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My hair wrapped in a towel, I make my way into the kitchen for coffee. I have a dozen different choices of Keurig cups. Every day I choose a different dark blend. Today it’s Emeril Lagasse’s Big Easy Bold. Once I bolt a cup down, doctored with some cream and hazelnut syrup, I fix my hair, then put on my best professional suit—chalk stripe on a dark blue double-breasted, slim jacket and a matching pencil skirt from Brooks Brothers. The perfectly pressed bright white shirt with a narrow-pleated front, navy heels, and nude pantyhose complete the ensemble. I fasten my small diamond studs into my earlobes and put on my lucky diamond starburst gold necklace, rubbing the charm. Almost seven. JL should be here any minute.
Not hungry after our meal at Tempo, I know I should make myself eat something before the presentation, but I don’t bother. Shrugging on my wool overcoat, I pick up my brief bag, then put it down when the ringtone for my parents, the Beatles “Come Together,” sounds from deep in my purse. I scrabble in the bag’s bottom, noting I need to recharge it soon. I send it to voice mail, then send a text.
ME: On my way out the door. Call you back in a few.
MOM: Just wanted to wish you luck in the client meeting.
I send thumbs-up and crossed finger emojis with a heart.
Another ding.
JL: Downstairs.
ME: Okay.
JL: I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about you.
I read this over several times. Not sure if this is concern over what happened yesterday or another declaration of feelings. I decide to treat it as if it’s the former.
The intercom rings.
“Ms. Press, Mr. Martin is here.” Antonio, the morning guy, has a voice like gravy.
“Thanks, I’ll be right down.” JL, smart in a gray tweed overcoat, leans on the counter, chatting with Antonio. The latter gives me a wave and JL turns with a big smile. “Ciao, amico,” he calls out to Antonio as he moves in my direction.
We meet in the middle of the space.
“How’re you doing, Beau?”
“I’ve had a lot of coffee. Two hours of sleep. Probably should have just sat up with you. More refreshing, ma chouette. You?”
“Same.”
No motorcycle this time. We walk out to a black SUV complete with driver. JL holds the door and settles in next to me. When we pull up in front of the office building with a flourish, he walks me to the elevator, rides up, and trails me into my office.
“Are you planning to hang out here?”
“No, I have to go to work. Now that you are safely delivered, I’ll set up your bodyguard rota. What time is your meeting?”
“Ten.” I feel my stomach plummet.
“Someone will be at your office at nine to bring you up to speed on the arrangements.”
I walk him back out into the empty reception area. We aren’t open until nine, so everything is dark.
“Lock the door behind me.” He gives me a peck on the lips.
I push him out and ostentatiously turn the locks while he watches. Then I make myself walk back toward the corridor before I can run out and ask him to stay.
With a sigh, I slip my laptop out of my bag, log in, and start reading preliminary documents about the case. We’ve had several meetings with Congressman Greenberg and he’s a piece of work, hiding under the demeanor of the ever-helpful Boy Scout. To everyone’s dismay, the media coverage has been relentless and brutal as the other contenders for the nomination lambast him. Insinuations are rife. With a sigh, I prepare to read today’s stories.
Just as I pull up the websites for the daily papers, “I’m Too Sexy” announces another text message. Dealing with all this right now is just too much. I click the message app. Cress. Now what.
CRESS: LET ME IN
ME: Where are you?
CRESS: In the hallway. Can’t you hear me pounding on the door?
