Chapter 7 Unmasked Briefly
The things I'd say if I had even an ounce of courage: "Sir, if you would just slow down! This isn't the apocalypse where we're trying to outrun a pack of brain-eating zombies!"
I scramble to keep up with Lawrence's long strides on these damn heels.
We're only five minutes late to the meeting—blame Manhattan's traffic—but Lawrence is marching through the lobby like we're an hour behind and the company's about to implode.
My calves are freaking screaming.
He reaches the private elevator first, presses the button, and steps inside without so much as a backward glance. I have to sprint the last few yards and practically jump through the closing doors before they seal me out.
God, this man.
The elevator hums upward, and Lawrence checks his watch immediately.
"Six minutes now," he mutters to himself, with a frown, shaking his head.
I lean against the mirrored wall, trying to catch my breath.
It's not as if the meeting will start without him; he's the one everyone's waiting for.
Today's briefing is about an update on the security breach.
We're meeting with the head of cybersecurity, a couple of senior executives, and the external forensics team we brought in. As his executive assistant, I'm required to be present.
I pull my tablet from my bag and swipe through the agenda and prepared files, forcing myself to focus when a violent jolt suddenly rocks the car, throwing me forward.
Before I can even think, Lawrence moves quickly. One strong arm grabs my waist, pulling me against his chest before I fall.
My tablet slips from my fingers, but his free hand reaches out and catches it.
The whole rescue takes less than two seconds, yet my heart is hammering like it's been minutes.
For a dazed moment, I'm pressed against him, feeling his warmth, smelling his cologne, hearing the thump of his heartbeat under my palms.
I tilt my head back, blinking up at him, still processing what the hell just happened, when the elevator stops.
Lawrence's expression instantly changes from concern to alert.
He steadies me on my feet, returns my tablet, and moves to the panel, jabbing the emergency call button firmly.
"Oh my God," I whisper, the reality sinking in. "Are we… are we stuck?"
He doesn't answer me.
The button beeps, and a voice crackles through the speaker, acknowledging the alert, promising maintenance is on the way.
Lawrence starts pacing impatiently, his hands settling on his narrow waist.
If this is still about being late to the meeting, he really needs to take a chill pill.
The situation we're in is more grave than that.
"They'll have it fixed soon," I say, trying to sound calm. "These things happen. Probably just a sensor glitch or…"
He loosens his tie, yanking it free from his collar entirely and unbuttoning his suit.
Something is wrong.
Lawrence's face has gone unnaturally pale, his jaw grinding so tight I can see the strain against his cheek. And his eyes are fixed on the doors.
It takes me less than a second to piece it together.
He's claustrophobic.
I step toward him carefully, my voice soft. "Mr Moore."
He doesn't look at me. His breathing has gone shallow, but he's controlling it so he doesn't lose it entirely.
"Hey." I reach out slowly and touch his forearm. The muscle is rock-hard under my fingers. "Look at me."
His gaze lifts to mine.
For the first time since I've known him, he looks lost.
"Breathe with me, okay?" I take an exaggerated slow inhale through my nose, hold it, and let it out through my mouth.
He stares at me with a subtle frown, like he's about to resist, because for once he isn't in control here. But after a few seconds, he copies the rhythm.
We repeat it three times. On the third exhale, the warmth starts returning to his cheeks.
"Good," I say softly. "That's really good, sir."
"Keep talking," he rasps.
"Sir?"
"The talking distracts me. Keep talking."
"Oh. Okay, uh…" My mind goes completely blank.
Brilliant. The one time I need to be chatty, my brain serves up nothing but white noise.
"Miss Thorn, for God's sake…" He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, disrupting the perfect style, then lets out another breath. Slowly, he folds his long frame down until he's crouching, his forehead nearly touching his knees, while his elbows rest on his thighs.
I lower myself to my knees right in front of him. Our faces are close now, and I can see the way his pulse beats fast at his throat.
"Okay, okay," I whisper, reaching out to rest both my hands lightly over his, where they're clenched on his knees. "I've got you."
He doesn't pull away.
"So… random topic," I start. "You know how you caught that tablet before it hit the floor? That was such a Spider-Man move. I swear on my life."
Lawrence smirks faintly.
"One second it's falling, the next it's just in your hand. Like how?" I fold my arms dramatically. "If we get out of here, I'm telling the whole floor that Mr Moore has spider senses."
His shoulders relax a little, and he lifts his head. "You could tell them I have invulnerability, too."
"Oh, I absolutely would." I squeeze his hands lightly.
He smiles at me. It's very small, barely there, but it's something.
And I don't know why, but it makes me feel warm.
"Better?" I ask quietly.
The panic in his eyes has receded, though I can still feel the tension in his fingers under mine.
"Yeah," he admits, his voice rough.
"You're not trapped," I tell him calmly. "This elevator probably stops dozens of times a day. Someone will reset it, and the doors will open."
Lawrence stares at me for a moment before looking away. "I hate this," he mutters.
"I know," I whisper. After a while, I sit back on my haunches. "So, how long has this been a thing?"
Lawrence settles on the floor, leaning his head back against the wall. "Since I was six. Got locked in a wine cellar during a game of hide-and-seek at my uncle's friend's estate. Took them six hours to find me." His voice is hoarse, like the memory still hurts.
He clears his throat. "I ride elevators all the time, I can handle a few minutes in them. But when a mini accident like this happens, I can't help but feel…" his eyes meet mine. "...trapped."
I nod in understanding. "I get it."
Six hours locked in a wine cellar as a child is enough to traumatize one for life.
"Well," I say lightly, "lucky for you, you're stuck with me for now. The best distraction in Manhattan."
He scoffs. "Yeah, right."
The elevator gives a sudden, hopeful lurch, and the overhead lights brighten before the car hums back to life.
"Looks like they've fixed the problem," I say lightly, even as a small wave of disappointment washes through me at the thought of this intimate moment ending.
Lawrence straightens, then rises to his feet suavely, as if the moment of vulnerability never happened. He offers me his hand and pulls me up gently.
As the elevator hums back to life, resuming its climb, he fixes his tie, then fastens the single button on his jacket.
By the time the car slows again, the Ice Dragon mask is firmly back on.
I envy that effortless switch, the way he can compartmentalise and put his walls back up in the space of a few minutes.
When the doors slide open on the executive floor, Lawrence pauses for a second before glancing over his shoulder at me.
"Thank you, Miss Thorn," he says formally, but in a quiet voice.
Then he steps out before I can reply.
A small smile tugs at my lip as I hurry after him before the doors close again.