Nina woke to cursing and banging. She immediately sat up, turning on her torch.

Her companion was banging on the dented side of the lift. He had taken off his leather jacket.

"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.

"What does it look like? I'm trying to get help," he snapped.

She checked her phone. Still no signal, no emergency calls possible. Turned out she had slept for two hours. They'd been trapped in here for three.

He huffed as he banged the wall one last time, then gave up.

She turned off the torch again and tried to get back to sleep. But the thoughts in her head were racing again. Surely rescue teams would be on site now. But then it was almost four o'clock in the morning. It might take them until morning to find out what the lift had been damaged and then another hour to get someone out. If they were very lucky they'd be out by midday.

The other question was how much damage the earthquake had caused. For all she knew there could be an absolute end of the world scenario out there and it would be days before any rescue team would even get to whatever was left of the hotel.

But if just their hotel was affected... How on earth was she supposed to get to her job on time in the morning? They would fire her and that would be it for all future business with that production company. And despite the incredibly demanding work hours and clients, the pay was really good.

"Jared."

His voice cut through the darkness, stopping her train of thought.

"Excuse me?"

"My name's Jared," came a gruff reply. "Jared Leto."

She was glad for the darkness. She felt like an utter idiot. Here she was sitting in a lift trapped next to one of the hottest actors and musicians and she hadn't even realised. Then again she'd only ever seen pictures of him in the gossip magazines her clients liked to read. Most of which were grainy or big hats and sunglasses hid his face.

"Nina Mcleod," she replied quietly.

Another silence engulfed them.

"Do you still have that sewing kit?" came the grumpy question.

"Yes?"

"Could you...," he huffed and it sounded like what came next was said through gritted teeth, "could you please stitch up my head, it's still fucking bleeding and it hurts."

She sat there for a moment, absolutely flabbergasted.

"Of course." It came out croaky.

The torch came back on and she rifled through her bag once more for her pocket sewing kit and for some antibacterial wipes and a plaster. She opened the zip, took out some scissors, her father's needle holder and a packed swaged needle that she kept in there, before she scooted closer to him.

"Could you, um... ," she said nervously, "could you please hold the torch and point it at your face?"

He took the phone from her, their fingers brushing. Thankfully all the light was on him now, so he didn't see her blushing.

"I'm going to clean off some of the blood first," she quietly explained, ripping open the package of an antiseptic wipe. She then gently and carefully wiped blood off his forehead.

She could feel his eyes on her, but chose to ignore him and concentrated on the task at hand: fixing an actor's face.

Good god. No pressure.

She prayed for a steady hand. She could do this. She'd watched her father do this a thousand times. She'd practised it a hundred herself.

"This is going to hurt a wee bit," she warned as she swiftly pulled out the shard of glass.

He grunted.

As expected, more blood started flowing. Because she was out of tissues, she grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and pressed it to his head.

Her eyes found his. "It's clean. Ish."

He grunted again when she lowered her now bloodied t-shirt and started to stitch him up. He gritted his teeth so hard she could hear it, his breaths coming short and harsh, puffing against her face.

"So, uh... do you enjoy being an actor?" she asked, trying to distract him.

She felt his eyes on her.

"Yes," he said in a strained voice after a long pause. "Well, I used to."

"What's changed?"

Another long pause. She stopped what she was doing, looking into his eyes. "Sorry, stupid question."

It seemed as if he was gazing right into the bottom of her soul. Her heart tripped.

"I don't really know," he admitted eventually, as she picked up her work on him again. "It's exhausting. I'm getting tired faster."

"Of the job?"

"No, it's everything that comes with it. The exposure, the pressure of having or wanting to be the best. A role model. And when you show one weakness, they're tearing you apart like vultures."

"Can you ever be yourself?"

"Yeah...," he said quietly. "When I get out into the mountains and go climbing. It doesn't matter then who I am, you know? It's just the rocks and me. I don't know if you understand."

"I do," she professed. "It puts things into perspective when you're out there. That you're smaller than a speck of dust in the universe. And at the mercy of the mountain."

She felt his gaze on her and dared a quick look at him. Surprise was written over his features.

"You climb?"

She nodded. "I used to go every weekend since I was a child. Haven't had much time lately though."

"What is it that you do then?"

"I'm a spa attendant. I work for an exclusive spa in LA, it's all very hush hush. We also visit clients in their own home."

"How come you're here in San Francisco then?" Jared inquired.

"We got a big job on a movie set. The production company wanted someone there for the cast and crew to relieve some, uh, tensions."

"What's that like then, pampering celebs?"

She smiled. "I'm sworn to secrecy, so you're not getting any gossip. Let's just say some people are right divas. And others mistake the purpose of our service."

"For what?"

"Well, sometimes they... they overstep... physical boundaries," she explained, blushing.

"They grope you?" He sounded incredulous.

Biting her lip, Nina concentrated on the next stitch. She didn't want to talk about that. Not with him, not with anyone.

He seemed to feel her discomfort and changed topics.

"Where did you get this stuff from? How do you know how to do this?"

"My dad was a surgeon back in Scotland. He used to practise on pigs' feet. I was an inquisitive lass, he talked me through it step by step," she explained as she tied a neat knot close to his skin. "They used to be his tools."

"Is your dad retired?" he asked.

She cut off the string. "No. He died twelve years ago."

"I'm sorry," he started.

"It's okay. He was very sick."

"And he didn't want you to become a surgeon?"

She smiled again. "He did. I was half way through med school when he got ill. So I went back home to take care of him. That ate up a lot of money. As did his funeral. Because I'd left to look after him I lost my scholarship, as well as my inspiration. It was... a difficult time."

"And you ended up here how?"

"An old friend from school had come out here and started up this business with her boyfriend. I needed a new start, she offered me one, so I came. They are busy setting up a new branch in New York at the moment."

After fifteen stitches, she cut off the last bit of thread, gently wiped his face free of blood again and sat back on her heels.

She was quite pleased with her work. The bleeding had stopped. Her stitches were neat.

"Finished?" Jared said.

She nodded, took the phone, unlocked it and opened the camera, taking a photo with flash and showed him.

Nina put her things back in her bag. "Of course that's not the right kind of thread, a bit too thick, but for now it'll do until we can get you to a hospital."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Sorry for being an asshole earlier."

"No worries." She hesitated for a moment before she continued. "Um, I have a plaster, but I'm not sure you'll want it."

"Why not?" he asked. "Is it dirty?"

"No, it's clean. It's just...," she handed him the wrapper.