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“What the hell, Dom. Who is she? Where are you, anyway?”
“T, just fucking do it, okay?” I hang up. If there is something I can count on, it’s T’s discretion and reliability.
I fully intend to shave, but as I dig deeper into the zoning laws there’s more that I question, and I end up drafting a request for an injunction. Then an email from T pops into my inbox.
Dom, this is just a list of red flags. I can’t investigate more right now. Definitely don’t date her.
I laugh and open the attachment. By the looks of it, Felicia Warren is as corrupt as they come. Mostly allegations, but if necessary, we can find proof easily. Officials and the public wouldn’t find anything, but I’ve built an empire on finding shit people want to hide.
I re-read the request, cross-check it against the local regulations and pump my fist in the air. Let’s see how Warren barks. Or does she bite?
Energy pulses through my veins, untamed as I go in search of my gym clothes. I glimpse myself in the mirror. Fuck the beard, I’ll shave it later. I copy the documents to a flash drive then head downstairs.
“Cesare, sorry to bother you, but could you please have this printed for me? But be careful, it’s confidential.” I hand him the drive and add buying a printer to my list.
“Of course, Mr. Cressard. Thank you very much for helping my brother. Is this for his case?” He practically bows in gratitude.
I pat his shoulder. “I’m glad I can help, but no, this is another case.”
What? What the fuck am I doing? This is not my case.
“I’m going to work out and I’ll pick it up on my way back.” I practically run for the exit. Next time I know I’ll be promising to pay off his mortgage, because clearly there is something wrong with me.
For all I know, London doesn’t even need my help. She might not care about the construction around her property. Or more likely she has a team of lawyers already shredding Warren into pieces. But is her legal team as good as me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I step outside, and speak of the devil…
London is getting out of a black BMW. After practically cyber-stalking her the entire afternoon it’s best to avoid her, and I set to cross the street quickly.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
I turn. King of willpower, that’s me.
A man stumbles from the car and London wraps her arm around his waist to steady him. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, her expression full of kindness. Who knew she could be this soft?
He leans in and kisses her forehead. It’s a tender moment I shouldn’t be spying on. Also, it shouldn’t bother me. She is all cozy with a man who is older than her and clearly inebriated.
She says something and they laugh as they approach the building, him relying on her heavily. She rubs his back as she helps him take the three steps to the main entrance. Drunk in the middle of the afternoon with a woman half his age. Good for you, asshole.
I jog away, adrenaline rushing through me. It’s not the positive rush of the last few hours when I dove into work. This energy is laced with annoyance. Why the fuck do I care London has a silver fox making her all sappy-looking?
The Hunter Club is only a block from my building, and I join on the spot and hit the boxing ring. The owner, Hunter—not the creative type clearly—is there and we spar for half an hour. Not enough to get a good workout, but long enough to release some of my pent-up irritation.
Hitting Roxie’s tonight could be a good idea after all. Maybe Ben crossed my path this morning to remind me of life’s joys. Hooking up would be a pleasant end to a reasonably successful day.
After I shave, I will have accomplished all my tasks. I also picked up pro bono work for a good cause by helping Alonso. And I might have potentially helped my neighbor. If London wants my help. Maybe her sugar daddy is a lawyer.
My emotions are running in all different directions. By the time I reach my building, common sense and rationale win and I acknowledge that hooking up with a stranger tonight would be akin to falling back to the same old patterns.
As much as I would like proof that the arousal London sparked is something to stay, regardless of who the woman is, I don’t think I should take that route. Not yet, anyway.
I grab the printed documents from the front desk, and in the afterglow of my first workout in over a month I start up the stairs. By the time I reach the fifteenth floor I’m panting like a loser. Shit, gym twice a day from now on. How have I let myself go like this?
After I yank the stairwell door open, the lights come on and I stop in my tracks. A body is on the floor, propped against the wall.
“What the hell?” My heart jumps into my throat. Enough fucking adrenaline for one day.
