“Hello Mr. Gold” She had an accent. It was a honeyed sound; thick and slow. It was staying at home on a winter's day wrapped in blankets and sipping tea; hot. Nothing like his cold, raspy accent when he replied, “You must be Mrs. French.” » She nodded; a visible shiver ran down his spine. Fear. Of course she feared him, everyone feared him, and he loved it. Of course he did. Nodding, he gestured towards the elevator and followed the girl as she headed towards it. He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to regain what little calm he had left only to be shaken again by her scent. She smelled of cherry blossoms. It was airy and soft but intoxicating and it enveloped him, easing a tension in his shoulders that he hadn't even realized existed. He almost leaned towards her in his attempt to breathe in more of the tantalizing aroma, but he caught himself and, using his cane heavily, he stepped in behind her. After showing him where to insert the key and explaining to him how his floor was only accessible with such a key, they began their silent elevator ride. Twenty-five floors where she looked at the floor and he at the ceiling, with occasional glances at each other. She wore a black skirt - long enough to cover up but short enough to make him imagine things he really shouldn't. be. Her blouse, a deep blue, was nothing compared to the color of her enchanting eyes but it suited her well and did wonders to accentuate her milky white skin. The stiletto heels she had on were the same shade and so high that if she approached him they would almost be in his eyes. Her hair, he noticed now, was rather unruly but in the most charming way. It was like... in the middle of a sheet... words barely registered. His whole body felt like it was on fire, his suit suddenly felt two sizes too small, and his throat was as dry as if he'd just run a marathon. All because she brushed her hand against his in passing. Hell, this woman would be the death of him and he knew it. He could stop everything now, he could tell her that someone else was applying for the job and he was better suited for it, but he just couldn't deny himself the pleasurable torture of seeing those mesmerizing eyes all the days and knowing that he I could never say that they were only for him. The ding of the elevator brought him out of his thoughts and by the time he replied, in a hoarse tone once again, "you're welcome, Mrs. French", the doors were already closing. Inside the elevator, the woman felt a shiver run through her. his back at the sound of his voice. Attraction.