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“And the third car?”
“Technically, it’s a motorcycle, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in climbing on the back of it and I rarely ride it.”
“I hate motorcycles. They’re the cause of almost six thousand deaths a year in the United States.” She crossed her arms, annoyed she had to explain to him how dangerous it was.
“Okay, I’ll sell it. Like I said, I rarely ride it. There are too many potholes and crazy drivers around here.”
“You’ll sell it, just like that?”
He turned to look her in the eyes as he stopped at a red light. His hand settled on her thigh, and he gave her a squeeze.
“Yes, I’ll sell it. I don’t want you worrying about me, and I don’t like that look of disappointment on your face.”
“Okay, good.”
Moving his hand back to the gearshift, he eased the car forward, and she noticed they were driving in the direction of Georgetown, the historic and expensive neighborhood in D.C. along the Potomac River. Maybe they were going to a trendy restaurant. But soon, they were pulling into a garage manned with an attendant sitting behind what looked like a thick plate of bulletproof glass. Conner paused the car next to a simple screen, rolled down his window, and placed his thumb on a reader. The barricade opened like a theater curtain separated down the middle.
“What is this place?”
“My home.” He gave the attendant a thumbs-up before his window went up, but she could still hear the purr of his car as they maneuvered down into the garage.
“You’re just full of surprises,” she said, taking a deep breath trying to tamp down the excitement she felt at entering his personal space.
Conner was quiet as he pulled his sports car into the spot next to his Jeep she recognized. Before she could open her own door, he was there. He took her hand, leading her to a nondescript metal door that slid open to reveal a glass elevator. Again, he used his thumbprint on a panel in the elevator, and the doors closed. Only the number seven glowed on the panel and above the doors.
“Those techy investments really paid off, I take it?”
Conner smiled. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I have to fill out to prove I earned all this money myself and didn’t take a bribe. It almost makes it not worth it.”
“Almost, huh?”
“After majoring in finance in college, I had some early luck in the market. I like nice things and privacy. Plus, when you take down a few drug kingpins, it’s nice to live in a secure building.”
The glass enclosure stopped, and the doors slid open silently to reveal a concrete foyer and one door down a hallway. He unlocked the door and stepped back so she could walk into his apartment. Clearly, it spanned the entire seventh floor of the building, because there was no other door.
“You put on a fancy suit to pick me up and bring me back to your lair?”
Hannah walked inside to find industrial-style high ceilings and richly stained hardwood floors.
Conner laughed. “I put on a nice suit to bring you back to the one place you won’t be paranoid to have dinner with me.”
She nodded. He was right.
“You cook, too?”
“No, not really, but I’m not opposed to learning. Tonight, I thought we’d try making something together.”
He hung back and removed his suit jacket as she walked farther into his home. The space opened up into a large open concept with floor-to-ceiling windows, a casual, cozy living room, and a large dining room. Beyond the dining room was an impressive gourmet kitchen, with gray cupboards and white marble counters. Farmhouse pendant lights hanging over the island gave off a warm glow.
“I’m a pretty good cook. What did you have in mind tonight?” She stopped in the hall to set her bag on a side table.
He opened a hidden door by pushing in on a portion of the wall and hung his suit coat on a hanger inside. Then his eyes focused on her, and he began to roll up his sleeves.
“We’re going to attempt to make sushi,” he said, passing her on his way to the kitchen. Bamboo mats were already set out next to each other. There were chopsticks, little porcelain bowls, and a bottle of wine sat in a chilling metal sheath. He began to pull out several containers from the glass door fridge.
“I love sushi,” she said, eyeing him.
“I know. I mean, I remember from college that you always ate the sushi I brought home instead of whatever your brother ordered.”
