The creators of "Mission Impossible" would be proud. After weeks of preparation, spying, bribing, and generally underhanded behavior, Ashley's about to get her reward: Trevor. The man's stubborn but she's prepared to out-stubborn him. He doesn't have a chance. Maybe mighty Trevor had risen the corporate ladder over her, but Ashley's grandma always said, "what goes up must come down." And Ashley's going to make darned sure that Trevor would be going down—in this elevator with her, and if she just happened to be dressed in her new Domme wear…well, then he can go down in a whole different way.

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She needed theme music. Something like "Mission Impossible" but with a bit more sex appeal. That thought came to Ashley as she tugged on the belt of her black trench coat for the thousandth time. Nothing she could do about it now, though. Any second, the elevator would begin its nightly climb to the thirtieth floor, bigwig central. It would pick up its lone occupant for the evening and then begin its descent to the first floor. Because what goes up must come down. Of course, on its way down, it would pick up one additional passenger.

The LCD panel above the elevator doors came to life, slowly rising in number as the metal box made its ascent along the shaft. Her phone buzzed against her hip and she pressed the Talk button on her Bluetooth headset.

"Hello?" Ashley didn't know why, but she whispered. It wasn't like anyone else was in the building this late at night. Well, anyone but her, the man about to enter the elevator, and Marlon.

"It's going up." Marlon, the building security guard, had a penchant for stating the obvious.

"Yes, I can see that. Is our deal still in place?" She needed to make sure, doubly sure, he'd taken care of everything and wouldn't allow her to be interrupted. Tonight was too important for the aging man to suddenly gain a conscience or simply forget to turn the elevator alarm off so that it didn't notify emergency services. She really didn't want to explain her outfit to some fireman or police officer. Really.

"Yep, long as you've got a place for me come the end of the year."

"I do." The bribe hadn't been a difficult one to agree to, but she'd make sure he got what he wanted, without fail.

"Then I don't believe there will be a problem for you this evening, Miss Ashley."

"Excellent. Thank you, Marlon." She pushed the button again, disconnecting the call. During their brief chat, the elevator had continuously been rising, passing floor after floor.

The red numbers taunted her as they switched from one number to another. As the elevator rose in its shaft, the bile in her stomach rose toward the back of her throat. Nerves caused the muscles of her abdomen to twitch and her belly to churn. Maybe it had all been a mistake. No. She wouldn't back out now. Not after all the preparation she'd gone through.

Enough was enough. Trevor had brought this all on himself, and she wasn't about to let him get away with what he'd done. She'd tried to be the sweet, submissive girlfriend and where the hell had that gotten her? Thrown to the curb. Now, she'd get her way and there wasn't anything he could do about it. At least, not while they were in the elevator.

The red lights showed the number thirty and Ashley's heart stopped. The elevator would be descending soon. Any second now it would begin its way back to the lobby. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the Down button and waited. Ashley had plotted, planned, followed, and bribed people, okay, a person, for this chance. There was no going back now.

Ashley pulled at the belt of her jacket, sliding one end through the other as she untied the slipknot. She brushed the belt ends aside and worked at the buttons, sliding them through the holes with increasing speed as the elevator approached her floor.

She let the coat slip from her shoulders, and the fabric skimmed her arms as it fell toward the floor and pooled at her feet. She hoped Marlon would remember to pick it up during his rounds and keep it safe for her. The red LCD lights continued to count down from thirty.

Twenty-nine…twenty-eight…twenty-seven… One more floor.

The soft ding signaling the elevator's arrival echoed in the tile lined foyer of the twenty-sixth floor, but she ignored the sound. Seconds ticked by as she waited for the elevator to settle and open its doors. Her heart rate increased with each passing moment until she felt her heart would burst from her chest, and she thought it'd simply stop from overexertion before she got a chance to finish what she'd started. Then…then the elevator doors did what she'd been waiting for. They opened.

Trevor stood in the center of the elevator dressed in his typical business suit with perfectly pressed, exorbitantly expensive shirt and tie. He held his jacket at his side with his fingertips, leaving his upper body clad only in his dress shirt. With his promotion, he'd upgraded to Armani. And true to form, he didn't carry a briefcase as work was best done in an office and never at home.

She made a note to tear the thing from his body, popping off each and every twenty-dollar button she could find. Of course, tearing the clothes from his back meant she'd get an eyeful of his body. Not that she was complaining, of course. With lightly tanned skin stretched over each rippling muscle, she'd be the last woman to complain at having to stare at his bare chest and six-pack abs.

His six pack led to his trim waist and in the front, those lickable lines on his hips. In the back, an ass she couldn't wait to nibble…and bounce a quarter off of just to see if she could. His legs were long, equally muscled, and also wrapped in Armani. Scissors. She was sure the expensive tailored wool suit would melt away like butter beneath a hot knife with her newly sharpened safety scissors. That thought alone almost made her smile.

The epitome of a man on the rise stood before her, and her knees shook as the enormity of what she was about to do landed on her shoulders like a grand piano. In fact, if she listened hard enough, she was sure she could hear Jerry Lee Lewis's "Great Balls of Fire" echoing from the imaginary keys.