Free Holding Out for a Hero by Stacey Joy Netzel Page B

overwhelming male magnetism. I barely kept myself from leaning against him by digging my jagged nails into my palm.
    “Forget it,” I murmured. His spicy, enticing scent enveloped me, making me long for a pen and paper so I could close my eyes and put the experience in writing. I took a deep savoring breath… and realized he held the door open for me.
    “Oh, thank you.” Ducking my chin in embarrassment, I made myself leave his magical presence. It was all just so strange; I never acted like this. Yes, I am single, but happily so, and by my own choice. I wasn’t even looking at the moment.
    After the door closed behind me, I had a sudden compelling urge to congratulate him on becoming an uncle. Spinning around, I collided with someone else entering the building.
    “Watch it,” the man grumbled.
    My turn to apologize…and my guy had already disappeared. Served me right, I guess. I wasn’t exactly friendly to him. I mentally kicked myself a good one and joined the crowd bee-lining for the elevator doors. The ride proved an exercise in patience as it stopped at every…single…floor. Eventually I arrived on seventeen and pushed through the other passengers, only ten minutes late.
    When I arrived at my cluttered desk, the sight of Mr. Walker’s empty office brought a wave of such dizzying relief I had to sit in my chair before my wobbly knees gave out. Amazing. My luck was still somewhat intact.
    Should’ve known I spoke too soon. All before ten a.m., I managed to rip another nail, run my nylons, jam the copier, stub my toe kicking said copier, accidentally delete a press-release I’d spent twenty minutes composing, and lose one of my favorite earrings.
    Then Mr. Walker’s press-secretary arrived and dumped a stack of poll research folders on my desk, to be reviewed and cataloged by the end of the day. I took a fortifying breath and rubbed my temples because, yes, obviously, this was one of those days. No getting around it.
    “Excuse me?”
    I looked up to see a little old lady standing by my desk holding a kettle with pot holders. Very odd, and somehow, today, not surprising.
    “Where might I find Nalinda Michaels?”
    Her warm, sweet voice conjured up a memory of my grandma pulling fresh baked cinnamon rolls from the oven. My mouth watered at the thought and my empty stomach growled, but the lady in front of me was still waiting for an answer. I directed her toward Nalinda’s office just as Mr. Walker stormed through the reception area and past my desk.
    “Kelsie. My office. Now.”
    I should make him call me Ms. Brooks. I mean, I don’t get to call him Eunice , now do I? Although, to be honest, I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face if I did. Who names their son Eunice? Even now, I found myself grinning through the nervousness churning my stomach as I dug through the piles on my desk for my pen and notebook.
    Had he found out I was late? Would he make good on his promise and kick my butt out the door? How would I pay my rent? Buy groceries? I knew I should’ve updated my resume last night instead of watching that romantic comedy on cable.
    Nalinda’s visitor glanced back with a concerned frown, but I sent her what I hoped was a reassuring smile on my way to answer my summons to the gallows.
    I quickly discovered Mr. Walker’s meeting did not go well, and luck has nodded its fickle head in my direction once more. I swear it’s toying with me today, but since I haven’t lost my job yet, I’ll ride the waves as best I can for the time being.
    In the middle of Mr. Walker’s tirade about corrupt politicians—which I’d heard so many times I could recite the diatribe in my sleep—I began to fantasize about being rescued from my mundane existence by Robin Hood. With a medieval cloak tied about his throat, he’d burst through the doors, sweep me into his arms, and carry me down in an express elevator to the trusty white steed waiting outside.
    Kevin Costner is great, but for some reason, in