Page 14 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

So, I shove the jealousy deep down and cover it with my usual flippancy. “Better caffeinate beforehand so you don’t fall asleep during the date.”

Collins flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “The fact that you sign my paychecks now does not mean you get a say in my choice of company.”

It’s fucked up, but it feels damn good to hear her haughty tone aimed my way again.

I missed goading her. But more than that, I missed her firing back. Arguing with Collins is like swallowing a straight shot of whiskey after drinking a watered-down version. An immediate, shocking difference.

“Signing your paycheck is way below my pay grade,” I drawl.

Her eyes flash as she tosses the pad on my desk, ruffling every neat stack. “And advising you on pitches is above mine. I’m only your assistant after all. Good night.”

Her farewell sounds like more of a fuck you . And honestly, I deserve one.

I blow out a long breath as Collins stands and stalks out of my office. Wince when the door slams shut. According to the clock on my computer, it’s just after seven.

She stayed two hours late, helped me with my pitch, and I behaved like an asshole because I’m frustrated, immature, and jealous .

I shrug on my suit jacket, jam the legal pad in my briefcase, and rush toward the door.

Collins is still at her desk when I approach it, attempting to shove a water bottle into what’s already an overstuffed tote. Predictably, she’s careful not to look up as I walk closer. The cold shoulder is a classic for a reason.

“I’m sorry, Collins.”

“About what?” she wonders in a detached, disinterested tone.

“About acting like a jerk just now.”

“You were acting?”

A reluctant grin tugs at my mouth. I’m pissed—genuinely angry—that she’s going on a date with Perry. Emotions aren’t logical, so knowing I have no right to be mad doesn’t help at all. But she still makes me smile.

“Thank you for staying late to finish the notes. And for your advice about the pitch.”

Collins glances at me. She stares for a few seconds, and I can’t get any read on what she’s thinking.

Eventually, she nods. “Apology accepted. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives up on the water bottle, tucking it under one arm as she hikes her heavy bag off her desk and onto her shoulder.

“Let me drive you home,” I offer impulsively.

“You mean, let your driver drive me home?”

And to think, most women love the town car.

“No. I mean, I will drive you home. And forget the let . It’s happening. Come on.”

I start toward the elevators. Collins follows, but I’m not entirely convinced it’s not because they’re the easier exit.

At least she’s not mad enough to tackle fifty-five flights of stairs .

As soon as we step inside the elevator, she says, “I’m taking the subway home.”

“Great. I haven’t taken public transportation in … ever. Been meaning to try it.”

Collins crosses her arms. Her gaze is focused straight ahead, watching the doors slide shut. “What about your car?”

“I’ll come back here and get it after.”

“That’s ridiculous. And wasteful.”

“Eh, you’ve called me worse.”

The part of Collins’s lips that I can see press tightly together. But I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s restraining a smile, not increasingly incensed. It could be a little of both though.

“I don’t want special treatment, Kit. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

“You’re my only assistant, Collins. Of course I’m going to treat you differently from every other damn employee. None of them stayed late to help me.”

“I said I liked an idea you’d already come up with. I hardly played a pivotal role.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” She turns to face me, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Don’t diminish yourself. You’re Collins fucking Tate. Act like it.”

“Wow. If this whole future-CEO thing doesn’t pan out, consider a future in motivational thinking.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” After a beat, she adds, “Thanks.”

“A compliment and a thank-you in the same day? Today might be the best day of my life. ”

Collins exhales, but this time, I do catch the flash of a smile. “I live in Brooklyn.”

“So?”

“ So , that’s way out of your?—”

“I don’t care, Collins.”

I really don’t. I’m greedy when it comes to her company. She could be commuting from Connecticut, and I wouldn’t be deterred.

Collins seems to sense my certainty. Or maybe she’s just too tired to keep arguing with me. “Fine.”

I grin.

And the elevator stops. Which is normal. But the doors not opening and the number being stuck at 13 ? That’s not normal.

