Love on the Ninth Floor

by Aries Skye

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Trending on TikTok takes on an entirely new meaning when the ‘for you’becomes a viral love story in the making. Aries Skye makes a sizzling debut in this flirty feel-good romance, perfect for fans of Jasmine Guillory and Farrah Rochon.
Zany and vivacious Nissi Richards always had her sights set on one goal—her career. As the youngest doctor at Optimal Dentistry, Nissi is the epitome of Black Girl Magic and a #GoalCrusher. Dating, however, was a different topic, or rather more of a non-existent headline. Despite her best friend's botched matchmaking attempts and her meddlesome sisters who insist she hook a man, love and marriage were never on Nissi's to-do list—at least not that she'd admit.
Kannon Jordan was a man of simplicity. Unimpressed with the whims of every short skirt that flitted by, or the sexy social media prospects, the ravishing fireman was content with the bachelor's life. A cosmic shift in his beliefs takes a nosedive once he crosses paths with a dazzling doctor in distress.
When Kannon rescued Nissi from a malfunctioned elevator, she never thought she'd see the handsome fireman again. Suddenly, when a TikTok video goes viral, the two strangers are miraculously reconnected. Will Nissi and Kannon surrender to their feelings, or will they deny their chemistry and the possibility of love at first sight?

Release date: October 24, 2023

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter One

Nissi

“Not again.”

Sitting in construction traffic, I peered at my rose gold Talley & Twine watch. It was my fault because I should’ve left the house on time. Instead of putting my phone in my purse as I intended, I allowed myself to scroll on my new favorite app, TikTok. Of course, one funny video led to another until I found myself deep in an impromptu dance session to a cluster of “Make it Clap” and “Swinging off the Chandelier” videos. I swear that silly app has been the worst and best thing of my life thus far. It started with my assistant nearly strapping me to my seat during lunch one day to watch a video. Soon, our office became a mini-viral sensation. Every Friday, we posted office day dance challenges, and the TikTok universe ate it up for whatever reason. Hundreds of thousands of people tuned in daily to our office account and even our personal ones to get a glimpse of us dancing or doing some comical, harmless skit. So much so that the other occupants in our building started calling us the Tok-stars, a play on the word doctors. Corny, I know, but it was cute. So, we used that as our official hashtag for every video. But now, the app was causing me to run late for work.

I’d managed to limit my morning antics with social media so this wouldn’t happen, but now and again, I got snatched into the TikTok realm and was left scrambling in my real life–– like today. I wished I could create a TikTok video singing the hook of Ludacris’ anthem, Move, b*tch, get out the way, to these slow motorists. I could make it on time if they would go just a little faster. Well, as long as I didn’t have to wait for that extra slow elevator. We were housed in one of the most top-notch, state-of-the-art buildings and couldn’t get a better elevator? It was like they had budgeted for everything else and then got to the elevators and decided that expense would break the bank. I’m sure we could’ve traded in a few of the no less than fifty Keurigs in the building to do elevator upgrades, especially since we still had the good old-fashioned coffee pots available for those who were Keurig-illiterate. If left to Ms. Dana, the front receptionist, we wouldn’t have any upgrades, including a Keurig. I could hear her now in the bathroom: Who needs lights that automatically illuminate? Just turn them on in the morning and let the suckers run all day. That’s how we used to do it. Energy efficiency and cost savings be damned. At this moment, I couldn’t argue with her, though. I would’ve gladly traded in the illuminating perk for a faster elevator.

A few moments later, traffic started moving, and I knew God had to be looking down on His child. It was just enough movement for me to take the back street and cut through the buildings to get to our building’s parking garage. I couldn’t scan my parking card fast enough so the gated arm could lift. Semi-flooring my pearl white 2020 Audi RS7 sports car, I whipped into my parking spot and shut off the engine, then quickly pushed my face mask up and grabbed my coat from the passenger’s seat along with my messenger bag and crossbody purse. I slung the crossbody over my head, threw my coat across my messenger bag, and slipped it on my shoulder. With a click of my key fob, my car locked as I sprinted to the security booth, which was thankfully free of other employees.

