Page 14 of My CEO Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #5)

T ed

The elevator lurched upward with a mechanical whir that sounded like salvation and damnation rolled into one. Monica tensed against him as the car began its smooth ascent, emergency lighting giving way to the harsh fluorescent glare of normal operation.

Reality crashed over him like ice water.

He was half-dressed in a broken elevator with his neighbor, the taste of her still on his lips and the scent of sex heavy in the recycled air. His hair was completely fucked, his shirt wrinkled beyond repair, and he was pretty sure he had Monica's lipstick somewhere on his throat.

Enhanced Chapter Seven

Ted

The elevator lurched upward with a mechanical whir that sounded like salvation and damnation rolled into one. Monica tensed against him as the car began its smooth ascent, emergency lighting giving way to the harsh fluorescent glare of normal operation.

Reality crashed over him like ice water.

He was half-dressed in a broken elevator with his neighbor, the taste of her still on his lips and the scent of sex heavy in the recycled air. His hair was completely fucked, his shirt wrinkled beyond repair, and he was pretty sure he had Monica's lipstick somewhere on his throat.

More importantly, he'd just had the most incredible sexual experience of his life with a woman who represented everything he'd spent three years avoiding—distraction, emotional complexity, the kind of connection that made men forget their priorities.

"Shit," Ted muttered, running a hand through his hair and immediately regretting the movement when it made him acutely aware of how thoroughly Monica had wrecked his composure.

"What?" Monica asked, but her voice carried a new tension that hadn't been there moments before.

"Nothing. Just..." Ted gestured vaguely at the elevator buttons, now glowing their normal colors. "We're moving."

The understatement hung between them like a barrier. They were moving, which meant rescue, which meant returning to their separate lives and dealing with the consequences of what had just happened between them.

Ted's phone buzzed against his leg—multiple notifications flooding in as service returned. He pulled it out automatically, muscle memory overriding conscious thought, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Seventeen missed calls from Jennifer. Twelve text messages. Six voicemails from investors, including two from Dexter Capital.

The Dexter meeting. The meeting that was supposed to change everything, that he'd spent three months preparing for, that represented the difference between success and catastrophic failure.

Ted checked the time and felt his stomach drop. Six-thirty p.m. The meeting had been scheduled for two-thirty. He'd missed it. Completely, utterly, irrevocably missed the most important business meeting of his career.

And for the first time in his adult life, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The realization should have sent him into panic mode, should have triggered the familiar rush of adrenaline that accompanied every crisis. Instead, he felt nothing. Not relief, exactly, but not the crushing anxiety he'd expected either.

"We should get dressed," he said, his voice already shifting into something more distant, more controlled.

As the elevator continued upward, they hurriedly fixed their clothes.

Ted tried not to watch Monica smooth down her hair, tried not to notice the way her fingers trembled slightly as she straightened her yoga top.

Tried not to remember how those same fingers had felt gripping his shoulders, marking his skin.

The doors opened.

Three firefighters stood in the hallway, along with building maintenance. Ted felt like he was on stage, suddenly spotlit and completely exposed. He could feel Monica's warmth beside him, could smell her scent mixed with his own, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to reach for her hand.

"Are you folks okay?" asked the lead firefighter, a woman with kind eyes and the kind of professionalism that reminded Ted of his own assistant.

"We're fine," Ted heard himself say, his voice automatically shifting into the polished, professional tone he used for board meetings. The words came out clipped, efficient, completely devoid of the intimacy that had defined the past several hours. "Thank you for the rescue."

He felt Monica glance at him, felt her confusion at the sudden change in his demeanor, but he couldn't look at her. If he looked at her now—really looked at her, with her kiss-swollen lips and the soft vulnerability in her eyes—he'd lose whatever tenuous grip he had on his professional composure.

A firefighter handed them both bottled waters and they drank gratefully, though Ted was acutely aware of Monica's proximity, the way she stood just close enough that her arm occasionally brushed his.