Collins’s eyes widen when she realizes the same thing. “Is this a joke?” she asks, each syllable an octave higher as the elevator continues to not move. She turns to me. “Did you do this?”

I laugh. “You seriously think I’d?—”

“ Kit .”

Okay, yeah. Trapping Collins in an elevator with me would have been a funny prank. If I hadn’t been working on extra professionalism lately.

“I did not set this up,” I assure her. “Kinda flattered you think I’d be able to pull it off though.”

She huffs, muttering, “You would be,” under her breath.

“I’m sure it’s just a temporary … issue.”

Truthfully, I have no clue what the hell is going on.

I ride the elevator in this office building multiple times a day and the one up to my penthouse at least twice.

Neither has ever malfunctioned. If we were on a sailboat, I’d have some clue how to troubleshoot.

But mechanical or electrical problems aren’t my area of expertise .

“I can’t believe this,” Collins states, dropping her bag to the floor. It lands with a hearty thump .

I side-eye it. “What the hell do you have in there that weighs so much?”

“Drugs,” she says sweetly.

“Still trying to convince me you’re not uptight, huh?”

“Once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She steps closer to the panel of buttons, squinting at the symbols. “I’m going to hit the alarm button.”

“Wait a sec,” I reply, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

“Wait for what ? We’re supposed to call for help. Maybe one of the cables snapped, and we’re about to plummet to our deaths, and every second counts?—”

“Stop talking so much,” I tell her. “We should conserve our oxygen.”

Collins blanches. “Are you serious?”

I nod somberly as I scroll through my Contacts. Tap a name and listen to it ring.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answers.

“Terry, it’s Kit Kensington. How are you?”

“Kit! Wow! I wasn’t—I’m good. You?”

“Been better,” I state, glancing at a pale, scowling Collins. Without allowing myself to think about it, I reach out and grab her hand. Her fingers stay rigid, but she doesn’t pull away. “The elevators appear to have stopped working. Electricity in here is still on, but nothing’s moving.”

“Oh shit,” Terry says. “One sec.”

There’s some garbled background noise, and then a different man’s voice comes through the line .

“Mr. Kensington? I’m Steve Damascus, head of building management.

My sincere apologies. We were preparing for some scheduled maintenance and testing operations.

Signage was supposed to be posted on each floor, alerting that certain units weren’t supposed to be used tonight.

I can’t apologize enough for the inconvenience.

Just give us a couple of minutes, and you should be on your way again. If not, please call back.”

“Great. Thank you,” I tell Steve, then hang up and glance at Collins. “Great news. We’ll live.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s still no color in her cheeks. “Because your buddy told you so?”

“Because the head of building management told me so,” I clarify.

“And you have his number because …”

I fake a cough to buy a little time.

We’re not moving yet, so not replying is going to be fairly obvious.

“I was a little … nervous about my first day here. So, I stopped by the week before, later at night, when I didn’t think anyone would be around.

But I didn’t have my badge yet, so I couldn’t get up to the right floor.

Terry was working the night shift, helped me out.

He gave me his number in case I ever needed anything.

And he handed me over to the head of building management when I called just now. ”

With a whir, we start descending again.

Collins releases an audible sigh. Of relief, I’m guessing.

“Good thing it’s not winter,” I muse. “We might have needed to huddle for body heat.”

She snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Still serious,” I reply.

“They keep the temperature hovering right around freezing. You haven’t noticed how most of the assistants wear sweaters? ”

The only assistant I notice is my own, but I keep that thought to myself. “Nope,” I say truthfully. “Does that mean you do want to huddle for warmth?”

“ No ,” she replies emphatically as the doors open to the underground garage. Collins gives me a disbelieving look. Guess she didn’t notice I’d hit the G button instead of L for lobby. “What if I’d said no?”

“You didn’t,” I remind her, giving her palm a quick squeeze.

She jerks, clearly having forgotten we were—are—holding hands. “No special treatment,” she reminds me, pulling free from my grip and grabbing her bag off the ground.

“No special treatment,” I promise, following her off the elevator.