Page 11 of My CEO Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #5)
M onica
Monica felt the world shift when the emergency lighting flickered back on, harsh and intrusive after the intimate darkness. Ted's face was inches from hers, his hair disheveled from her fingers, and the air between them crackled with the electricity of what had almost happened.
What had happened.
The kiss played on repeat in Monica's mind—the way Ted's mouth had moved against hers, desperate and seeking, like he'd been drowning and she was air. The way his hands had trembled when they found her face, reverent and careful despite the hunger she'd tasted on his lips.
And now they were staring at each other in the fluorescent glow, reality creeping back in with all its complications and impossibilities.
They didn't move apart. They should have.
Common sense dictated that whatever had sparked between them in the darkness needed to stay there, safely contained in the space between crisis and rescue.
But Monica was frozen, caught between the Ted she'd created in her mind and the man sitting in front of her.
The elevator shuddered again, lurching upward for several seconds before grinding to another stop. The lights flickered and died, plunging them back into absolute darkness.
"So much for the power coming back," Ted said.
The darkness felt safer somehow, more honest. In the light, she could see the expensive fabric of Ted's suit, the sharp lines of his jaw, all the external markers that reminded her they came from different worlds. In the darkness, there was just his voice and his breath and the heat of his body.
"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?" Monica said.
"Okay."
"I'm lonely." The words came out in a rush, like she was afraid she'd lose courage if she thought about them too long. "Not just single lonely, existentially lonely. Like I'm speaking a language nobody else understands."
"What language is that?"
"The one where slowing down isn't laziness, where success isn't measured in dollar signs, where taking care of yourself isn't selfish.
" Monica's voice grew stronger as she spoke.
"I teach people about balance and presence, but half the time I go home to an empty apartment and eat dinner while scrolling through social media, watching other people live lives that look more complete than mine. "
"Do you want what they have?"
"I want connection. Real connection, not the surface-level stuff that passes for relationships in this city.
" Monica squeezed Ted's hand. "I want someone who sees the point of what I do, even if they don't do it themselves.
Someone who understands that choosing a meaningful life over a profitable one isn't na?ve, it's brave. "
"It is brave."
"My mother doesn't think so. She thinks I'm wasting my education and my potential on what she calls 'California nonsense.' My college friends think I've lost my mind. They look at me like I'm a cautionary tale about what happens when you prioritize feelings over financial security."
"Are you happy?" Ted asked.
Monica considered this, surprised by how difficult the question was to answer honestly. "I'm happier than I was in marketing. But I'm not... fulfilled. Not completely."
"What's missing?"
"Partnership. Someone to share it with." Monica felt heat creep up her neck. "Someone who challenges me and supports me and doesn't think wanting both is contradictory."
"Is that what you thought about me? That I was someone who couldn't understand that?"
"I thought you were someone who'd sold his soul for stock options," Monica admitted. "Someone who measured human worth in productivity metrics and thought people like me were indulgent."
"And now?"
Monica turned toward Ted's voice in the darkness, wishing she could see his face. "Now I think you're someone who's been working so hard to prove his worth that he forgot to figure out what he actually values."
"What if what I value is the work?"
"Do you really believe that?"
Another long silence. Monica could hear Ted's breathing, deeper and more measured than it had been during his panic attack but still carrying traces of tension.
"I used to," Ted said finally. "Or I thought I did. But sitting here with you, talking like this... I can't remember the last time I felt this present. This aware of where I am and who I'm with."
"How does it feel?"
"Terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"I'm not sure there's a difference."
She felt a flood of tenderness at the honesty in his voice.
She was supposed to be the one who understood emotions, who could parse the difference between fear and excitement, between anxiety and anticipation.
But sitting in the dark with Ted, their hands linked and their confessions hanging in the air between them, she felt just as confused and overwhelmed as he sounded.
"Monica," Ted said, his voice closer now.
"What?"
"I am lonely too."
Her heart rate spiked, not from anxiety but from the recognition that they were approaching a point of no return. They were moving beyond neighborly confessions into something more.
"Nothing about today makes sense. I should be panicking about missing my meeting, about being trapped, about losing control of my day. Instead, I'm sitting in a broken elevator with a woman who thinks I'm a soulless corporate drone, and it's the most honest conversation I've had in years."
"I don't think you're soulless."
"What do you think I am?"
Monica considered this, her heart pounding so hard she was sure Ted could hear it in the quiet space. "I think you're scared and brave and completely exhausted. I think you care so much about everything that you've forgotten how to care about yourself. I think you're..."
"What?"
"I think you're someone I could fall for if I'm not careful."
The confession escaped before Monica could stop it, honest and vulnerable and completely terrifying. Ted went very still beside her, and Monica immediately wanted to take the words back, to laugh them off as elevator-induced delirium.
"I know it's crazy. I know we barely know each other, and we want completely different things, and tomorrow we'll go back to being incompatible neighbors who—"
Ted's mouth found hers again in the darkness, cutting off her rambling with a kiss that was hungry, desperate, like Ted had been holding back for longer than just the few hours they'd been trapped together.
Monica melted into him as she kissed him back with equal fervor.
He tasted like coffee and vulnerability, like three years of suppressed want finally given permission to surface.
He kissed her like she was oxygen and he'd been holding his breath for years, Monica found she didn't care about complications.
She cared about the way Ted's mouth moved against hers, skilled and seeking.
She cared about the way his body was warm and solid against hers, grounding her in sensation and touch.
She cared about the way he kissed her like she was precious and powerful and exactly what he'd been looking for without knowing it.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Monica rested her forehead against Ted's and tried to process what had just happened.
"Well," she said, her voice shakier than she'd intended.
"Well," Ted agreed.
"That was..."
"Yeah."
Monica felt Ted's breath warm against her lips, and realized they were still close enough to kiss again if either of them moved the slightest bit forward. The temptation was overwhelming—to lose herself in the heat and want and the perfect fit of Ted's mouth against hers.
"Kiss me again," she said, throwing caution to the wind.
Ted didn't need to be asked twice. His mouth found hers in the darkness, and this time Monica let herself fall completely into the sensation.
Into the way Ted's hands mapped her face like he was memorizing her features by touch.
Into the way he kissed her like she was the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.
Into the terrifying, exhilarating possibility that maybe, despite all logic and reason, they might actually be perfect for each other.
The elevator shuddered and began to move, but neither of them pulled away. Whatever waited for them in the light could wait a little longer.
Right now, the darkness was exactly where Monica wanted to be.