Sterling’s Fortune

Chapter 2

The elevator ride to the top floor of Sterling Tower took forty-five seconds. Elodie counted every single one of them, mostly to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Alistair Sterling stood in the corner of the platinum-walled box, scrolling through something on his phone. He hadn't looked at her since the lobby. He radiated a kind of aggressive silence that made the air feel thin.

Elodie looked down at herself. Her catering uniform was sodden. Her black tights were sticking to her legs, and she was fairly certain she smelled like wet dog and desperation.

Ding.

The doors slid open, revealing a penthouse office that looked less like a workplace and more like a villain’s lair from a high-budget spy movie. It was all glass, chrome, and black leather. There wasn’t a single holiday decoration in sight. No wreath. No tinsel. Just the cold, white glow of the city lights below.

"Sit," Alistair commanded, gesturing vaguely toward a chair that looked like a torture device designed by Apple.

Elodie sat. The leather squeaked loudly beneath her wet clothes. She winced.

Alistair didn't sit. He walked to a massive mahogany desk, tapped a few keys on a sleek laptop, and a printer hidden somewhere in the wall whirred to life.

"Your name is Elodie Rose," he said, reading from a screen. "Twenty-four years old. Degree in Art History—useful," he added with dry sarcasm. "Currently employed by... nobody, since Brenda just terminated your contract in the system. Credit score... abysmal."

"I have student loans," Elodie defended weakly. "And dental work is expensive."

"You are a liability, Miss Rose." He walked over to the printer, retrieved a thick stack of warm paper, and dropped it in front of her. "Which is why this contract is ironclad."

Elodie stared at the document. EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT was written in bold letters at the top.

"Read it," he said. "You have five minutes."

"Five minutes? This is like... thirty pages."

"I read fast. I expect my staff to do the same." He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. His suit jacket strained slightly across his shoulders. "The terms are simple. You work for me as an Executive Aide until the completion of the Valentine’s Day Merger. Your salary will be garnished entirely to pay for the repairs to the lobby. In exchange, I do not sue you into oblivion."

Elodie picked up a pen. Her hand was shaking. She felt like she was signing her soul away to a very handsome, very well-dressed devil.

"What exactly does an Executive Aide do?" she asked, skimming the legal jargon.

"Whatever I need," Alistair said simply. "My schedule is timed to the minute. My previous assistant couldn't keep up. You, however, have no choice but to keep up. If you quit, you owe me forty thousand dollars. If you are late, I add interest. If you break anything else..." He paused, his grey eyes narrowing. "Don't break anything else."

Elodie signed. She didn't really have a choice. The ink was barely dry when he snatched the papers away.

"Good. Your first task is simple. I need a specific blend of coffee from a roaster on 5th Avenue. It’s the only thing that makes dealing with incompetence tolerable." He checked his watch. "You have twenty minutes. Go."

Ten minutes later, Elodie was standing on the sidewalk outside Sterling Tower, shivering.

The adrenaline had worn off, leaving only the biting cold of the New York winter. The snow was falling harder now, thick flakes that stuck to her eyelashes. She wrapped her thin coat tighter around herself.

"Stupid," she muttered, kicking a pile of grey slush. "Stupid ice angel. Stupid billionaire."

She checked her phone. 12 minutes remaining.

She hurried down the block, head down against the wind. The streets were crowded with holiday shoppers, people laden with bags and laughing. Everyone seemed to be part of a world that Elodie was currently locked out of.

She turned the corner and nearly tripped over a box.

"Whoa there, easy does it."

Elodie caught herself on a lamppost. Sitting on a bench, surrounded by a mountain of precarious packages, was an old man.

He was dressed strangely—a heavy wool suit that looked about fifty years out of date, a red scarf that had seen better days, and a flat cap pulled low over bushy white eyebrows. He was struggling to re-stack a tower of gift-wrapped boxes that had toppled over.

Elodie’s internal clock was ticking. You have ten minutes. Run.

But Elodie, despite being a walking disaster, had a fatal flaw: she couldn't walk past someone who needed help.

"Here," she sighed, kneeling in the slush. "Let me help you."

"Bless you, child," the man said. His voice was warm and scratchy, like a vinyl record. "Gravity seems to be feeling particularly mischievous tonight."

Elodie stacked the boxes efficiently. "Tell me about it. Gravity has a personal vendetta against me."

The man chuckled. He had eyes that were impossibly blue, crinkling at the corners. He watched her for a moment, his gaze piercing. "You have a heavy shadow on you, Miss. A cloud over your head."

"It’s called 'my life'," Elodie muttered, placing the last box on the stack. She stood up and wiped her wet hands on her coat. "There. All set. I have to go, I have a tyrant to appease."

"Wait."