“Running late TikToking, I see,” Franklin, the security guard, badgered me jokingly as I flashed my badge.

“Not today, Frank!” I ran through his station with a smile, barely giving him the time to identify me properly.

As I whizzed past him, he darted his head out of the booth and yelled, “She’s a runner. She’s a track star.”

Laughing, I threw my middle finger back at him as I gave truth to the off-key song lyrics while taking flight down the corridor to the elevator. Sweet Baby Jesus is really on my side today, I thought when I noticed a few occupants entering one of the lifts.

“Hey!” My hands flailed like a mad woman. “Please hold the doors.”

A man sacrificed his hand and foot to keep the doors from closing just as I slid between them, breathing heavily with a light sheen that had developed on my forehead. I’m sure I looked crazed, but I didn’t care. Catching this elevator meant I would make it to work on time with five minutes to spare.

The man who held the door huffed. “You’re lucky, lady. You must not know how slow these elevators are,” he said to the grumbled agreement of the three other occupants.

Slipping my white coat from around my messenger bag, I lightly shook it and turned to address him. “It’s Doctor Lady, and yes, I do know. Hence why I was Usain Bolt’ing to catch it.”

My statement was met with a few chuckles.

The man put his hand up. “My apologies.”

I turned back to look at him. “None needed, but thank you.”

“What floor?” he asked, remembering he hadn’t pressed the number when I entered.

The building had ten floors, and only numbers 3, 4, and 8 were lit up. The occupant to my left was just about to exit on floor number three.

Staring up at the man, I replied, “Nine, thank you.”

He pressed my floor’s number along with his and stepped to the side when it lit up.

“Name’s Brandon. I work on the sixth floor at Tetro Development.”

It took a second for me to realize he was talking to me. When I glanced over at him, I could see him ogling me from head to toe. From what I could tell, he appeared to be a nice-looking, clean-cut, slender, mocha-brown young man behind the mask covering.

Tetro was an app development company, and all the young, freshly graduated techies flocked to their business for a job. From what I’d heard, they had a hell of an intern program, paid new graduates generously, and were big on innovation. A few breakout techies had come from Tetro with cutting-edge technology they’d developed. It was the place to be––for young folks. I was young-ish, too. Twenty-six. But I wasn’t “twenty-one-fresh-off-my-mama’s-breast-milk-and-don’t-know-how-to-pay-my-light-bill” young. Those were the crux of Tetro’s employees. Graduation on Saturday. Tetro on Monday morning. Therefore, as cute as Brandon may have been, face shield included, he wasn’t about to waste my time. However, I would be polite.

“Dr. Nissi Richards, ninth floor with Optimal Dentistry Group. Everyone calls me Dr. Nissi.”

His goofy chuckle followed my words, and I could hear the cheesy pickup line before it even graced his lips.

“Can I call you, Dr. Nissi?” he said.

The man who stood slightly behind me boldly laughed as he exited on the fourth floor.

“Good day, everyone,” he said, in a bad attempt to mask that he had clowned Brandon No Last Name.

“Well, Mr.…uhh…Brandon, I presume you can since everyone else does.”

Glancing over at him, I knew that was the wrong thing to say. He’s comfortable now. Proving my inner thoughts to be true, he leaned back onto the elevator wall and entered “mack” mode. Bless his young heart.

“Or maybe I can call you Nissi without the Doctor.”

The man upstairs must’ve heard my silent cries because He answered by way of the elevator, which had come to a halt on the young man’s floor. As the door opened, he stood in front of me, awaiting my response. His courage was commendable, but he wasn’t going to make any headway with me. Commence the letdown.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Dr. Nissi works just fine for me.”

“Come on. Give a young brother a chance to change your mind.”

Score. That simplistic pickup line was pretty good. Old school. Respectable. Chance-worthy. Still, it was a no-go for me.

