Elevator Heat


Lance Simmons almost dropped his tool box as he dashed across the hotel lobby, en route for the closing elevator door. He made it just in time, sticking his arm out just before the door closed. The door then re-opened, and catching his breath, Lance stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 43rd floor.

It only took a few seconds for Lance to realize that he was not alone in the elevator. He looked behind him and noticed a beautiful, ravishing blonde-haired woman standing against the back wall of the elevator, wearing an expensive business outfit, holding a leather tote-bag in front of her. She looked extremely young - no more than 21, if even that.

"What are you looking at?" the woman blurted out in a snotty tone, glancing meanly at the man.

"Uhh... nothing," Lance replied, turning his head the other way. What a beautiful woman, he said to himself. But if her initial voice was any indication of her personality, Lance figured, she was not the type of woman to pursue. Never before had someone sounded so conceited.

As the elevator began to ascend, something popped up in Lance's mind. That lady looked familiar to him. Wait a minute! There was a reason she looked familiar to him. In fact, he knew who she was!

"You're Tiffany Wilson!" Lance exclaimed, spinning around and looking at the woman in disbelief.

She gave an exasperated look and then shrugged her shoulders. "So?"

Lance ripped open his tool box, searching for a piece of paper and a pen. "Wow! This is incredible! Can I have your autograph? Wow! My little brother just loves you!"

The blonde took in a deep breath, then spoke in a very demeaning tone. "Look, I DON'T do autographs."

Lance stopped, looking up at her with a stunned expression. She was much different than what he had previously envisioned her as...

To anyone who owned a television, 19-year-old Tiffany Wilson was a superstar. She was the marquee name on SEASIDE LODGE, a network program which always ranked high in the weekly television ratings. People knew her as Amber Sheridan, the sexy and flirtatious maid of a little motel situated on the California coast. Before she landed this role, Tiffany had made her mark in the entertainment community as a fashion model. She had two calendars out, plus a workout video and even a commercial for a mascara company. At 19, she literally had the world at her feet.

"You don't do autographs?" the repairman asked, crestfallen. "All I ask for is one... that's all. My little brother, he has your calendar up on his wall and he watches your show every single week. He just loves you more than any other..."

"LOOK," Tiffany repeated, now in a firm tone, "I DON'T do autographs for ANYONE. I could care less about your worthless little brother."

Lance gave an expression of confusion and then turned his head quickly, so the famous star could not see his new look of disgust. What a fucking bitch, he said to himself. She could have told him about her "no autograph" rule in a much nicer and more polite way, instead of just being snotty and demeaning him and his brother at the same time.

Tiffany sighed and ran a brush through her long, perfectly-styled hair, eyeing the man from behind. She hated to be in the same elevator with someone his type. "I'm a million dollar star," she told herself. "And I have to share an elevator with some lousy repairman. This hotel should have elevators for stars. After all, lots of stars come here."

"You know," Lance said, breaking the woman's train of thought. He kept looking straight ahead, not turning to peer back at her. "You must really be a good actress."

"Thanks," she said, squinting suspiciously at him.

"Yeah," he added. "Your character on TV is so nice and sweet. You on the other hand, in real life, are nothing but a spoiled little brat. No one would really know that unless they met you for real."

"WHAT?" Tiffany screamed, full of rage and anger. "You can't talk to me like that!"

"Who says?" Lance asked, now turning around to face her.

"Me!" she exclaimed, taking a swing and hitting him in the shoulder.

Lance, who prided himself on never raising a hand to strike a woman, just stood there and shook his head at her, as she fumed before him. No one had probably ever opposed her like this before, he told himself. This bitch actress probably had people eating out of her hands on a regular basis.

Tiffany reached into her tote-bag and scrambled for her celluar phone. "I'm going to call security on you!" she screamed. "You can't talk to me that way! I'm Tiffany Wilson, damnit!"

"Look," Lance said, "let's just forget it, okay?"

"Wouldn't you like to do that!" she huffed.

"Yeah, I would," he told her, matter of factly. "Plus, if you call security on me, I'll get them on you too. You're the one who hit me. I did nothing but call you a spoiled little brat."

