A Word, Miss Lehnert

Steve didn't say a single word as he escorted her toward the elevators.

The mirrored walls trapped her reflection from every angle.

None of them were flattering.

Her hair was a mess. Her blazer sat crooked on her shoulders, exposing most of her chest. Her skirt had ridden up. A faint sheen of perspiration caught the light at her throat and her cleavage.

The cool air circulating through the elevator should have helped.

It didn't.

If anything, it made her feel worse.
Overheated.
Exposed.

She couldn't shake the feeling that anyone who looked at her would immediately know something had happened upstairs.

Maybe not see it.

But sense it.

Smell it.

The thought hit hard enough that she instinctively held her breath.

There was no mistaking the scent of sweat clinging to her skin. Beneath it lingered something else. Something she refused to put a more specific name to, but it made her blush.

She crossed her legs.

Big mistake.

The movement only made her more aware of herself.

The dampness.
The sensitivity.

Everything she was trying not to think about.

Of course Steve noticed.

She looked away before she could catch whatever expression might be on his face.

The mirrors gave it right back to her anyway.

What she hated most wasn't him.

It was the realization that part of her wished they'd never left the rooftop.

That part of her wanted another hour.

Maybe more.

With him.

The elevator doors slid open without a sound.

The conference level stretched ahead of them: glass walls, muted lighting, expensive carpeting designed to absorb footsteps.

Fragments of conversation drifted through closed doors.

A man who looked born to spend his life in bureaucracy passed by without even glancing up. Green data streams flickered across the lenses of his smart glasses, visible only as faint reflections.

A holographic market ticker crawled across one wall.

Every number was green.

Every graph pointed upward.

For some reason that bothered her.

The world had kept moving.

Markets were rising.

Deals were being made.

Governments were functioning.

As if nothing had happened.

She shivered.

The doors to the Maxwell Conference Suite stood open.

Several delegates had already arrived.

Almost automatically, Marie's eyes moved to the center of the long table.

There he was.

Jenkins sat comfortably in his chair, legs spread, reviewing documents projected into his AR display.

As if he sensed her presence, he looked up.

And smiled.

That same thin, self-satisfied smile she'd grown to despise.

Her stomach tightened.

He looked like a man who knew everything about what had happened to her upstairs.

How?

You're getting paranoid, she told herself.

She returned his brief nod and headed toward her seat at the far end of the table.

The calm she projected had nothing to do with how she actually felt.

She was only a few steps away when Jenkins lifted a hand.

"Miss Lehnert. A word."

Then he stood.

Marie froze.

Where was he going?

The answer came almost immediately.

He was heading toward the side door adjoining the conference room.

A knot formed in her stomach.

Because she knew exactly what was behind it.

And suddenly she wasn't sure if she could follow.