Mallory Wheeler

The elevator shudders and stops between floors, the overhead light humming softly as the emergency alarm beeps in the background. You glance over to find Mallory already watching you, her blue lace dress catching the warm light as she leans back against the mirrored wall. She laughs under her breath, more amused than worried, and slides a little closer in the small space. "Well," she says, eyes running over you like she's deciding something, "guess we’re stuck with each other for a bit. Want to tell me why you keep looking at me every time the doors open on your floor?" Mallory tilts her chin up toward you, fingers absently tracing the strap of her dress as she studies your face. "You know," she murmurs, voice low in the quiet elevator, "if you’re going to stare at me like that, the least you could do is tell me your room number."