Hazel drags her tongue over my cheek, startling me awake. She darts away as I groan, sunlight hitting my face like a brick slung into the air. 

It's a miracle I didn't punch her. I've been known to wake up with a start, the physical action being completely unpredictable and Hazel was very close to seeing it first hand.

My head aches, like someone's smacked it with a frying pain, and my throat is dryer than Ben Shapiro's wife on a date night. As I sit up, my joints are stiff, cracking as I move myself into a sitting position. Wait. I'm not in my room. This isn't my bed. This is the couch. I'm in the loungeroom. 

It all starts coming back to me. Shit. The manuscripts infront of me are a dead giveaway. The empty wine bottle sits at the edge of the coffeetable, the accompanying glass devoid of any lingering wine. Fuck, I drank the entire bottle and passed out last night on the couch. Shit shit shit. 

Oh no. The phonecall comes back to me, and all I can picture is Amir's angry face as I look for my phone. What time is it? Fucking hell, it better not be nine.

Finding it buried underneath a few throw pillows, I click my lockscreen on. My heart sinks. I have fifteen minutes to get to work to get to the meeting on time. Fuck! FUCK!

Running to the bathroom, I brush my teeth blindingly fast, nearly tripping over Hazel as I power walk to my room to get a fresh set of clothes. Fuck, where the hell is my necktie?! I dig through my dresser, putting on my emergency one. Spraying on enough deodorant to make actual garbage smell delightful, I then burst out of my room, shoving and kicking my feet into my shoes as I gather the manuscripts into my work bag. If I'm late, this meeting won't be about a promotion; it'll be a termination. 

The last thing I see as I rush out the door is Hazel sitting on the couch, watching me. I slam it shut, locking it.

#

Sweat dripping down my brow, I cross through the lobby, stopping to quickly check the time. I pull out my phone. Five minutes till the meeting. Thank god, I may just be able to make it. Ten straight minutes of power walking and running at the right moment worked out in it's favour. All those days of rugby have served my physical fitness well. One final hurdle to go.

I look towards the stairwell. No way in hell am I going to be able to climb that many flights of stairs to get to the top floor and reach the meeting in time. I guess my only option is the elevator. 

Sliding my phone into my pocket, I take a step forward. As I go to move again, a security guard grabs my arm, startling me as he basically forces eye contact.

This guy is new. Roughly my age but half my muscle mass, the mixed-raced man looks at me with slight fear and maximum determination. 

"Hello sir," he calmly says, his Jamacian accent throwing me off for a moment. He slightly relaxes his grip. "Do you work here?"

"Yes, sorry" I say, hurrridley pulling out my lanyard from my bag, putting it over my neck and showing him my ID. "Why?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, it's my first day. I shouldn't have grabbed you either; sorry. The receptionist thought you were homeless or something. Apologies for this. She insisted that you were told to relax and calm down, as she was dealing with a VIP author when you arrived and was horribly distracted by your appearance. I'll let her know that there is nothing to worry about."

Relaxing his grip, he lets me go. I turn towards the front desk, and lock eyes with her. The queen asshat herself, Moira, stands behind the counter watching the whole scene unfold. She's been a straight up bitch to me since my very first interaction with her. I walked in on my first day with Ayisha, and Tate was following closeby behind us. As we went up to reception, Tate introduced himself to us and cracked a few lame jokes about the place, none of which were amusing but I laughed to be polite. Moira was cold to say the least, practically throwing my lanyard and badge at me once we reached the front desk.

Her entire demeanour changed when it was Tate's turn to talk to her, however. Ugh. She went from having a perpetual thundercloud over her head to the sweetest girl, in seconds. I wouldn't be surprised if she had a thing for Tate, but Christ, give me a break. I've done nothing to deserve it. 

Great, she probably caught wind of the meeting and is trying to sabotage me. 

SHIT. The meeting!

I check my watch. Three minutes. That's fine, as long as nobody comes onto the elevator, I'll be okay. This is fine. 

Pressing the up button, I wait anxiously as the numbers tick down on the little black screen above the doorway. Within moments, the doors slide open, a few people stepping out. A few of them have uneasy faces, going toward the Jamacian security guard. I'm in way too much in a rush to really focus on what they're saying to him. He looks at me, and makes a move towards me.  

No. I cannot afford anymore interruptions. 

