Page 4 of My CEO Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #5)

T ed

Thursday

Ted stepped into the elevator behind Monica, checking his watch out of habit. Two hours until the rescheduled meeting with Dexter Capital. Plenty of time to review his notes one more time, maybe grab lunch that didn't come from a vending machine.

The elevator doors slid shut with their usual whisper, and Ted pressed the button for the parking garage. Monica stood on the opposite side of the small space, her yoga mat bag slung over one shoulder, radiating the kind of calm that made him a little nervous.

And other things. In the confined space, Ted was acutely aware of her presence—the way she moved.

The subtle scent of her made him want to move closer instead of maintaining his distance.

She was wearing fitted leggings that hugged every curve and a loose top that somehow managed to be both modest and distracting.

Focus, Ted told himself. He had more important things to think about than his neighbor's yoga clothes.

The elevator descended smoothly for exactly three floors.

Then everything went dark.

The car jerked to a stop with a mechanical groan that sounded expensive to fix. Emergency lighting flickered on, casting everything in sickly yellow shadows that made Monica's serene expression look almost ghostly—and oddly more beautiful.

"No." Ted jabbed the elevator buttons with more force than necessary. "No, no, no."

Nothing happened. He pressed them again, harder, as if the force of his desperation could resurrect the building's electrical system. This couldn't be happening. Not today.

"This cannot be happening right now."

Monica shifted her weight, settling against the back wall like she was preparing for a long wait. The movement drew Ted's attention to the graceful line of her spine, the way she seemed to flow into positions that looked effortlessly comfortable.

"The power's probably out for the whole building. These things happen."

"These things do not happen." Ted pulled out his phone, relief flooding through him when the screen lit up. Three bars of service. Thank God. "I have the most important meeting of my career in two hours."

"Had," Monica said, her voice carrying that same irritating calm.

Ted's fingers froze over his phone. "What?"

"You had the most important meeting. Past tense." She gestured at her own cell phone with an elegant wave of her hand that Ted found himself tracking despite his panic. "Unless you're planning to tunnel out of here, that meeting isn't happening today."

The casual way she delivered this prediction made Ted's chest tighten with more than just anxiety. Who was she to tell him what was or wasn't going to happen? He was Theodore Corwin. He made things happen.

"Watch me," Ted said, already speed-dialing Jennifer as he began pacing the small space. "I don't accept defeat that easily."

"Ted? Where are you?" Jennifer answered before Monica could respond to his challenge.

"Stuck in the elevator at my building. I need you to—"

"Get comfortable," Jennifer interrupted. "There are rolling blackouts across half the city. Something about grid maintenance that went wrong. They're saying it could be hours before everything's restored."

Hours. Ted closed his eyes and tried to calculate the damage. Dexter would reschedule again, maybe lose interest entirely. Meanwhile, DataFlow would keep gaining ground, stealing clients and market share while CloudSync sat trapped in bureaucratic limbo.

"Call Dexter Capital," Ted commanded, his voice sharp with authority. "Reschedule for tomorrow, same time. And send them our Q3 projections as an apology for the inconvenience. Whatever it takes to keep them engaged."

"Already done. Is there anything else I can—"

The call dropped. Ted stared at his phone in disbelief, watching the signal bars disappear one by one until his screen showed nothing but "No Service" where his lifeline to the outside world used to be.

"Cell towers must be affected too," Monica said, like she was commenting on the weather. Her voice held that same maddening serenity that made Ted want to shake her until she showed some appropriate concern for their situation.

Ted turned to face her, and anger crawled up his throat.

She looked completely unbothered by their predicament, sitting cross-legged on the floor like she was in her living room instead of trapped in a metal box suspended between floors.

The position pulled her top tight across her chest, and Ted found his attention wandering before he could stop himself.

"You're enjoying this," he accused, his voice harder than necessary.

Monica's eyebrows rose, and Ted noticed they had a perfect arch that framed her dark eyes beautifully. "Enjoying what?"

