Chapter 18
I got up early today – probably the earliest I’ve been up, well, ever. It wasn’t even light outside, that’s how early it was.
So I’m up, I’m dressed, and I’m ready to get my stalk on. That’s my plan for today. With Jordan insisting I shouldn’t even turn up at the office today, and instructing me to do my own thing, because he’s busy, well, I started to wonder – busy with what?
This is what they don’t show you in fancy secret agent movies: the waiting. So much waiting. You never see James Bond sitting on the end of his bed, waiting, or Ethan Hunt loitering next to an adjoining door awkwardly, listening for signs of life.
Well, that’s how I do it, baby.
I’ve had no less than three coffees from the machine in my hotel room, to the point where my stomach is starting to complain, and I’m buzzing.
Now all I need is for Jordan to get up, go out, and do whatever it is he’s going to do – and hope, at some point, he says or does something that gives me an idea how to sneak into his room.
Unless he’s carrying the contract around with him – although I don’t know if that would be easier or more difficult to pull off a swap.
I am spectacularly unqualified for basically everything, but I’m here and I’m doing my best.
Eventually, I hear it, the soft clunk of a door opening. It’s him, he’s heading out… It’s go time!
I slink out of my room slowly and quietly and follow him – keeping my distance, of course – to the lifts. He gets in one so I wait for the next one, hoping I don’t lose him in the few seconds I’m not going to be able to keep eyes on him.
Thankfully I arrive in the lobby only seconds after he does. He doesn’t glance back as he heads out which is lucky for me, because I’m not sure where I’d hide in the wide-open space.
Outside, he walks like a man on a mission. It’s not easy, trying to keep up with him, and keep enough distance so that he doesn’t see me.
As he turns into a coffee shop, I make a very dramatic dive behind a newspaper stand not too far away.
I can see him inside, queuing up, waiting to place his order.
It looks like he’s getting a takeaway coffee and a muffin, and while I’ve definitely had enough coffee, I’m so hungry. What I’d give for a muffin right now.
My stomach rumbles right on cue. The big, loud, dramatic kind of noise when your body is not only complaining, but pining for something.
He sips his drink, oh-so casually as he strolls out the door, and carries on down the street.
I might have had enough coffee, but what I’d give for something warm to hold on to. My hands feel like ice.
As he walks, he peers into shop windows. First a bookstore. Then a vintage record store. He doesn’t look like he’s looking for anything specific, more like he’s browsing.
I stay back, blending in with the tourists, the people Christmas shopping, and those on their way to work. I’m just another random person in a crowd of hundreds of random people. I’m completely incognito.
All of a sudden he crosses the street. He doesn’t think about it; he darts for the crossing, to the point where I have to pick up the pace just to keep up with him.
He doesn’t walk for long before he reaches another crossing and heads back over the road again.
Is he lost or something? Still, I follow him, keeping my distance, but trying to keep up.
Soon enough he crosses again – okay, what is he doing?
I pause, ducking behind a tree. What the hell is he doing? Is he actually lost? Is this some weird cardio thing? Is this how he pumps up his muscles, by playing Chicken in New York? Or does he not know what to do with himself? Or is he meeting someone, but he can’t find them…?
He stops. Looks around. Tilts his head, almost like he’s deep in thought. Then he carries on.
I’m hesitant to keep following him, because the vibe is just plain weird, but in a weird way it only makes me more determined to follow him because, I swear, the man is up to something. I have to know what it is.
Why, yes, I am questioning my life choices. My toes are numb, I’m starving, and I’m literally stalking a man. But I can’t resist the urge to see it through, to figure Jordan Bill out.
I wrap my scarf a little tighter around my face, to keep my nose warm, and carry on.
Jordan veers off into the park and heads along the winding paths. He seems like he knows where he’s going now, and what he’s doing.
I keep back, clinging to the trees, but doing my best impression of someone casually enjoying a wintry park stroll… alone… while so very blatantly stalking a man.
He stops briefly by the fountain, glances around, his eyes scanning the space, so I duck behind a wall, crouching down, pretending to tie the lace of my boot which, in fact, has no laces.
When I dare peek again, he’s on the move. This time toward a huge, ancient-looking tree with a hollow in its trunk.
I slow down, trying not to crunch too many dead leaves beneath my feet as I get closer.
Jordan looks around again, like he’s checking no one is watching, and then he sticks his hand into the hollow of the tree.
What? I pause mid-step, one foot frozen in the air like I’m playing musical statues at a kids’ party and ‘Agadoo’ just stopped.
He’s rooting around in there (no pun intended), and I can’t tell if he’s taking something or leaving something, but whatever he’s doing looks undeniably dodgy.
I give him a moment to leave before sneaking over to the tree, my heart thumping in my chest. I genuinely have no idea what I’m going to find in there – like, what could it even be? Is he into something bad? Am I going to get myself in trouble, if I touch it?
I know, I should leave well alone, I’m out of my depth, but I have to know.
I reach the tree, feeling around, my numb fingers bashing into the sides as I clumsily try to find whatever might be in there… but there’s nothing. Just bits of tree, some melted ice (at least that’s what I’m optimistically telling myself it is), but nothing of note.
‘What are you doing?’ a voice asks, causing my soul to jump out of my body for a second.
I squeal, partly because he’s startled me, partly because he’s rumbled me.
It’s Jordan, because of course it is. He’s staring at me, grinning, but the look in his eyes is one of genuine confusion.
‘I’m just… Nothing,’ I insist, rather pathetically.
‘Nothing?’ he replies. ‘Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were elbow deep in a tree.’
‘I thought I saw a red squirrel,’ I tell him, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
‘So you thought you’d – what? – high-five it?’ he replies, clearly not buying what I’m trying to sell.