“Sorry, you’re fresh out of college, and I am much older than I appear. I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. Focus that energy on your budding career, and best wishes to you.”

He stepped from the elevator just before the doors began to close.

“Again, the name’s Brandon, if you change your mind,” he shouted as the doors shut, ceasing further come-on attempts.

The doors hadn’t been closed five seconds before the woman beside me burst into laughter.

“Shut up, Ciara,” I said, turning to her.

“Girl, these young boys never cease to amaze me. You get a new one once a month now. Hey, at least this one had a decent pickup line and wasn’t disrespectful when you turned him down. Progress.”

Pointing my finger at her, I shook my head while giggling. “Not funny, but you’re right.”

Ciara Brown worked on the eighth floor. She was a twenty-nine-year-old entrepreneur who owned a life, home, and auto insurance company, CB Insurance. We met when I began working for Optimal Dentistry Group two years ago. She was one of the first faces I met on my first day as a dentist, and she helped quell my nerves. We’d made quick acquaintances and then became fast friends. Since we had to be at work at the same time, we often wound up on the same elevator ride and made it a sport to see how many of the Tetro Boys, as we called them, hit on us with their lame lines.

“And you’re talking about you’re much older. Girl, you just graduated from the bottle to the sippy cup yourself, calling that man young.”

“Hmm, if I’m on the sippy cup, then he’s still getting weaned from the boob. We both know he probably just had his first legal sip of alcohol a day ago. Decent pickup line or not, who introduces themselves without a last name? If I were to change my mind, who was I supposed to ask for?”

“Brandon, if you change your mind!” we said simultaneously as a barrage of laughter bellowed between us just as the elevator reached her floor.

“Girl, you’re a whole mess,” she quipped, stepping off the elevator. “I do wish you’d consider dating, in any case. You’re going to turn into the old maid.” She patted my hand, and her gleaming wedding band almost blinded me.

“Once I find my Zachariah, I’m sure I’ll be all in love.”

My reference was to her husband, Zachariah Tremble. She held her married name but had founded CB Insurance before they met. So, at work—and she was very clear it was solely at work—she went by her maiden name of Brown.

“There’s always—”

“Girl, stop.”

My cutoff game was strong because I knew where her next statement was headed––in the wrong direction. She and her husband were forever trying to set me up with his cousin, Iman. Sweet, he was. Fine, he was definitely. Stable and secure, he was not. The man stayed “between jobs” more than he held one, and when he wasn’t working, he always claimed to be working on some business venture that never made it past the idea. Zachariah swore Iman needed someone to settle him. He did. Jesus, not me. If Iman couldn’t get his own life together, what was he going to add to mine? Surely not value.

After hearing about his lackluster work ethic, I wondered why he always seemed to have a woman by his side. That answer came with a bit of prying from Ciara. From what she’d explained to me, his former girlfriends fawned over him for his bedroom antics, and from having met him twice, I could personally attest that he was a respectful, kind man—a rarity for our millennial roots. Good peen and sweet sentiments were only good for a good time, though. I needed someone I knew could stand in the gap with me, and for me, when the rubber met the road, not someone still examining the road to determine if they should begin construction. Zachariah and Ciara loved their cousin, and they meant well, but Iman wasn’t it. Not for me. Hell, not for anyone until he got his life together.

“Lunch?” Ciara called out as the doors began to close.

“Now you know I’m going to always have just enough to eat.”

As I walked into my office and slid into my chair, my favorite dental assistant, Sheena, came through the door.

“Look who made it with two minutes to spare!”

I pointed at the door. “No, ma’am. Not before my first cup of coffee, you will not,” I joked with her.

“Good thing I got you.” She produced a paper cup with a lid and handed it to me. “Just the way you like it.”

Taking the cup, I peeled back the plastic cover to the opening, inhaled the fresh aroma of the hot liquid energizer, and took a sip, humming to the feel of it flowing down my throat.

“Orgasmic, isn’t it?”

