“Subtlety is your strong suit, I take it?” he asks, turning now to face me. There’s something in his voice, a faint lilt in a word I don’t quite catch, but the thought fades from my mind when his eyes hold mine. “And what exactly do you mean about Christmas bonuses?”

Unnerved by the intensity of his stare, I glance anywhere but at him. I take in his flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The breadth of his shoulders. The rich yet subtle scent of his cologne. What else he’s wearing I have no idea because I can’t see below my stack of packages.

When I look back up to his eyes as the silence dominates the space, I recall his finger was pushing the fifteen button on the panel.

“Never mind. You’re on one of the floors that actually gets a bonus. Forget I said that.” I blow out a breath to force my bangs off my face as my heavy coat, this tight space, and my freely running mouth have me getting hot all of a sudden.

Or maybe it’s him—hot in all the right ways and I hate that the thought even crosses my mind.

“No.” He takes a step closer and my packages wobble in my arms. But he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s too focused on me. “What did you mean by that?”

The rush of today’s events fills my head and hurts my heart so that all the fucks I’d like to give seem to dissipate in that single word, no.

I look at him. He’s part of the problem. The man who walks into an elevator without a glance backward to the quirky girl from the mailroom whose arms are full. Always too busy trying to save what he seems is the world, one pair of panties at a time.

Jerk.

Take a step back, Jules. Keep your mouth shut. Burning a bridge is never a good thing. Even if some prick like him is the reason you were just fired.

If you finish your deliveries and don’t make a scene, Jules, you’ll get paid through the end of the week.

The nasally voice of my boss, Barney, and his comment runs through my mind quickly followed by the list of mounting bills I have whose balances I know by heart.

And almost like fate needs to reinforce my luck and lot in life during probably the shittiest of holiday seasons in my life, the elevator harshly jolts up. Yep. You guessed it. That precariously stacked bunch of packages tumbles out of my hands and scatters to the floor accompanied by my strangled cry as I try to steady myself.

Mr. Flannel Shirt emits a noise that’s way more sophisticated sounding than mine in reaction.