"This." Ted gestured sharply at the dead buttons, the emergency lighting, the small space that seemed to shrink every time he looked at it. "Being trapped. Having an excuse to do nothing productive."

"I'm not doing nothing. I'm breathing."

"Breathing isn't productive." The words came out more condescending than Ted intended, but he was beyond caring. He didn't need life lessons from a yoga instructor who probably thought chakras were a viable retirement plan.

"Breathing is literally the most productive thing you can do. Without it, you die."

Ted wanted to argue, but his chest felt tight, and his heart was beating too fast. The elevator suddenly seemed smaller, the air thinner. He pressed the emergency call button, holding it down until his finger went white, trying to reassert some control over the situation.

"Mr. Corwin?" A crackling voice emerged from the speaker. "This is building security."

"We're trapped in elevator two somewhere between the twelfth floor and the parking garage." Ted's voice carried the authoritative tone he used in board meetings. "I need to know exactly how long until you get us out. I have critical business obligations."

Static filled the speaker for a long moment. "Sir, we're dealing with a city-wide power outage. The fire department is handling multiple elevator rescues across downtown. You're on the list, but it could be several hours."

Several hours. Ted released the button and stared at the wall, his reflection distorted in the polished metal. This was a nightmare. This was karma. This was what happened when you built your entire life around controlling variables that were fundamentally uncontrollable.

"Several hours," he repeated, mostly to himself. He started jabbing the button again, harder this time, as if persistence could override the laws of physics.

Monica pulled a water bottle from her bag and took a slow sip, the movement drawing Ted's attention to the elegant line of her throat as she swallowed. Even her drinking looked graceful, which somehow made his own frantic button-mashing feel clumsy and desperate.

"Getting angry at the elevator won't make the power come back faster."

"I'm not angry at the elevator." Ted's voice was tight with barely controlled frustration. "I'm angry at the incompetence of city planners and the universe's apparent conspiracy against success."

"What are you really angry at?"

The question caught him off guard. Ted opened his mouth to list his grievances—the timing, the incompetence, the loss of control—but the words stuck in his throat under Monica's steady gaze.

What was he angry at? Everything. Nothing. The fact that this woman could sit so calmly while his entire professional life crumbled around him.

"I don't have time for amateur psychology," he said instead, his voice carrying the dismissive edge he used with subordinates who overstepped.

"Right now, time is the only thing you have."

Ted resumed his examination of the control panel, looking for anything he might have missed. A hidden emergency switch, a manual override, anything that would restore his sense of agency in a situation that had spiraled completely beyond his control.

"There has to be a way out of here. I don't accept being trapped."

"There is. We wait."

"Waiting isn't a solution. Waiting is surrender." Ted's hands curled into fists. "I didn't build a company by waiting for other people to solve my problems."

"Sometimes waiting is the only solution."

Everything about Monica's tone was reasonable and measured, which somehow made it infinitely more irritating than if she'd been panicking alongside him. She sat there looking perfectly composed while his world fell apart, and it made him want to crack that serene facade.

"Do you ever get upset about anything?" Ted demanded. "Or do you just float through life in some kind of meditative bubble?"

"Of course I do."

"Like what?" The challenge in his voice was clear.

Monica considered this, tilting her head slightly in a way that drew attention to the sweet curve of her neck. "Inequality. Environmental destruction. The fact that Americans throw away forty percent of their food while people go hungry." She paused. "Bad drivers."

"Bad drivers?" Ted couldn't hide his surprise.

"People who don't signal. Road rage. Anyone who treats a two-ton vehicle like a personal weapon." Monica's calm expression, and Ted was oddly fascinated by this glimpse of fire beneath the Zen. "I once saw a guy in a BMW cut off a school bus and then flip off the driver when she honked."

"That's it? That's what breaks your Zen?"

"I don't have Zen. I have practice." Monica shifted position, drawing her knees up to her chest in a movement that was both modest and somehow sensual. "Meditation isn't about never feeling angry. It's about not letting anger drive your decisions."