Tiffany stopped and looked up at him, frozen. She could not afford any bad press in the tabloid media. Those nasty reporters would carve her up if they learned that she was even accused of punching someone. Her career may take a massive hit, then she may be finished!

So, Tiffany closed her tote-bag and looked at the repairman with a confident, sure expression. "Okay, you got yourself a deal. Just don't bother me anymore. What floor are we up to, anyway?"

Lance glared at her then looked at the control panel. "22." He turned around so he wasn't facing her anymore. He then noticed that she was apparently headed to the 51st floor, 8 higher than him. The button for the 51st floor was lit up, as was the 43rd floor button.

Lance, a handyman whose employer had a contract with this hotel, had been sent here to fix the air conditioner in one of the rooms. He was 31 years old and had been in the repair business since graduating from college. Just an average joe, Lance wore faded blue jeans and an old t-shirt. A full tool belt was around his waist, and he carried a tool box in his right hand as well.

Lance tapped his foot on the elevator floor as the compartment went higher and higher in the building, wanting to get away from this crass, snobby actress. He wondered to himself whether or not he should tell his brother of this experience. It would dampen his brother's image of Tiffany, whom he thought of as the perfect "dream girl". Lance then wondered to himself, would his brother believe that his "dream girl" could be such a bitch? After all, the media gushed over her. All Lance had heard was that this actress could be worthy of sainthood. He was always hearing stories of her helping children and donating to many charities. He also heard stories of how she never turned down an autograph request. "I like to interact with my fans," he heard her once say in a national interview. Yeah, right!

Meanwhile, Tiffany applied more mascara to her already perfect face. She was on her way to a very important meeting with a movie producer, with the possibility of landing a starring role on a high-budget film. That is why she was dressed so professionally, wearing a red business jacket and a knee-length red skirt, to go along with dark stockings and black high-heels. She wore a ton of jewellery and smelled of only the finest, most expensive perfumes and fragrances.

"Come on," Tiffany said, impatient, watching the elevator console flash the current floor. 34. A few seconds later, 35. Then 36.

All of a sudden, the lights in the elevator went out and it came to a rocky, screeching halt. Seconds later, both Lance and Tiffany were stunned as a dimmer light suddenly filled the compartment.

Tiffany looked around, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then it was time for her to explode. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!?"

Lance had seen something like this happen before. "Looks like the electricity went out," he told her calmly.

"ELECTRICITY OUT?" she boomed. "They have to fix it! I have a very important meeting to go to!"

"Calm down," he said, amazed at her brashness. She was such a sweetheart on television - at least the character she played was. "I'm sure the electricity will come back on very soon."

The minutes passed, and the electricity did not come back on. Lance stood patiently, while Tiffany paced back and forth frantically. "Not only will I be late for the meeting," she told herself, "but I have to stay here longer with THIS." She looked at the repairman, sneering.

"Did you do this?" she asked him, very angry. "Did you cause the electricity to go out just so you could be stuck in here with me?"

Lance laughed, and shook his head. "No way. I think the last thing I want is to be stuck in here with YOU, Miss Wilson."

Tiffany gave him a mean look as she shook her head. "I'm going to call this damn hotel's front desk and see what the problem is!" She reached back into her tote-bag and pulled out her cellular phone.

"You do that," Lance said, dropping his tool belt and placing his tool box on the floor. "But I'm going to sit down and relax."

Tiffany found out from hotel administration that there was a major electricity blackout in the city. The hotel had a backup generator, which provided the dim lights that illuminated the elevator compartment, but the generator was not powerful enough to move the elevator.

Angry, she demanded that they get a hotel worker to climb down the elevator shaft and get her out of here. But the administrator told her that would be too dangerous. Tiffany then hung up, disgusted.

A few minutes later, Tiffany had joined Lance on the floor, though she was seated on the other side of the elevator. She didn't want to be near him, at all. The starlet had calmed down considerably, although she was still furious on the inside for this power outage.

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Tiffany looked up, in response the question from Lance. She gave him another mean look and said, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your attitude," he replied, in a firm tone. "All I did was ask for one little autograph. That is no reason to blow up and explode in my face, in anger. I never did anything to you."