Damn near choking at her comment, I laughed and pointed again. “The door!”

She fanned me off as she walked away and shouted, “Patient at ten.”

After my door was closed, I eased back into my leather chair. I loved my life. I really did, but I had to admit, Ciara was right about one thing––I wanted someone to share this life I loved with. I’d never admit that to her or my pesky sisters, Angela and Aquila, though. Truthfully, not to anyone.

Chapter Two

Nissi

My day zoomed by rather quickly between charting and consultations. It was already five minutes past lunchtime, and my stomach was telling the story. If “hangry” was a person, it would’ve been me. In my haste to get to work, I left my morning smoothie on the kitchen counter. Served my TikTok-self right. I was only functioning on this morning’s cup of Joe and a pack of peanut butter crackers from my now-depleted snack stash in my office drawer. Not to mention, I’d only eaten a grilled chicken Caesar salad the night before. I flaked on my sister Aquila for dinner last night, so I guess that served me right, too.

Forgive me, Lord, but I did not want to hear any more gripes about her husband—my so-called brother-in-law, Joel. It was the same two complaints: he never had time for her or the boys, and their sex life wasn’t the same after my one-year-old nephew, Nisante, was born. She acted as if she’d never heard of marriage counseling before. I didn’t go to college for that, but I felt like charging a fee every time I had to endure her endless vents, especially those that lacked action.

Oh, and back to the Nisante thing. No, my nephew wasn’t named after me. He was named after our father, Nisante Richards, and I have been a little salty toward her since that spiteful move. My parents had thought I was going to be a boy. They were so sure, in fact, that the only name they had come up with was Nisante, Jr. So, my dad changed Nisante to Nissi when I was born, and my mother went along with it. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have some A-name variant like my sisters, Angela and Aquila, derived from our mother’s name, Abigail. I’d always told my family, Aquila’s thieving ass included, that I would name my first son Nisante. Rather than respect that, she pulled an Aquila and named her second-born son Nisante. But let her tell it, she claims she forgot I said that and that it had nothing to do with me but rather to honor our father. Her best excuse was I shouldn’t be pressed about it because I had no children––the audacity of a thousand audacities. Since then, I’ve dealt with her on an as-needed basis, and dinner at her house, while her husband was away on business, was not needed.

Now I regretted not taking Aquila up on the offer. If nothing else, my health-nut sister could cook and was the queen of leftovers. Therefore, I would have had a guaranteed good meal and leftovers today if I hadn’t bailed on her. It was a given that I’d hear her disappointment later regarding it. In hindsight, with an impending tongue-lashing and an empty stomach, I should’ve just gone.

“So, are you coming to lunch today or next week?” Ciara’s voice bellowed through my cell phone with an air of cynicism.

“Keep your stilettos on. I’m coming.” I stood from my chair and removed my white coat.

“Let me switch my coat and shoes. I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”

“Five minutes, or you’ll be forced to eat the stomach virus atrocities of ‘ewww, egg salad’ or ‘bubble-gut burritos’ from the vending machine,” she joked.

“Nasty! Hell naw. I’d waste money on Uber Eats before I ever played Russian Roulette with my digestive system like that.”

She hurled in laughter.

“I’ll see you in a bit. Let me hop to it.”

Draping my white coat on the back of my leather chair, I walked to my door and lifted my cropped jean jacket from the hook, sliding it on my arms over my yellow cap-sleeved petticoat flare dress with a giant sunflower near the hem. It was moving closer to fall, but I carried the summertime mood in my attire with the warm weather still in play. Sitting down, I changed out of my Nike Air Max to my Stella Hues stilettos. Then I stood, grabbed my Kintu New York crossbody, pulled my Optimal Dentistry mask over my face, and headed out of the office.

“Headed to lunch,” I called out to Sheena.

“Bring something back for me,” she shouted from the computer where she was stationed.

Jokingly, I tossed back, “Ha! You got bring-back money?”

“Nope, but you do,” she countered.