The old man reached into the pocket of his coat. "You helped me. A gift for a gift. That is the old law."

"I really don't need—"

"Take it."

He pressed something into her palm. It was heavy and warm. Elodie looked down.

It was a bracelet. A delicate chain of rose gold, with a single charm dangling from it: a small, vintage locket shaped like a clock face, but with no hands. It was beautiful. It looked expensive.

"I can't take this," Elodie said, eyes widening.

"It’s not payment," the man said, winking. "It’s an anchor. It helps regulate the flow. Wear it, and perhaps the universe will stop tripping you up... provided you find the right counter-weight."

"Counter-weight?"

"Magic requires friction, my dear. Heat." He waved a gloved hand. "Now run. You don't want to keep Mr. Sterling waiting. He gets very grumpy when his caffeine levels drop."

Elodie blinked. "How did you know—?"

She looked up. A delivery truck rumbled past, blocking her view of the bench for a split second. When the truck cleared, the bench was empty. The boxes were gone.

The only thing left was the smell of peppermint and pipe tobacco lingering in the frosty air.

Elodie stared at the empty space, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold running down her spine. She looked at the bracelet. Without thinking, she clasped it around her wrist. It fit perfectly.

Ping.

She looked at her phone. 5 minutes remaining.

"Crap!"

She made it back to the lobby with thirty seconds to spare, clutching the steaming cup of coffee like it was the Holy Grail.

She sprinted toward the elevators. The doors to the private executive lift were just closing.

"Hold it!" she yelled.

A hand shot out, stopping the doors.

Elodie threw herself into the elevator, gasping for air. "I made it. I got the..."

She trailed off.

Alistair was standing there. He must have come down while she was gone. He looked at her, then at the coffee cup, then at his watch.

"Nineteen minutes and forty seconds," he noted. "Acceptable."

He took the coffee from her hand. His fingers brushed against hers.

A spark, literal static electricity, snapped between them. It was loud enough to hear. Zap.

"Ow," Elodie hissed, pulling her hand back.

Alistair frowned, looking at his fingertips. "Wool coats," he muttered. He took a sip of the coffee. "Adequate."

The elevator began to rise.

They stood in silence. The tension was suffocating. Elodie stared at the floor numbers ticking up. 10... 20... 30...

And then, the universe struck.

The elevator lurched violently. The smooth hum of the machinery turned into a grinding screech.

BOOM.

The car shuddered to a halt. The lights overhead flickered once, twice, and then died completely.

Pitch blackness.

"Oh god," Elodie whimpered, the darkness pressing in on her instantly. "No. No, no, no."

"Stay calm," Alistair’s voice came from the dark. It was annoyed, but steady. "It’s a power surge. The backup generators will kick in."

"I don't like small spaces," Elodie breathed. Her heart started to hammer against her ribs. The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. She backed up until her spine hit the wall, sliding down into a crouch. "I really, really don't like small spaces."

"Miss Rose?"

"I can't breathe."

She heard the rustle of fabric. Then, a cell phone light clicked on. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating Alistair’s face. He looked... concerned.

He knelt down in front of her. "Look at me."

"We're stuck," she gasped. "The cable snapped. We're going to fall."

"The cables are titanium alloy, they didn't snap," he said firmly. He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before placing his hand on her shoulder.

His grip was warm. Solid.

"Breathe," he ordered. "In. Out."

Elodie focused on his hand. The heat from his palm seemed to seep through her wet coat, burning her skin.

And then, the strangest thing happened.

The rose gold bracelet on her wrist grew hot. Not uncomfortably hot, but glowing.

As Alistair’s thumb stroked her shoulder, an unconscious, soothing gesture, a hum of energy vibrated through the air.

Ding.

The overhead lights slammed back on, blindingly bright. The elevator motor hummed to life, smoother than before.

Alistair blinked, pulling his hand back as if he’d been burned. He stood up, straightening his tie, his mask of indifference sliding back into place.

"See?" he said, though he sounded slightly breathless. "Just a glitch."

Ping.

His phone lit up in his other hand.

Elodie watched as he glanced at the screen. His eyes widened.

"What?" she asked, pulling herself up from the floor. "Is it bad news?"

Alistair stared at the screen. "Impossible."

"What is it?"

He looked at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. "The architectural firm that has been blocking my permits for the new stadium project for six months... they just folded. The CEO just resigned. We got the approval."

He looked from his phone to Elodie, and then to the spot on her shoulder where his hand had been moments ago.

"That’s..." He shook his head. "That’s incredibly lucky."

Elodie rubbed her wrist. The bracelet was cooling down, but it still hummed against her pulse.

"Yeah," she whispered, thinking of the old man’s blue eyes. "Lucky."