‘Okay, fine, I saw you do it first,’ I confess. ‘And I thought it was weird, so I just, you know, had a bit of a look and a feel.’
He laughs at me.
‘Oi, it’s not funny,’ I tell him. ‘You’re being really weird today. You can’t blame me for checking up on you…’
He laughs harder and it boils my blood ever so slightly – simmers it, I guess – even in this chilly weather.
‘You’re following me,’ he says.
‘No, I’m not,’ I reply.
‘Liberty. You’ve been tailing me since the hotel.’
Shiiiit.
‘You’re making it sound like I’m being creepy,’ I snap – although I’ve no right to be so defensive because it is creepy to stalk a person.
‘Because you are,’ he teases. At least he’s finding it funny. ‘Why are you following me?’
‘I wasn’t. I was just… walking. Coincidentally. In your exact direction,’ I offer up.
‘And into a tree…’
‘Okay, maybe I was a little curious, and following you… a bit,’ I reply.
‘Obviously,’ he replies.
‘But you are acting weird,’ I insist.
‘Because you were following me,’ he says, snorting with laughter. ‘When I noticed you I thought it might be funny to mess with you, to do weird stuff, to see if you followed me. When I saw you with your arm up that poor tree I knew it was time to put you out of your misery.’
‘That is so sneaky,’ I say, annoyed.
‘So is following me!’ he claps back. ‘Look, it’s cold out, and you’re going to follow me anyway so… do you want to grab brunch?’
‘What?’ I blurt.
‘Brunch,’ he says slowly and loudly, like I might be hard of hearing. ‘That’s my plan anyway, so you might as well sit with me, if you’re going to stalk me – maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for?’
‘Are you sure?’ I check.
‘No, but I’m hungry,’ he jokes. ‘So, do you fancy it?’
‘Yeah, definitely, I’m starving,’ I tell him. ‘And I promise I’m not a weirdo, or a stalker – I’m not like Joe from You .’
‘From me?’ he replies, puzzled.
‘Joe Goldberg, from You , the TV show,’ I explain.
‘Do you ever think you watch too much TV?’ he jokes – well, he’s laughing, so I assume he’s joking.
I’ve seen an almost embarrassing number of TV shows and films set in New York over the years.
Sex and the City , Friends , Gossip Girl , When Harry Met Sally , The Devil Wears Prada – even watching Home Alone 2 as a child made me sick to visit.
It’s like the city’s been quietly living in my head for years, drip-fed to me through glossy screens and quippy dialogue.
‘Months of unemployment will do that to a girl,’ I reply.
I don’t tell him that binge-watching anti-love shows and chain-eating chocolate buttons was what got me through my break-up.
‘Do you think it’s too early for pizza?’ he asks. ‘It is basically lunch time…’
‘It’s never too early for pizza,’ I reply.
‘Great, I know a place that does the best pizza in Manhattan, and it’s not far from here,’ he says.
As we stroll for our pizza, we make small talk about the weather – like I wasn’t just literally stalking him like a maniac. I notice that he hasn’t really pressed me on why I was following him, which is interesting.
The pizza place is kind of low-key. No gimmicks, no unnecessary fanciness – but it smells terrific, like melted cheese and Italian herbs.
‘Take a seat, I’ll order,’ he replies.
‘I’m not sure what I want,’ I say.
‘I’ll surprise you,’ he replies.
‘Okay,’ I say and, yes, I’m into the idea. Excited by it, even. Normally I would think the idea of having a man order my food for me would piss me off, but I want to see what Jordan chooses.
I slide into a booth, watching him as he heads to the counter.
He points at something on the board as he chats with the woman serving him.
A minute later, he comes back with two bottles of soda and two enormous slices of pizza.
They’re piled high with toppings, mostly vegetables, and they look so good.
‘So,’ he says, twisting off his bottle cap and taking a sip, ‘what were you really doing following me this morning?’
I take a sip of my own drink, trying to play it cool.
‘I was just… watching to see where you were going,’ I tell him. ‘It’s pretty obvious that you don’t want me here, and I’m supposed to be assisting you, so… I was just making sure you weren’t leaving me out of anything to do with work.’
‘It’s nothing personal,’ he insists. ‘I know, you have a job to do, but I really don’t need an assistant, and to be honest with you, I sometimes wonder if Paige is asking people to spy on me…’
‘Oh, that’s not what that was,’ I say, although I’m sure he can tell I’m lying about something.
‘So you’re not going to report back and tell her you saw me in a tree?’ he jokes.
‘Would she believe me if I did?’ I reply. ‘The only thing worth reporting to anyone is how incredible this pizza is – my God.’
‘I thought you’d like it,’ he says with a smile.
I don’t know, something about that – him thinking of me – makes my stomach do a little flip. Whatever it is, it’s not part of the plan. None of this is part of the plan.
We sit in easy, comfortable silence for a few minutes while we eat. There’s something sexy about the way he eats – the way he devours his food, like he’s in love with it.
‘Do you take all your stalkers out for lunch?’ I ask, breaking the silence.
‘Only my favourites,’ he jokes.
Oh, I like his little jokes, they’re so charming – which is a dangerous thing to think.
I can’t afford to like him. I can’t afford to feel charmed by him. I’m not here to be his friend, I’m here to get into his room, swap the contracts, and then head back to my life with my job still intact.
And yet…
As he tells a story about the weirdest things he’s seen in Central Park over the years – all weirder than my sticking my arm in a tree – I catch myself laughing too hard. Watching the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he’s knows he’s being funny.
I feel like I’m in trouble here, because he really is charming, and if the roles were reversed, he would’ve had me already. In the gotcha sense, that is, not had me had me.
Although… No! I can’t think like that. I can’t fall for his charm like everyone else. I’m here to do a job.
Or try to, anyway.