Page 24 of Elevator Pitch

“How have you been?”

“Good.” I drag out the word and tilt my head, eyeing him suspiciously. There’s no way Ross Davis asked me to his office to question how I’ve been for five months.

“Still writing?” He lifts his head and meets my eyes a second, narrowing them like he’s trying to get a read on me, before he glances away.

“Yes,” I lie as I haven’t written anything of substance in three months. Today was different, though. Today was a good idea plucking day. “And I see you’re still coaching.”

My corresponding smile hints at our secret. He wanted to be exactly where he is, managing the Anchors.

“Yeah, about that, too.”

I lean against the open door, crossing my arms and willing my legs to stop shaking. “And what exactly about that?”

Stepping closer to me, Ross cups my elbow and gently tugs me forward, moving me further into his office before closing the door behind me.

“Want to take a seat?”

“Am I in trouble, Coach?” Suddenly, I feel like a player called into the office to discuss my lack of talent.

Ross chuckles, tosses his hat on his desk, and takes a seat behind it, folding his hands on the surface. With the furniture as a barrier between us, I become even more anxious as to why I’m in this office. The distance between us is like a gap in mountain ranges considering we shared a bed and a night together, offering secrets to one another.

Ross flattens his hands against the smooth top of his desk and then stands. Rounding the desk, he stands in front of the steel-gray piece before leaning against the edge, folding his arms over his broad chest and crossing his ankles. Then he shifts again and lowers his arms, curling his hands around the frame of the desk to brace himself.

“Are you alright?”

Ross lowers his gaze and I glance down at his big feet as well, wondering if, as the saying goes, his shoe size equals the length of another body part. Then I wonder if staring at his shoes will give me a hint as to why I’m in his office and why the heck he seems so nervous.

“Did you lie to me?”

“What?” My head snaps up like a player watching a pop fly to centerfield.

“About the writing? About being an author?” He stares at me. “I never found your books.”

“I write under a pen name,” I state, not offering the name. That’s a secret he hasn’t earned yet, but an additional flutter flits through my low belly.

Ross Davis sought out my books.

He nods once, slowly, as if understanding the anonymity.

“Why would I lie to you?” If I’m here for an inquisition, then I don’t need to be here. I don’t owe Ross Davis an explanation about my life or my secrets. He’s the one who asked me to come to his office.

“I don’t know.” Ross swipes over his hair again with a thick hand, nervously glancing at me before looking away again.

I stand. “I don’t know why you called me into your office. Just like I still don’t understand why you came to my hotel room, but if I’m here to be interrogated or something, then . . . I don’t need to be here.”

Nothing I said made sense, but Ross had me tongue-tied and weak-kneed, and he stands too close to me, although I’m the one who stood up.

“I have a proposition for you.”

The word has me blinking and my heart hammering. The strangest thought occurs. Would Ross propose he and Kip share me? It was improbable. It was also absurd. It was so out in left field I don’t know where the thought came from.

With a shaky hand, I rub my forehead, as if my fingertips can erase the thought.

Is it hot in this office? I’m suddenly too warm and I’m having an out-of-body experience.

Ross Davis is too close. His manly, spicy scent invades my olfactory senses. Like being stuck in that elevator with him, my body wants to squirm. Thankfully, I’m not experiencing a bathroom emergency.

With trepidation, I question him. “What is the proposition?”