Tiffany sighed, then shook her head. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just EVERY single place I go, people want autographs. If they don't want autographs, people are taking pictures of me. I just don't like it. Sometimes I wish people would just leave me alone."

Ahh, Lance said to himself. The hint of an actual human being? "That's the price of being famous."

"Still doesn't mean I have to like it," she sighed. "I would just like to have one day where I can go places and be myself, and not worry about being spotted or hounded for autographs."

"Regardless of who you are," Lance said, "you will get spotted with such a nasty attitude."

"Who died and made you King?" she snarled back.

Lance shook his head and laughed. "Forget it."

There was a silence between them for at least a minute. They sat still, each wanting to get out of the others' sights. When would the damn electricity come back on?

"I'll give you an autograph," Tiffany said, in her nicest tone yet.

"Huh?" Lance asked, looking up at her in surprise.

"I'll give you an autograph," she insisted, her voice returning to its normal tone. "I figure we might as well get along. God knows how long we'll be trapped in here." Tiffany was lying. She didn't want to get along with him. She just wanted to shut him up. She thought by giving him an autograph, he wouldn't bother her any longer.

"I don't want your damn autograph," he told her.

"What?" she snapped. "I thought you did! What about your brother?" She reached into her tote-bag and pulled out a pad and paper. "Tell me his name and I'll write out a little message for him."

Lance sighed in disgust, knowing how much his little brother would cherish an autograph from his favorite television actress. "Kevin. His name is Kevin." Lance watched as Tiffany wrote out a message on her notepad. She ripped the sheet off and then gave it to him.

"Dear Kevin - Thanks for being a fan! Keep watching me on the show!

Tiffany Wilson"

Lance smirked as he read the note, noticing the huge heart that Tiffany had drawn next to her name. She should have drawn a lump of coal, he told himself. It would have fit her disposition much better.

"Thanks," he said off-handedly, slipping the note into a folder sleeve in his tool box made specifically to hold paper.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT IT IS IN HERE?" Tiffany screamed into her cellular phone, an hour later, on the line with the hotel manager. "I have been stuck in this elevator forever and without any air to cool this place down, it now feels like a blasting FURNACE!"

Lance shook his head and smiled as he watched her.

"What do you mean, you can't do anything?" she hollered into the speaker. "Get a worker to go into the elevator shaft, and get me out of here! I'm burning up!"

"Two hours!" she boomed seconds later. "Well that's just fine! I can assure you that I will never do business with this hotel again, and I will discourage any of my friends as well!" She hung up.

Tiffany stomped her high-heeled foot into the plush carpet of the elevator. "Damn people! They now say they'll only send someone to us in the elevator shaft if the power doesn't come back on two hours. That would classify as an 'emergency' in their eyes."

Lance wiped his sweat-covered forehead with an old rag. Without the air conditioner on, the temperature in the elevator had risen dramatically. It was a very hot day outside, at least 100 degrees. It felt that same way in the elevator, if not worse.

"What are you doing?" Tiffany demanded as she watched Lance slip his t-shirt up and over his head.

"I don't know about you," he said, standing up, "but I'm not going to sit here in clothes and roast like a pig."

"You can't take your clothes off!" she exclaimed.

"Don't worry," he told her, stepping out of his work boots. "I will not go totally naked on you. I'll just strip down to my boxers."

"What!?" Tiffany exploded. "Put your clothes back on!"

Lance unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down. Tiffany cringed and turned her face in disgust. "I'm not going to swelter in this heat," he told her. "Once the electricity comes back and this thing starts moving again, I'll put my clothes back on."

Tiffany shook her head in total disbelief. Why did she have to be trapped in this elevator? Why did the electricity have to shut off when she was in this elevator? "I'm better than this!" she told herself.

For the first time, however, Tiffany noticed Lance as someone other than a stereotypical, dirty workman. She watched him settle down into the corner, wearing only silk boxers, the remainder of his clothes piled next to him on the floor.

Lance had a muscular frame and his body was well-defined, especially his chest, which looked strong and powerful. He had wide, broad shoulders and a lot of muscle tone in his arms. He also had a stomach which was as hard as a washboard. Tiffany even noticed that his face wasn't all that bad-looking, either. He was, in fact, quite handsome.

