue and I don’t regret it one bit.

“Ha. Yes, you do. I’ve seen you strutting in here before.”

“Strutting?” I laugh. “I don’t strut.”

She just twists her lips as she stares at me, her eyes telling me I do, the ghost of a smile on her lips reinforcing it.

“Yes, you do. I bet you strut right up to the top floor.” She raises her eyebrows and sighs before looking back down to the package in her hand.

“No, seriously.” I grasp for an excuse, anything to have her look at me again. “Just dropping off a marketing plan.”

“For what?”

“The new fall line.” She looks at me, those eyes electrifying, and I can see the moment she buys it. “What did you mean about the shit they sell?”

Another snort. “See? I told you, you were the problem.”

This woman. She’s confusing as fuck and I need a damn roadmap to follow her but hell if I don’t want to take the ride while we’re stuck here in the elevator.

“Come again?” I ask.