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“Are you settled?” asked my boss as of yesterday.
“This apartment is incredible.”
“More importantly, ideally located.”
“Right.”
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“I’m about to take another look at my notes.”
“Give me a call when it wraps up, and try to get some rest.”
The alarm on the bedside table went off at five, jarring me awake. I was still on West Coast time, which meant, for me, it was two. I got up and padded my way into the kitchen, wishing I’d figured out how to use the coffee maker before I went to sleep. It was far too complicated this early in the morning.
I walked as close to the windows as I could get without having a panic attack and stood on my tiptoes to see if the café across the way was open. Lights were on; that was promising.
Before I could make up my mind whether to get dressed and go down to grab a cup of coffee—which would entail taking the elevator—or attempt to figure out the machine that looked like it would take a barista’s degree to use, a light in the apartment directly across from mine came on.
It had the same floor-to-ceiling windows and an exercise bike sitting in the same location as the one in this apartment. Although bike was too simplistic to describe this thing. Like the coffeemaker, operating it would take a degree in fitness training.
When I saw someone walking toward it, I jumped back. Oh my God. It was Sumner Copeland. He was shirtless—and hot as fuck.
I rested against the exposed brick wall, wishing I could take another peek, but knowing I couldn’t risk him seeing me. Since I couldn’t stare at him, I went back to the kitchen and stared longingly at the coffee machine. It would be easier, and hopefully quicker, to tackle it than to go across the street to buy a cup, so I searched up an instruction video. Fifteen minutes later, I was rewarded with the best coffee I’d had in my life; it better be, since according to the website, the thing cost thousands.
The elevator ride to the parking garage didn’t make me as queasy as it had the day before; there was a chance I’d be used to it within a few days. After all, I had figured out how to use the fancy coffee machine. As my mother always said, I could do anything I set my mind to, I just had to want it badly enough. Who knew? Maybe tomorrow I’d overcome my fear of heights enough to check out the exercise bike.
I looked at my reflection in the polished glass of the elevator, trying to determine if I’d gone overboard in my decision to wear a conservative suit, or if I should’ve gone more casual. I shrugged. Too late to change my mind now.
My older-model car looked pathetic in my designated spot between two BMWs, but this morning, I was thankful the apartment came with a paid space. It would be insanely expensive to keep a car in DC otherwise, and right now, I needed it.
It would be at least an hour to get to the United States Eastern District Court of Virginia, longer if traffic was bad. Taking a car service would’ve probably cost more than the coffee maker, and by the time I figured out how to get there via public transportation, the opening arguments in the trial I’d been assigned to cover would be over.
I arrived an hour before the scheduled court time, parked, followed the signs for security, and waited in line. Even with ten people in front of me, I should still have time to kill before the hearing began.
“Ma’am, may I see your credentials?” the man asked before I walked through the metal detector.
“Right. Sorry.” I dug in my purse. “I must’ve left my badge in my car.”
“No credentials, no entry.”
“No problem,” I said, but he didn’t smile. “Be right back.”
When I turned around, I gasped as I saw Sumner Copeland headed my way. I shielded my face and kept walking.
“Hey,” I heard him say. “Aren’t you the woman…”
I dropped my hand, tugged my waist-length suit jacket down, straightened my spine, and glanced beyond him to the people he’d come in with. “Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
I cocked my head, wondering how he’d react if I told him it was none of his business.
“Cope,” one of the men called out, looking at his watch. “We need to get in there.”
He looked over his shoulder and back at me. “Right. Okay, well…”
“Bye.” I waved my fingers at him and rushed to the bank of elevators. So much for me keeping a low profile. Why did I keep running into him? And why did he have to look like a god in everything he wore—or didn’t wear. I fanned myself even though it was actually kind of chilly.
