Page 29 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Any memories from the past year making their return yet?”

“Uh, still a work in progress, I’m afraid.” I rub the back of my neck. This is not good if news of my accident made its way up the corporate ladder.

A crease appears between his eyebrows. “Have you recovered any data? Texts? Photos?”

My eyes widen. “All my work stuff is backed up, sir. Nothing’s been lost.”

His frown deepens. It could be a headache, or maybe he’s just living up to his reputation. The wolf isn’t known for being Mr. Congeniality.

“I meant your personal data. Have you managed to recover anything from your phone?”

“Oh. No,” I squeak. Why’s he even talking to me? He never usually gives me the time of day. At company events, he looks right through me like I’m not even there. Just the way I like it.

“You don’t remember anything from the past year? Nothing?” There’s an edge to his voice now. He takes a step closer to me, propping a hand on the elevator’s back wall.

This is bad. I don’t want to be on the wolf’s radar.

Every movement he makes seems deliberate, as if he wants me to notice. Probably a power play to intimidate poor defenseless creatives.

Twentieth floor, come on, move it, already.

Do I lie?

“Not yet, sir, but my treatment plan is in place. I’m sure they’ll all come rushing back to me soon!” I chirp.

His nostrils flare again. “That’s less than ideal,” he replies, staring at me for so long that I start to wonder if I’ve suddenly grown a third nipple on my head. I subtly run my fingers over my lips and nose—no apparent issues there, though I did have some nosebleeds in the hospital.

His stare doesn’t waver and my pulse revs up a notch. What’s his deal? Is he seething because I misplaced my memories? It’s not like I recklessly slid down the banister at the Plaza, for Christ’s sake.

Thirtieth floor. I need out.

Finally, the elevator dings at my floor. The fortieth.

I make a move to leave as the doors slide open.

“Wait, Lucy.” Wolfe slams the stop button and the door jerks to a halt. “What did the doctor say?” He pauses. “You’ve had a check-up recently, I presume?”

Maybe he’s concerned I’ll botch the project. My anxiety spikes as his finger stays on the stop button.

“She said… she assured me I’ll remember everything in no time.” My throat tightens. Lying was never my strong suit.

As if on cue, someone on the floor tries to call the elevator. The doors attempt to open, but Wolfe holds them shut, resulting in an annoying ping on repeat.

“Really?” He raises a brow, clearly unconvinced.

“Yup. Absolutely.”

The person outside is persistent, little do they know who they’re contesting against.

“You don’t need to worry, Mr. Wolfe,” I say in a rush. “I’ve read up on everything we did during Phase One—I’m right back up to speed. Are you getting off here too? This is my floor.”

He releases another loud breath and this onedefinitelyturns into a low growl.

I don’t wait for a response.

The elevator doors open with a soft whoosh as he releases the button. By now, whoever was trying to get in has given up.

Almost tripping over myself, I hurry out of the elevator and make a dash for freedom.