Opening the door leading to the main lobby, I snorted through giggles without responding. She knew I would bring her back something anyway. I always took care of my people. Sheena got special treatment, and the others knew it. That’s because Sheena and I had a bond like no other. You would think we were sisters. It’d been like that since the moment I hired her during my first week at the company.

Optimal Dentistry Group housed four dentists, including me, and we each carried our own clients and staff under one group name. It also helped keep our clients loyal because if one of us was out or on vacation, the client was routed to another one of us for care instead of being referred out. I loved my career, group, employees, and clients. This slow elevator was another subject, though.

As the doors slowly opened, I shook my head at the wait time while stepping on. Once secured inside, I pulled out my phone to text Ciara.

Me: On my way down. On the slow boat to China now.

Ciara B: Okay, girl. In the lobby waiting on you.

Right after I pressed L for the lobby, the elevator jerked roughly, causing me to stumble and almost lose my footing. I gripped the rail to keep from falling, but not before I rolled my ankle in my stilettos.

“Damn it!” I shouted, kicking the shoe off and grabbing my ankle. Leave it to me to sprain my ankle trying to be cute for lunch.

To be on the safe side, I kicked the other heel off. I didn’t need to have two sprained ankles. Welp, there goes my lunch. As soon as I got to the lobby, I would have to give Ciara money for my food and head back up so one of the assistants could wrap my paining ankle. Just what I needed. That’s when I realized the elevator wasn’t moving, and the buttons weren’t illuminated.

Hobbling to the panel, I pressed the button, but nothing happened. I pushed it again, this time in rapid succession. Still no lights and no movement. Keeping my cool, I tried the button to open the elevator doors. Still nothing. Suddenly, it struck me that I was stuck in this decrepit contraption.

“Great!” I threw my hands up. “Just great.”

I pulled the emergency phone out and pressed the number. That’s how old these jalopies were. It didn’t even have the new and improved call button. Who in the hell certified these elevators to pass an inspection? Whoever it was, was either lazy or a complete imbecile.

“Yes, can we help you?”

I breathed a sigh of relief that it actually worked when the security guard answered.

“I am stuck on the main floor elevator.”

“Oh no. Okay, which carriage?”

Putting the phone down, I looked up and over at the letter branded on the side of the elevator and then returned to the call. “Carriage B like Boy.”

“Okay. Which floor do you think you’re stuck on?”

“It never moved from floor nine. It just shifted roughly and stopped.”

“All right. What’s your name, and are you okay? How many other passengers are on the elevator?”

“I am Dr. Nissi Richards from Optimal Dentistry Group. For the most part, I’m good. I twisted my left ankle when it shifted, though, and I am the only lucky one stuck on the Pony Express.”

The security guard chuckled. “At least you’re in good spirits.”

“Tell that to my throbbing ankle and growling stomach.”

He laughed, and even though I was being silly, I was far from joking. My stomach was ready to fight me. Once he was over his fit of laughter, he placed me on a brief hold while he assessed the situation and called for assistance.

“Maintenance has been dispatched, and they are on their way up, Dr. Richards. I am Tim. I’ll be monitoring this line for you. Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Can you tell Ciara Brown in the lobby that I am stuck in the elevator? I was going to try to call her, but in case my call doesn’t connect, I need to inform her because she’s waiting on me.”

“Will do. I’ve also dispatched medical assistance about your ankle. I know you’re a doctor, so before you argue, it’s protocol.”

Scoffing, I asked, “What do you know about doctors and their attitudes about medical assistance?”

“My mama is a nurse, and y’all are the worst patients.”

“I resent that, Tim.” Stifling back a grin, I added, “Even if it is true.”

His deep, baritone voice rattled through the phone as he chuckled.

“You’re a mess, but I am glad you’re upbeat. It’ll make this situation a little better. Hold tight, and I will inform your friend, Mrs. Brown.”

