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3.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach is back. It feels like someone stuck their hand down my throat to pull a folded paper from my stomach and announce the winner of a trip to Ibiza.

I walk up the mile long staircase that leads to the grand entrance of The Castle. My hands getting clammy, I can't help but feel like someone's eyes are ingrained in the back of my head. I glance around. There's a family opening the doors to their car, getting in to go to their next destination. There's a few people brushing past me on the stairs to get around my stagnant body. When I notice the weird looks being shot in my direction, I turn back towards the main doors of the venue and continue climbing. The steps are made of a washed-grey concrete, soggy leaves and muggy footprints line the straircase from top to bottom.

87 steps.

I wipe my hands from sweat on the fur lining around the hem of my jacket before grabbing the handle to the large doors.

Walking in, my heels make a hushed echo throughout the lobby of the building. There's a grand chandelier hanging dead centre, nicely lighting the elegant lounge chairs underneath. I look to my left and find the front desk.

A lady in her mid-30's is attentively listening to the person on the other line of the phone. Brows creased in thought and what looks like slight panic. As I'm about to reach the desk, a few people brush past me in a hurried pace - some frantically calling their spouses or children on the phone.

I side-step as to not get hurled at again and rest my elbow on the desk in front of the lady, who's name reads Martha. She holds up a finger to tell me one moment before her shaky hand hangs up the black phone.

"What can I do for you?" She lets out a breath and forces a smile.

"Um.. I-. Sorry." Ignoring her frantic state and wondering what the hell is happening to the people around me, I continue, "I'm here to see Mrs. Moore. It's for the Gala."

"Of course. Take the elevator. Her office is on the top floor." The phone rings again. Martha picks it up before I can thank her. I shut my mouth and awkwardly turn to find the elevator doors.

It's situated on the opposite wall, almost diagonally from where I am. Going around the lounge area, I stop in front of the elevator doors and click the arrow button pointing up. Within a couple seconds the door opens and I step in. There's no music and the floors are black and white tiled. Mirrors lining the walls.

I fix up my hair in the mirror and take a deep exhale to calm my nerves. In the reflection I can see people still ushering towards the exit. My brows crease in confusion as I tuck my hair behind my right ear.

"Hold the door!" I whip around quickly and put my hand out to stop the doors from closing.

A tall man enters, breaths ragged as if running a marathon. He has on navy blue suit pants and carries a brown leather briefcase that match his shoes. The doors close and I stay in my position by the numbered buttons to the side.

"I'm going to floor 2 if you could press it for me." He says with a low chuckle. Realizing I haven't acknowledged him, I reach forward and click the glowing red '2'. I give him a shy smile and look up at him for the first time since he entered the small space. He has short blonde hair and very faint stubble on his cheeks. Eyes as blue as the ocean. Not knowing what to say at his cheeky comment, I resume my previous position but this time keep my head up watching the floor change numbers above the door framing.

My foot starts unconsciously tapping below me in a slow pace. Without music in here you could here a pin drop. Should I say something? What would I say? No, it's already been more than 3 seconds since someone spoke. It's officially awkward silence and if I say something then it'll be even more w-