Page 102 of The Heiress's First Date

“The elevator got stuck?”

“It stopped. I don’t know if stuck is the right word. The power went out, I’m guessing because water and electricity... not good bedfellows.”

Okay. That makes sense. And I’m not surprised Kingston had a panic attack. Every time he’s gotten five feet from an elevator, his movements get all robotic. He dives into his phone and I swear he’s either counting his breaths or the floors.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah. I talked him off the ledge. Then he tried to climb out through the ceiling panels,” he says with a wry laugh.

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a smart solution.” But fear does weird things to people.

A lamp clicks on behind me and I glance over my shoulder to find Katherine wrapped in her robe, hair in a delightful disarray.

“I’ll text you when we take off,” I tell him.

“’K. Fly safe.”

Katherine crosses to me, and I lose my phone before reaching for her. She slides into my arms like she was always meant to be there. Because she was.

“Hey,” she says softly, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the night. But I’m pretty sure I disturbed her quiet. “Everything okay?”

God, I love this woman. It’s the middle of the night, and she’s checking on me. It’s such a small thing, yet it feels big. So many people don’t have that.

“Gabe called. There was a flood in our building. They’ve been evacuated.”

“What?” she cries, alarm ringing through the luxurious suite.

I guide her to the sofa. Settling on the cushion, I tug her into my lap. Why is it that anytime her cute little ass is propped on my thigh, everything seems right?

“I don’t know any details yet. Just that they were on the elevator when it happened.”

“Oh my god. I’ve got to call King. He’ll be out of his mind.”

She launches to her feet and races into the bedroom. A handful of seconds later, she returns with her phone, fingers flying over the virtual keys.

“Gabe handled it. King is okay,” I assure her.

She pauses, lifting worried eyes to mine. “He’s been afraid of elevators for as long as I’ve known him.”

I pat my thigh. “Gabe said they’re staying in a brownstone tonight. No elevator needed.”

She visibly relaxes at the news, then curls up in my lap again, tucked tight against my chest. Heavenly.

“His parents bought a brownstone,” she murmurs. “So he wouldn’t have to suffer.”

I can’t imagine trying to live and work in New York City and being terrified of elevators. There’s no land left, so developers just build higher. I can understand why he left.

“No wonder he’s so close to them.”

“Right? They’ve always been considerate.”

Which is the opposite of her own mother. She doesn’t have to say it. We’re both thinking it.

I’m grateful she had the Saints as an example, a refuge when she was growing up. There’s no doubt being a good parent is probably one of the toughest jobs in the world, but it’s always amazing to me just how terrible some are. The things Gabe told me about his childhood were chilling.

I press a kiss into her hair. “I’ll wake up the pilot so we can head home.”

“Wait,” she whispers, hand on my chest. “Don’t wake her. Not yet. There’s nothing we can do right now, anyway, right?”

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