“Sure. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Again, he burst out laughing as he hung up the phone. I did the same. By now, my ankle was outweighing my empty stomach, and I knew I had to get off it. All I had was my crossbody and my denim jacket. I was not about to put my pretty yellow dress on the grimy floor. It was bad enough my feet were forced to touch it. Lawd! And in the middle of a panoramic, my playful term for pandemic. Ugh! At least we were coming out of this lockdown, and the city was opening back up. Still, as soon as I was out of there, I was going to spray myself with Lysol, leave work early, and head to my bathtub to scrub-a-dub-dub. Easing off my denim jacket, I folded it neatly and copped a squat on the elevator floor while I waited for maintenance.

My cell phone ringing was a welcomed sound until I saw who it was on the other end. Ciara. I knew this chick was about to clown me.

“Don’t even start!”

My threat was met with a barrage of sniggles.

“Oh, God! It’s true. You would be the one to get trapped in the elevator.”

“You know what, and I say this with all the disrespect, go to hell.” My little snippy, harmless tirade only made her laugh harder. “I’m about to cancel our friendship contract. Keep clowning me.”

“I’m sorry, girl.” She calmed down. “Seriously, though, are you hurt?”

“I twisted my ankle. I tried to be cute and traded my Air Max for my Stella Hues, only to be barefoot on this dusty elevator.”

I could tell she was trying not to give into hysterics again.

“Girl, you gotta stop! I’m trying not to laugh. My stomach and cheeks are already hurting.”

I shook my head while grinning myself and asked, “What are they doing?”

“Everyone is gathering around because the entire elevator system is shut down. Maintenance is using the stairs to come and get you now. Listen, I know you’re going to be hella hungry, so I’m going to go and grab us lunch. By the time they get you out of there, I’ll have some food for you.”

“Girl, by the time I get out, I’m going to the house to bathe. My skin is starting to itch as we speak. I swear I see little coronavirus molecules floating around this elevator.”

“It could be worse. You could be stuck on there with somebody, breathing in their germs and God knows what else.”

“Ewww!”

“Well, let me get out of here. It’s getting crowded, and I need to grab this food. But I will check on you. Hopefully, by the time I’m back, your little adventure will be over.”

We said our goodbyes, and as I waited for maintenance, I scrolled on TikTok. At least the Wi-Fi was still working. After a few minutes of watching the latest dance craves and comedy skits, I heard a bang on the door.

“Dr. Richards?” a man’s voice reverberated through the steel.

“Yes! It’s me. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am. My name is George, and I’m here with my co-worker Ralph. We are going to get you out of there. Just do me a favor and stand away from the doors.”

“You got it. Thank you so much.”

George and Ralph beat and banged on the doors to no avail. By now, my stomach had tag-teamed with my ankle, and they were hitting me with the one-two combination. My manner was quickly turning from David Banner to the Hulk.

“Do you think you should call somebody else?” My voice came out a little rough with desperation.

“Dr. Richards, this is George. At this point, we’re going to have to call Fire and Rescue. We’re not able to get the doors open with our tools.”

No shit, Sherlock. “Gee, thanks! How long before they get here?”

“Medical is already here waiting for us to get the door open so they can attend to your ankle. Ralph is on the phone with the emergency operator now. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Did he say they are just now calling emergency? Oh, Father in Heaven.

It’d been an hour. I wasn’t claustrophobic, thank goodness, but it was warm in the elevator. I was also tired of sitting on the nasty floor, along with the fact that I was battling hunger and pain.

“I’d love for them to hurry.”

“I understand, Dr. Richards. I apologize it’s taking so long. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy. I promise.”

That’s what you said an hour ago, George. Thankfully, I had enough couth to say that in my mind instead of aloud the way I wanted. Thank goodness I didn’t have to use the restroom. Otherwise, it would have been a real situation in this contraption.

By that point, my mind had begun playing tricks on me. All I could think about was every movie with a faulty elevator or a terroristic threat where they blew up the elevator systems. Hell, I’d even drifted to the Hollywood Tower of Terror. What would happen if I free-fe. . .