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“Hi.” My voice sounds weak. Ugh.
“I thought I’d give you the rundown for my day to spare you the trouble.” His voice is smooth and rich and makes something uncomfortable churn in my stomach.
“The rundown?” I blink up at him as he mounts the steps, each deliberate footfall creating a symphony of movement under his suit.
He holds out the tumbler of coffee. I stare at his hand. Is this a trick? I finally take it, careful not to touch him, and a faint expression of satisfaction crosses his face.
“My first meeting is at seven a.m., then I’ll have lunch at my desk, then dinner tonight with one of my business partners at The Charlatan downtown. You should take notes.” His voice is even and cool, but I feel like I’ve been transported into another dimension.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I swallow hard, staring up at those depthless eyes. They’re a brown so dark that they’re almost black. “I live here, and I’m just waiting for my friend to pick me up.” There’s no way he’s going to believe this. I feel like prey. My pulse is speeding and my gaze darts while he watches me.
He smiles humorlessly. “I know you’re not my neighbor, Ms. Thompson. This building is owned by the ambassador from Pakistan to the United States. And he’s away on business right now. He’s also unmarried. So either you’re a house cleaner, or a stalker. And you don’t look dressed for housecleaning.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Private investigator.” He gestures. “Your hat is from Columbia University. It’s amazing what you can do with facial recognition technology and an unlimited budget.”
My mouth drops open. He leans down so we’re nearly face to face. I shiver slightly, but quickly steel my spine. His breath puffs out against my face, minty and not unpleasant. Up close, I can see lighter brown flecks in his otherwise dark eyes. The lines of his face are classic, elegant, and cruel. Especially with the flatness of his expression.
“I’ve been searching for you, Ms. Thompson. And trust me, being found by me can be very bad for your health.”
I freeze, my pulse fluttering. “Are you threatening me?”
He rises, smiling again, more real this time. Maybe the threats are doing it for him.
“If you publish anything else about me, I’ll ruin you.” He raises a brow. “Understood?” He’s so smug, so satisfied that he has this in hand. All in a day’s work. Jerk.
I lift my chin. “You’re a public figure. I’m not doing anything wrong.” I’m not. I write about his company and its founders, but the articles are well-researched and always truthful. And I’m not taking photos through his window. He’s on the street, just like everybody else, though I suspect he spends very little time among the masses.
His face tightens. I get a brief glimpse of the rage boiling beneath his facade. “I could sue you to prevent you from publishing anything else.” His voice is icy, bored.
“Sue me,” I say flippantly. Please don’t sue me. I don’t have money for a lawyer. I have student loan payments and doctor’s bills for my dad and rent and the printing contract. Oh god. I swallow hard, but lift my chin. “The law is on my side.”
He snorts softly like he sees through my false bravado. “Tell me, Ms. Thompson. How did you get Green Media to print those photos of me? Has it been you selling them photos?” He cocks his head, and I freeze.
He looks like he would murder me in cold blood and leave me on the ambassador’s doorstep. My tongue darts out to lick my lips. Why does he care? Fuck it.
“Yes. Well, for the past year.” Once I figured out his routines.
He inhales sharply. “Wrong answer.”
He turns around and stalks toward his waiting car. When he’s gone, I lift the tumbler to my mouth with a shaking hand. I take one tentative sip before spitting the coffee all over the steps. Ugh. He salted it. I narrow my eyes at his car, where it waits at the light. Childish asshole.
I’ll just have to be more careful next time. Because I’m not going to stop reporting on Jonah and his company.
* * *
I meet Luz for breakfast near our apartments. She’s an ER nurse, and my weird hours suit her even weirder hours. She lives a few blocks north of my dad’s apartment, and our favorite bagel place has no line at this hour, just a few construction workers laughing loudly and ordering soft drinks at six a.m. In the hierarchy of New York bagel stores, this one is near the top. I am, of course, biased, as a lifelong Upper West Side resident. I’ve been eating bagels from Bagel Frenzy since I could chew.
Luz is petite with bleached blonde hair, and her movements are always a little frenzied. She claims the intensity of the ER calms her, but I think the adrenaline overload has fundamentally broken something. She waves manically at me from the corner, and I grin.
“Are you heading to the hospital or leaving?”
She chokes down a bite of bagel and coughs. “Heading to. Another shift with Dr. Davenport. Blech.” Dr. Davenport is her new boss and her nemesis. To hear her tell it, he’s hairy and oafish and always in her way when she’s trying to save patients’ lives. “What about you?”
I scoot my chair closer to the table so I can whisper. “I just had a weird run-in with Jonah Crown.”
Luz’s brown eyes are round. “Ooh, the Crown Prince himself,” she says, using the nickname I came up with for Jonah.
