Page 6 of Octane

“Did it ever occur to you that I might know what I’m doing?”

“Actually, no. I just thought you were trying to act out that scene from the movieSpeed.”

JACKSON

I watchas her eyes narrow at me again in response to my smart-ass comment. I can’t stop the smile that forms on my face.

I didn’t expect there to be anyone else in the elevator when I called it up to my floor this morning. It’s very rare that someone ends up there by accident. I didn’t initially realize it was occupied as I was lost in my phone, scrolling through my always full inbox. My nose was pleasantly assaulted with honeysuckle as soon as I stepped into the car. She’s striking, not the typical platinum blonde most often seen here in Los Angeles.

And thank goodness for that.

With a crazed mane of black curls and piercing blue eyes, she’s breathtaking and unique. It’s been a long time since the mere sight of a woman has gotten a hold of even an ounce of my attention. I thought she might be another unfortunate, snobby, rich girl. There are too many of those in this city. But now, I’m not sure. Sheispeculiar, however.

I was caught off guard by the leather jacket and racing logo on her coffee mug, though. She doesn’t seem the type to be into the sport. Maybe it belongs to the man in her life. My eyes travel to her left hand and notice the absence of a ring. Not that that means anything.

I would know. The ring I put on Kristen’s finger didn’t mean shit, either, apparently.

I was shocked when she said she was attempting to get us out of here. Once she got the first set of doors open, I was actually curious to see if she could pull it off. Until it looked like she was about to hurt herself. And especially not anymore after the elevator decided to take a slight plunge a second ago.

I watch as the keyring screwdriver of hers bends the more she tries to pry open the outer set of doors. I want to help her; I want to tell her that there is no use and that someone will be here to assist us shortly. But I also want to see what she plans to do next. She seems adamant that she can make it happen. Who am I to decide she can’t, as ridiculous as the notion is?

As she continues fighting with the doors, ruining a perfectly good flathead screwdriver, I take out my cell and call down to the security desk in our lobby. Mitch, the morning guard, should be able to help us out.

"I'm calling down to the desk. Maybe the call signal went out when we lost power to the car."

"Good luck with that," she snaps, vitriol darkening the beautiful features on her face.

Wow, she is wound tight. A real spitfire. I wonder who pissed in her Cheerios this morning. I laugh it off as she rolls her eyes and gets back to work.

Unfortunately, the elevator is blocking the cell signal I had a moment ago.

“Damn it, no service.”

I feel her stare on me again. My eyes flit briefly from my phone to her, and she looks away quickly.

Her face is shadowed in red from the emergency light that floods the car, and I’m finding it hard to pull myself from the trance that's beginning to take over me. She has an alluring magnetism that’s pulling me in. As if the devil himself has sent a siren to seduce me and drag me to hell.

Get a grip, Jackson.

Finally, it looks as though she’s giving up. She stands regarding the doors, appearing to be deep in thought about something. As she does this, she takes a slight step back and knocks her purse over. Some of its contents spill out onto the floor of the elevator. She either doesn’t notice, or she doesn't care. I leave it alone because one of the last things I ever want to be caught doing is rummaging through the secret contents of a lady's purse.

However, her name badge slides across the floor, only stopping when it lodges itself under my foot. I reach down for it, and the name catches my eye.

Sawyer Stone.

As in the Sawyer Stone whose manager I just spoke with yesterday? Sawyer Stone, as in the race car driver who I am interested in bringing on to my team? That would explain the coffee mug. But I had no idea Sawyer was a woman.

Does it matter?

I honestly don't know. I let that question sink in for a moment until the elevator car jolts to life once again. The inner doors that she got open close once more as we descend again.

"Oh, thank God!" she shouts. As confident as she was about being able to get the job done, I could tell that she was doubting herself. Now she doesn’t have to worry about it.

It’s then that I realize it doesn't matter at all that she's a girl. If she has enough drive to try and pry open the doors of an elevator so we can get out, she’s the type of person I want on my team.

"Told you. Sometimes you need to be your own hero."

“That would imply that you actually fixed the problem, though. Which I’m not certain you did,” I point out playfully.

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