But she shoved those thoughts out of her mind, turning around so she couldn't see him. "Please put your clothes back on," she almost whined. "What happens if the elevator starts up and we reach the floor before you can get dressed? What happens if there is some tabloid person waiting for me, with a camera? They could take a picture and then the whole world would see me in an elevator with a near naked man. Those nasty tabloids would come up with all sorts of wild assumptions!"

"See this button?" Lance said, pointing up to one. "It says, 'emergency stop'. I can press it and it will halt the elevator until it is pressed again. That will give me plenty of time to get dressed."

Tiffany stomped her foot against the floor again. "What happens if a technician overrides the button before you can get dressed?"

"I suggest you do the same," Lance told her.

"What?" she asked, looking back at him.

"Take off your clothes and get more comfortable," he replied. "I can see that you're obviously sweating from this heat."

"NO WAY!" she exploded. "I'M NOT TAKING MY CLOTHES OFF! OH! You would like that, wouldn't you!? You could go around and tell all your friends that you saw Tiffany Wilson stripped down to her bra and panties! Well, no way! I'll roast in this heat before I undress!"

"I wouldn't tell anyone," Lance said, in a disgruntled voice. "I don't do that sort of thing. Besides, you'd be more comfortable if you took that thick jacket off. Why don't you take it off, at least?"

Tiffany looked down at her red blazer. "Because I'm not wearing a blouse underneath it!" She turned away from him, trembling with anger.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," he said. "Look, I won't try anything either, if that's what you're afraid of. Don't you think if I did want to try something, I would have done so already? We've been in here for almost an hour and a half."

"I won't take my clothes off! Ever!"

People change their mind. Even Tiffany Wilson.

15 minutes later, she sat in the opposite corner of the elevator, her knees curled up to her chest, her arms hooked around them. Her sportjacket and skirt, plus her high-heels and stockings, were off to the side. She sat in the elevator, simply wearing a white bra and matching silk panties. The heat had gotten to her so much, that she let her guard down - but only after Lance swore on his life that he would never tell anyone about this. ESPECIALLY the tabloids.

Lance couldn't help but sneak a few peeks at her. She was perfect. Her body, her skin, everything about her physical appearance was simply perfect. He could tell that her breasts, though concealed by the bra, were obviously large and very firm. She had a deep, rich tan and her legs were long - lusciously long. She had the body that Lance imagined only a television starlet could have. He wondered if her breasts were real, though. He had to suppress a smile at that thought.

Though she hated herself for doing it, Tiffany had also peeked at Lance. He had the type of muscular body which she adored. She loved the way his pectorals would ripple each time he raised a hand to wipe his forehead. She even found herself glancing at his boxer shorts, wondering to herself what was inside of them. Would it be big enough?

She shook her head, trying to drive those thoughts away again.

The dim lighting of the elevator seemed to cast an odd romantic feeling over them, adding to the sexual hunger they each felt. Tiffany thought that Lance was extremely handsome - Lance knew that Tiffany was the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes upon in his entire lifetime.

Lance remembered something. He had a thermos at the bottom of his toolbox. If not so rarely used, he would have thought of it earlier.

Tiffany sprung up like a lightning bolt once she saw Lance pull the thermos from his toolbox. She scurried over to him and dropped to her knees, then stared at the thermos before looking up at him, her eyes depicting those of a suddenly desperate woman.

"Please?" she whined. "Please let me have a drink?"

Lance looked at her, shocked. Was she actually begging him? This spoiled little brat was actually begging him for something? He had to hold back a smile at the realization that yes, she was begging him. After the snotty attitude she had earlier displayed, Lance thought this new side of her was rather humorous.

"Thirsty?" he simply asked.

"Yes!" she whined. "Please let me have a drink?"

Lance couldn't deny her. He wasn't that type of person. "Okay, but only after I get a drink first. And save some for later, okay?"

Tiffany watched as he guzzled some of it down. "What is it?"

"Water," he replied. "It's warm water, but it's still water." The repairman handed the thermos to her. "Here."

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