3. ELEVATOR ROMANCE

Chelsea’s heart was still racing when the elevator doors finally slid shut. Her cheeks were flushing red.

Not because she had almost missed it—but because of him.

She clutched the pink lunch bag closer to her chest, willing her breathing to slow. This was supposed to be quick. Drop off lunch. Kiss her father on the cheek. Run back to the clinic before her supervisor noticed her absence. Nothing more.

Her father’s lunch had nearly fallen. Her life plans almost followed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, finally finding her voice. “Thank you for stopping the elevator for me.”

Davis studied her, intrigued. Despite her rushed state, she was… adorable. No makeup, flustered, curls tugged into a too-tight ponytail, and eyes the color of warm honey. She stood barely at his shoulder. Small. Soft. Innocent.

And dangerously cute.

Davis looked down at her, eyes unreadable, mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smile. Up close, he was… distracting. Clean-cut. Confident. Too polished for the panic that still buzzed through her veins.

“No need to apologize,” he said smoothly. “I enjoyed the interruption.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I bet you say that to everyone who almost knocks you over.”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Her stomach flipped. Chelsea lowered her gaze, suddenly aware of how close they still were. She took a careful step back, creating a respectable distance between them.

“I really appreciate it,” she said, forcing a small smile. 

“So what's this beautiful place doing in a girl like this?” Davis went with his favourite Deadpool line and it was effective. She laughed. 

“I’m delivering lunch to my dad. He works here.”

Something softened briefly in Davis’s expression. “Lucky man.”

She smiles quietly. “He’s a janitor. Third floor. He barely takes breaks unless I show up with food.”

As the elevator began to rise, Chelsea’s thoughts drifted—unbidden—to the hospital room she had left barely an hour earlier. To her mother, Susan, pale against white sheets, breathing shallowly as machines hummed around her. To the doctor’s words, careful and expensive. We need to act quickly.

They would raise the money. She believed that with everything in her. Soon, they would laugh around the dinner table like they used to.

Focus, Chelsea. The attractive stranger was leaning forward, “You know, I wouldnt mind if someone this pretty brought me lunch every day.”

“Well I am sure you have a ton of women willing to bring you lunch every day,” she smiled, lifting her eyes again. “You look important.”

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Well,” she gestured vaguely at his suit, “no one else dresses like that to stare at elevator numbers.”

“Maybe I just like attention,” he said lightly.

She shrugged. “Then it’s working.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her heart leapt. Why did I say that? 

Davis’s gaze darkened, something predatory flickering behind his charm.

“Careful,” he said. “You flirt like that with the wrong man, you might get exactly what you’re asking for.”

Her pulse stuttered. She laughed nervously. “I don’t think I asked for anything.”

“Oh, I think you want to” he said, voice dropping. “You are just too shy to say it. But don't worry, I pick up on cues pretty fast.”

Chelsea swallowed. A small voice inside her whispered a warning. This is a temptation, you cannot want this man. You came here to deliver lunch.

“My stop is next,” she said quickly.

“That’s unfortunate,” Davis replied without missing a beat. “Good thing we can always meet up later and get straight to the interesting part.”

Her eyes widened. “The… interesting part?”

“My bed or yours,” he said plainly. “It depends on you.”

The boldness of it stunned her. No coyness. No pretenses. Just a statement, confident and unapologetic.

Chelsea’s cheeks burned. “I—I don’t even know you.”

“That’s the best part,” he said smugly. “No long talks or ceremony. Plus, you look like you can't even wait to lay your hands on me.”

Her guilt surged sharp and immediate as she realised that she had been staring at his lips even as she protested. Her mother lay in a hospital bed fighting for her life, and here she was entertaining the idea of a stranger’s desire. Shame curled in her chest.

“No,” she said sharply, her tone was visibly. “I don't know what you are suggesting but no.”

Davis watched her carefully, intrigued rather than offended. “Are you sure?.” His brow lifted, the challenge clear.

“I just want to give food to my dad,” she snapped. “And this is inappropriate.”

“There are more exciting things in life than playing waitress, mi vida,Davis said quietly, eyes drifting over her figure with a hunger that made her knees weak. I have an appetite for good things.”

Chelseas jaw dropped. She clutched her lunch bag tighter, fighting the urge to smack him with it.

The elevator dinged.

Her floor.

Chelsea exhaled in relief as the doors opened. She bolted out, slipping through the narrowing space like a rabbit escaping a wolf.

“Hey—wait!” Davis voice carried behind her.

She didn't stop. She didn't even look back.

“I don't even know your name,” he said pensively as he stared after her. 

Amber approached alertedly just in time to see Chelsea vanish. “Who was that? A pickpocket?”

“Maybe,” Davis muttered. If anything, he knew she had stolen his attention .

His balance.

His breath.

Maybe his sanity.

For a while,the two stood transfixed watching the stranger walk on. Amber decided it wasn't anything urgent.

“Good news,” she said brightly. “I found you a date. She’s beautiful, discreet, and very interested.”

Davis barely heard her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said absently.

Amber frowned. “Don’t worry about—Davis, I spent an hour—”

“She'll do," he murmured.

Amber blinked. “Huh?”

His eyes followed the direction the girl had disappeared. He thought of the shy smile, the pin

k lunch bag, the way she had fled like a startled deer.

A slow smile spread across his face. “This one is just fine.”