Alex
It’s close to midnight when I bring myself to think of Hailee again. I’m back in my penthouse. This time in its library.
I’m in a dress shirt. No tie.
I don’t know why I keep thinking of this girl. It must be my brain’s way of finding a distraction. An outlet to focus on while everything else goes to shit. There is something about her falling asleep on my shoulder that’s been bothering me.
I feel it in my chest. It was just…cute.
Listen to me losing my mind. Unfortunately, I can’t just forget about Hailee, because I should call her to see what Lucas said about security. I need to remind her that our relationship is professional. I’m her boss.
Repeat after me, Blackwell. You are her boss .
I’ve trained my mind over the years to forget about shiny objects. Hailee can be no different.
I look at what’s in front of me—two thousand books. The most sympathy for others I had all year was for the movers who had to haul them up here. And for what? When did I last have time to read a book?
Business does not come to my apartment. There is no one here I impress. These books serve no purpose because they’re not for show. They were an act of optimism.
It used to be all I did when I was younger. Homer. Shakespeare. The histories of Europe and Asia and Africa. Geology and Paleontology. All the boring shit that the men in my business world would pass up for a collection of bourbon or golf clubs.
I think I’m having a midlife crisis, and the thought makes me smile for a moment. A crisis of faith, maybe. This is the final stage of the plan I’ve had in place since I was twenty-two. I think I’m a little wary of what I’m going to think of the world once this is all over with.
But that’s tomorrow’s problem. First, I have to succeed.
I go over to my desk and open my laptop. My email refreshes, and a new message waits for me at the top of my inbox.
Received four minutes ago. No subject.
In a prim and professional world such as mine, an email with no subject is about as rare as a total eclipse. And the message didn’t go into spam. The algorithm must think it’s from a legitimate sender.
I open it and see a single attachment. It’s an image. A jpg. There’s no way I’m dumb enough to hit download, but I am curious enough to hit view.
I click, and I’m half expecting a pair of fake breasts from some scam service, when I see something that actually makes me lean back in my chair in surprise.
It’s a photograph of me taken through a telescopic lens. It’s me standing in this library. Dress shirt. No tie.
It’s a photo from only a few minutes ago.
I spin slowly in my office chair to face the adjacent skyscraper the picture must’ve been taken from. The photo that was taken was from an equal height, and the nearest building that has a seventy-sixth floor is several blocks south.
I know they’re looking at me now, and I stare back, expressionless.
My windows are bulletproof. It may have seemed like a paranoid purchase when I first moved in, and not a cheap one. Of course, I knew the day would come when they were needed. Most of the windows in the adjacent structure are dark, and suddenly a red light flickers behind a black pane.
Once. Twice. A third time. And then it’s gone.
I. See. You.
A message with a little laser pointer. I immediately think of calling Bruce. He does more tasks for me than just watching my back. But I know who I’m looking at is smart. They know I can have their location, and they’ll still get away. And they know that my windows are bulletproof. Otherwise, they would’ve taken their shot. I do not enjoy being played with, but it’s a pathetic little move, trying to get a reaction out of me. They’re not even worth my middle finger. Chester will get it in due time anyway.
I turn back to my computer and go through the rest of my emails with my back to the dark building.