I tap the button and the doors shut infront of me, the elevator rising. 

My eyes watch the screen as the numbers go higher. Five. Ten. Twenty. Thirty Five. So far, so good. Nobody else is going on this elevator, thank fuck.

Hm. I wonder what made those other employees so uneasy. Wait; what if Moira was right? I turn around, looking at myself in the reflection. Christ, I thought Moira was just being an asshole. I do look homeless; those other workers were probably horrified at my appearance. 

My blond hair's sticking up a little at the back, a reminder of my time on the couch. It's not Goku level spikey, but enough to make it look unkempt. My collar's fully standing up, doing nothing for my professionalism and making me look like a muscly dracula with a publishing degree. I have bags under my eyes, sleepydust collecting in the corners, and my shirt is unevenly tucked in at my waistband. I look like an untouched character on those annoying makeover phone game advertisments. You know the ones.

I start adjusting myself. It takes me a moment to realise that the elevator has stopped at level thirty nine. As the doors slide open, I make eye contact with Tate, panicking as he steps in with an eyebrow raised at me. 

"Hey," he says. My body stiffens, and I can feel embarrasment forming in the pit of my gut. I swivel around and face the front doors.

"Hi."

"Nice tie. Don't think I've ever seen it on you before."

I look down. It's a matte black with thin shiny black stripes going diagonally down on it, along the whole length of the tie. I have only worn this one twice before; once at my job interview for this place, and another time at an important work party. It wasn't planned for me to wear it today, but I guess today's a good reason to have it on. 

My eyes meet his again. 

"T-thanks," is all I manage to say. I feel like an idiot, and he probably knows it too. Stupid Tate. Bet he figured that's an exact way to rattle me, to get me uncomfortable. I take a deep breath. I won't let his charm cut me up like that again. 

"Going up?" he says, looking at the screen. "Oh! Going to the same floor as you. Need to have a word with the boss."

I roll my eyes as he presses the 'close door' button, moving to stand next to me. The door shuts with a reassuring click, and we start ascending again. At least now I look good. Well, decent at least. Thanks, Tate, for the reassurance. Ugh, I feel gross at the thought of showing gratitude towards him. I stare straight ahead of me, avoiding glancing his way.

The air is palpable. I can feel the awkwardness growing. There's nothing to relieve it; the sound of the stale elevator music cutting through the stillness surrounding us doesn't make it easier. I can't help it; my eyes start to wander. He's rocking ever so slightly on the balls of his feet, both arms infront of him, holding an envelope. His suit is immaculate as always, wearing a dashing black number today, his red tie highlighted by the white button up underneath it. The only thing that's out of place in his perfect appearance is the annoying drumming of his fingers along the edge of the envelope. 

Is he impatient, or anxious? 

It's very hard to read his stupidly attractive face. God, I'm gonna look so awesome once I get this promotion, and he'll be the first one to see it. I can finally relax, and maybe even ease it on hating him. After all, I'll be earning more money than him anyway (not that I know how much he's making) and there's absolutely no chance he can steal my job once I've secured it. Poetry dream, here we come! 

Wait. He's also going to see the boss. At the same time as me. During my meeting. Fuck. What if he's one of the candidates Amir was talking about? What if he gets the job right infront of me and I'm left standing there slack-jawed, dreams shattered? 

Fuck. 

Three floors to go. I'm so close. Anxiety begins to well in my gut. Tate checks the time on his watch. "So, what's the boss calling you in for--"

He's cut off as the elevator abruptly stops with a metallic creak, both of us stumbling at the sudden shift in momentum. The lights flicker, humming loudly before shutting off with a snap, the soft amber glow coming from the elevator buttons being the only things illuminating the room. Shrill creaking and scraping sounds cut through the elevator music, which crackles with static before shutting down completely on it's own, plunging us in silence. We turn to each other. 

Did we just get trapped in here?

=============================

A/N: Woohoo! Chapter three guys, lo and behold. I hope you've enjoyed it!

With this chapter, the plot finally begins. What do you think Amir will say once he realises they're both stuck? What do you think Tate wanted to see Amir about? What's in the mysterious envelope Tate's holding? 

Let me know what you think of the above questions, and any general thoughts about the chapter, as an in-line comment. 

Excited to post the next part soon!

All my love,
Jacob x