Page 174 of Lorenzo

The office still does not feel entirely like mine.

I have been here long enough to unpack every box, hang the blinds, and learn which floorboard near the window creaks beneath my weight. My name is finally painted on the glass door. My license is framed on the wall. The filing cabinet contains actual files now instead of office supplies I had nowhere else to put.

Yet every morning, I unlock the door and feel as though I am still moving in.

Mocha trots ahead of me, makes one complete circuit of the room, then stops beside the window to inspect the street below.

“You did that yesterday,” I tell him. “Is it ever any different?”

He glances back at me and tilts his head.

“I didn't think so.”

Apparently dissatisfied with my judgment, he returns to the door and sniffs along the bottom edge.

I set my coffee on the desk and shrug out of my jacket.

The office is quiet this early. The business next door has not opened yet, and there is little traffic in the hallway beyond my door. Sunlight comes through the blinds in narrow bands, falling across the rug, the desk, and the chair.

I sit behind my desk and wake my computer. There are invoices to send, expenses to enter, and three messages from people whose problems sound far less interesting than my very first case.

I don't know how any other will live up to it.

One wants me to confirm whether her business partner is stealing from the company.

Another thinks his neighbor has been entering his garage at night.

The third left no details, only a number and a request that I call as soon as possible.

Normal, quiet work.

The kind I told myself I wanted when I opened this place.

Mocha abandons the door and comes to sit beside my chair.

I tear a corner from the piece of toast I brought with me and hold it out.

He takes it carefully from my fingers.

I drink my coffee and open the first message.

For several minutes, I manage to concentrate.

Then Mocha lifts his head.

A knock sounds against the glass.

I still with my hand resting on the mouse.

I think back to my first day in this office.

I had been surrounded by boxes and trying to convince myself the office didn't look as shabby as it really did.

Then Lorenzo Conti walked in wearing an expensive suit and dripping with sex.

Oh, I had no idea.

“Come in,” I call.