Part 3:
2 minutes. Sit. Breathe. Let your body catch up with the fact that you’re safe now. Clare wanted to argue. She had meetings, calls, a gala speech to finalize. But her hands were still shaking and her legs felt like water. And Ryan was looking at her with such patient kindness that she found herself nodding. 2 minutes, she agreed.
Ryan stood, giving her space but not leaving. He turned to the red-haired maintenance worker. Jake, call up to M. Hail’s office. Let them know she’s safe and will be up shortly. Then get with Tom and start the full safety check on this elevator. I want to know exactly what failed and why. On it, Jake said, already moving toward the stairwell door.
Ryan turned back to Clara. You mentioned a gala tonight. The Children’s Medical Foundation benefit. I’m giving the keynote speech. That’s a good cause. It’s good publicity, Clara said automatically, then winced at how cold she sounded. I mean, yes, it’s a good cause. The foundation does important work with pediatric cancer research.
Ryan’s expression didn’t change, but Clara got the sense he’d heard what she hadn’t said as much as what she had. Will you be all right to speak tonight? I mean, after this. Of course. It was just an elevator malfunction. These things happen. They do, Ryan agreed. But that doesn’t mean they’re not scary. It’s okay to admit that, you know.
Clara looked up at him, this maintenance man who’d just given her permission to be human and felt something crack in the ice she’d built around herself. Just a hairline fracture, barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. It was scary, she admitted quietly. I don’t like enclosed spaces. I never have.
I usually She stopped, unsure why she was telling him this. I usually take the stairs when no one’s watching. Ryan’s expression softened. Then you were incredibly brave taking the elevator this morning and incredibly brave for staying calm in there. I wasn’t calm. I was terrified. Being brave doesn’t mean not being scared. It means being scared and doing it anyway.
My daughter taught me that. You have a daughter? The words were out before Clara could stop them, and she immediately wanted to take them back. Too personal, too interested. She was his boss’s boss’s boss, and he was maintenance staff, and there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. But Ryan’s face lit up in a way that made Clare’s heart do that strange flutter again.
Emma, she’s six, going on 16, according to her teacher. She decided she wanted to go as a dinosaur for Halloween last year, even though all her friends were princesses. terrified of what the other kids would say, but she did it anyway. That’s brave. Clara found herself smiling. Really smiling. Not the practiced corporate smile she showed cameras and investors. A dinosaur.
What kind? Velociraptor. We made the costume together. It was well, it was more enthusiasm than accuracy, but she loved it. There was something in the way he said we. A shadow that passed across his face so quickly Clara almost missed it. “Loss,” she thought. “Old pain worn smooth by time, but never quite healed.
” “Your wife?” Clara asked gently. Ryan’s smile faltered. “I’m a widowerower. Sarah died 3 years ago. Cancer.” “I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate, but Clara meant them. She knew loss, even if hers had been different. That must be incredibly difficult. Some days more than others, but Emma, his expression softened again.
Emma makes it worth getting up every morning. Kids have a way of demanding you stay present. You know, can’t dwell too much on the past when you’ve got a six-year-old asking why the sky is blue and whether unicorns are real. And can we please, please, please get a puppy? Can you get a puppy? Ryan laughed. We’re working up to it.
Right now, we’re at the goldfish stage. His name is Flash, and he’s apparently the fastest goldfish in the world, according to Emma. Clara felt something twist in her chest. Envy, maybe for this life she’d never had. This warm, messy, beautiful life full of goldfish and dinosaur costumes, and someone who needed you, not for what you could do, but simply for who you were.
Her phone buzzed, then buzzed again. Reality reasserted itself. “I should go,” Clara said, standing. Her legs felt steadier now. Thank you for She gestured vaguely at the elevator, at the space he’d occupied, at the conversation that had somehow mattered more than any meeting on her calendar. For everything just doing my job, Miss Hail, but they both knew it had been more than that.
Clara straightened her blazer, tucked her phone into her bag, and prepared to step back into the role she wore like armor. But before she could walk away, she turned back. Ryan. Yes, Miss Hail. The breathing technique, the counting to four. Thank you for that. He nodded, understanding what she was really thanking him for. Anytime.
Clara walked toward the stairwell. She’d take the stairs the rest of the way up, she decided. But she could feel Ryan’s eyes on her back. She told herself it didn’t matter. He was maintenance. She was the CEO. Their worlds had intersected for 22 minutes, and now they would drift back to their separate orbits. She told herself this very firmly all the way up to the 48th floor.
