“Seriously? I’m trapped in an elevator with someone who loves Twizzlers? Just means more for me then. Hey, are you sure that wasn’t why you were fired because loving Twizzlers is one of those things that is hard to overlook.”

“Hardy-har-har,” I say with a shake of my head.

“Did you actually just say hardy-har-har?” He laughs.

“Yes. It’s been a shit day. I’m allowed to say whatever the hell I want.” But I smile and it feels so damn good after the day I’ve had.

I squat back down as gracefully as I can in my skirt to continue picking up the vomit of brown parcels that pretty much look identical at my feet. The packages that are supposed to be my ticket to making a difference in this place. My first step in working my way up the corporate ladder that apparently ends at the first rung for me.

“You know I could help you, right? It doesn’t make you any less capable if I do.”

“Mmm.” It’s all I say knowing I’m mad at him for not helping me and at the same time acknowledging I don’t want his help.

Or rather, maybe it’s that I don’t want his help because the more he talks, the more he makes me laugh, the more I’m forgetting he’s one of those who work here I’m not supposed to like.

The more I can pretend that he’s not as attractive as he really is.

“Mmm?” He repeats the sound I made back at me. “Is that a yes, you’ll accept my help now, or a no, you think I’m a bastard simply because I have a dick, type of sound?”

My eyes flash up to meet his from where he stands and amusement lights up his eyes, but his face remains completely impassive all but for the muscle feathering in his jaw.

And of course, now my mind is fixated on his dick.

“Cute.” I force the word out, just like I force myself to stop thinking of his particular package.

He shrugs. “You’re the one who was going to chew me out for helping. I’d rather keep my hands firmly attached than risk one being ripped off.” He holds his hands out and wiggles his fingers. “They do come in handy.”

“I’ve got it,” I huff out, mad at myself for not letting him help before the words are even out. “Thank you for offering though,” I add, more than willing to admit my bad mood isn’t his fault.

“You’re welcome.”

The silence returns followed by a clank somewhere above us that has me looking up at the ceiling and catching his eye.

“You can stop staring at me now,” I mutter as I grab another package and place it in the pile.

“I haven’t seen you around. Are you new to the company?”