Free Nerds Are Freaks Too by Koko Brown Page B

seconds, she hustled
toward the elevators. Skidding to a halt, she punched the down button, barely
giving any notice to the ornate, scrolling floral artwork etched into the brass
doors.
    “Just my luck,” Roxanne hissed. One of the elevators was on
the way down from the twenty-second floor, the other coming up from the lobby.
If Constantine happened to be on the ascending elevator, Roxanne figured she
had a fifty-fifty chance of making a clean getaway.
    “Come on, come on,” she encouraged, willing the descending
elevator to move faster. Her guardian angels must have heard her, because both
elevators stopped—one floor above and one floor below.
    Seconds stretched into an eternity while both elevators
lingered on their respective floors. She leaned forward and listened—muffled
laughter and the rumble of luggage drifting from above; silence below.
    To make sure the descending elevator stopped on her floor,
Roxanne pressed the down button again. As she dropped her hand, the top button
lit up and the light above the ascending elevator went dark.
    Roxanne shuffled backward, her stomach dropping faster than
the Raging Bull at Six Flags Chicago.
    Roxanne knew she couldn’t make it to the stairs if her life
depended on it. And the ice machine room was near her suite, also too far.
She’d made use of it earlier to chill the bottle of champagne now resting at
the bottom of her overnight bag.
    The elevator bell dinged, snatching her chances of a quick
escape like an open umbrella in a wind gust.
    Inching farther away, Roxanne could see the elevator
operator when the doors parted—and a partial view of another man’s body. Just a
shoulder, arm and leg, impeccably dressed in a black suit, the cuff of a white
dress shirt peeking from the jacket. She didn’t dare crane her neck to see his
face.
    Roxanne gulped. Constantine!
    “Twelfth floor, sir,” the elevator operator announced, while
Roxanne deliberated over a course of action. With few options, she dropped her
purse. Since she carried everything except her kitchen sink in the vintage
Valentino hobo bag, it would be a decent distraction.
    “Oh my,” she gasped loudly. Even though only a few items
tumbled out around her feet, it was better than nothing. She dropped to her
knees. “I am just a butterfingers today.”
    She fumbled with a tube of lipstick while Constantine’s feet
hesitated on the threshold of the elevator. Wondering why he’d stopped, Roxanne
peeked over the top of her sunglasses—and her jaw dropped.
    Light gray eyes, dark hair and an olive complexion reminded
her of a young Mel Gibson, circa Mad Max , before all the drinking binges
and anti-Semitic jokes.
    “We don’t need another hero,” she whispered, unable to pull
her eyes away. She watched him reach inside his trouser pocket and pull a
twenty dollar bill from a silver money clip. He tried to give it to the
elevator operator, but the attendant waved him off.
    “No tips, sir. Hotel policy. Enjoy your stay.”
    “Thank you, I’m aiming to.” Constantine stepped off the
elevator, snapping Roxanne out of her trance.
    Returning to the task at hand, Roxanne threw the rest of her
things back into her purse.
    “You missed something, miss.”
    Roxanne froze, her fist palming a half-eaten roll of breath
mints. She refused to look up even as he crouched next to her. Instead, she
concentrated on his black Gucci loafers.
    Not only was Constantine a good tipper, he was a Good
Samaritan with big feet.
    “Thanks.” Roxanne came to her feet the same time one
elevator closed and the other opened. Keeping her head down, she took the
eye-brightener pencil from him, noting his long, tapered fingers.
    Roxanne gulped. Handsome. Tall. Big Feet. Long fingers. He
was definitely her type.
    And yet in spite of all these positives, he had one glaring
strike against him.
    He wasn’t Leo.
    And he wasn’t the one who’d stirred up the little
butterflies now fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
    Confident in her