Each contact sent electricity over his skin, made him want to pull her closer instead of maintaining the careful distance he was forcing between them.

As they stepped out of the elevator, Ted became hyperaware of how they must look.

Monica's hair was mussed in a way that screamed sex, her yoga clothes wrinkled, and there was a flush across her chest that he recognized as the aftermath of what they'd done.

His own appearance was probably even worse—shirt buttoned wrong, hair standing at odd angles, the unmistakable look of a man who'd just been thoroughly claimed.

"Do either of you need medical attention?" another firefighter asked, clipboard already in hand. "Being trapped for extended periods can cause anxiety, claustrophobia—"

"We're fine," Ted said again, sharper this time, his voice taking on the dismissive edge he used with subordinates who were wasting his time. "Really. Just ready to get back to our lives. Our real lives."

The emphasis on 'real' was deliberate, cutting, designed to draw a clear line between what had happened in the elevator and what mattered in the actual world. He felt Monica flinch beside him as if he'd struck her, saw her wrap her arms around herself in a gesture that was purely defensive.

The movement made his chest ache, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from building walls between them. This was familiar territory—crisis management, professional damage control, the kind of compartmentalization that had served him well in business.

The firefighters asked a few more questions, took basic information for their report, and finally began packing up their equipment. The small crowd of onlookers dispersed, leaving Ted and Monica standing awkwardly in the hallway outside their respective apartment doors.

For the first time since the elevator had started moving, they were alone together. But somehow the privacy felt more exposing than the audience had, charged with all the things they'd done and said in the darkness and Ted's obvious retreat from all of it.

Monica stood a careful distance away now, her arms still wrapped around herself like armor. Ted could see the hurt in her posture, the way she held herself so carefully, and it made him want to reach for her and pull away simultaneously.

"So," Monica said. "That happened."

"Yeah." Ted's response was equally measured, equally distant, and he watched Monica's face close off a little more with each clipped word. "It did."

The past tense felt final, dismissive, like he was filing away what they'd shared as a completed transaction. Which, he supposed, was exactly what he was doing.

Monica wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and Ted noticed she wouldn't quite meet his eyes. Her cheeks were still flushed, whether from embarrassment or residual arousal he couldn't tell, and the sight made his body tighten with want even as his mind built higher walls.

"I should probably..." Monica's voice was smaller now, wounded. "I have evening classes to teach. Students who are expecting me to show up."

"Right. Of course." Ted pulled out his phone again, scrolling messages without really reading them, using the device as a shield between them. "I have calls to return. Damage control to do. Important business to handle."

The emphasis on 'important' was another deliberate cut, designed to minimize what had happened between them. As if what they'd shared was just a temporary distraction from his real priorities.

"The meeting—" Monica started, her voice tentative.

"Will be rescheduled. Or won't. Either way, I need to figure out the next steps." Ted's voice was crisp, professional, the tone he used when dismissing underperforming employees. "The business world doesn't stop moving just because..."

He trailed off, but the implication was clear. Just because he'd gotten temporarily distracted by his neighbor's very effective stress-relief techniques.

Monica's face went pale, and she took a small step backward. Ted immediately knew he'd gone too far, knew he was being cruel in a way that had nothing to do with business efficiency and everything to do with his own fear of what she made him feel.

But he couldn't seem to stop himself. This was familiar territory—crisis management, professional setbacks, the kind of challenges that had concrete solutions.

What had happened between him and Monica in that elevator.

.. that was uncharted territory. That was the kind of complication that couldn't be solved with spreadsheets and strategic planning.

"Right," Monica said, and her tone made Ted finally look at her directly.

She looked devastated. More than hurt—she looked like he'd just systematically dismantled everything beautiful they'd built together in the darkness.

Her arms were wrapped around herself so tightly it looked painful, defensive and closed off, and her eyes held a wounded confusion that made his heart ache.

This was the woman who'd taught him how to breathe, who'd listened to his fears without judgment, who'd given herself to him with such generous passion. And he was treating her like a mistake that needed to be efficiently managed.