12. Harper
Harper
Iwait outside the high-rise I saw Ev drive into for four hours before calling it quits.
The security outside the entrance seems over-the-top and exactly what I would imagine an organized crime family to have outside their home.
Unfortunately, there was no way for me to get past them.
I know this because I tried, and they’d quickly told me I had to leave if I couldn’t show proof that I lived in the complex.
I’d briefly thought about showing him my press ID, but one look at the guy’s stern face and large, muscular build told me I’d be better off keeping that information to myself.
He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d bend the rules for me.
He’d looked like the kind of guy who’s probably stuffed more than one body in the trunk of a car.
There’s no way he didn’t notice me circle the block only to park across the street, but I didn’t give him a reason to come after me, and I really hope I never do, because that’s a fight I could never win.
I’ve been biding my time for the last four days, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last. Ev is still refusing to return my calls, and I haven’t been able to force a run-in, even though I know he’s making the rounds to the police station and courthouse just like I’ve been doing.
We frequent the same places, even if it is for very different reasons, but it feels like we’re just two ships passing in the night.
At this point, I’ll be lucky to see him before the scheduled conference with the judge at the end of August.
The very idea of that pisses me off. I stare at the computer screen, rereading the article I just wrote for the millionth time.
I hope Arthur appreciates the fact that I’m keeping my personal obsession with Ev out of this.
I’m focusing on the facts, laying it all out so readers can decide for themselves.
I mention Ev is Sasha’s attorney, of course, but I don’t mention what an insanely good kisser he is or that his eyes are the kind of blue-green that reminds me of photos I’ve seen of the coast of Hawaii.
I’ve always wanted to swim in those waters because the color makes it look so inviting, like you could just sink under those waves and feel completely at peace.
I groan and send the article to Arthur so I won’t reread it again.
The good thing about being assigned a story like this is that I don’t need to go into work.
I’m free to come and go as I please as long as I send Arthur something he can publish every day.
Sometimes it’s just a small update, and other days, like today, I send in something longer that he can feature.
What I really want is an article about Ev, but since he won’t return my calls or answer a single question I ask him, it’s not looking promising.
At least he’s not just ignoring me. He’s refusing to comment to everyone, and that does make me happy in a way that it shouldn’t.
Watson gets off the couch, stretches, and then walks over to nudge my arm with his long nose. I lean down and kiss his head while I pet him.
“You need to go outside?” I ask him, smiling when his long tail starts whipping around while he taps out a fast rhythm with his slender paws. “Okay, let me put on a bra first.”
Another perk of working from home means I don’t need to wear a bra or get out of my pajamas unless I leave the apartment. Keeping the sweats and T-shirt I’m wearing on, I grab the bra I’d shucked off last night and put it on before grabbing Watson’s leash and a few treats.
It’s blazing hot outside, so Watson is even slower than usual. I don’t rush him, even if I am slowly cooking inside my sweats. I let him lead me around the block while he smells every tree and pees on the ones he likes best.
When we’re almost back to the apartment, I say, “It’s not exactly snooping if he’s already invited me inside his place, right? He even invited you and let you dirty up a patch of his grass, which, believe me, I did not see that one coming. I had no idea he was a dog lover.”
Watson turns his eyes up to mine, silently begging me to not involve him in any more potentially illegal shenanigans.
“I was going to leave you here,” I say, and I swear he visibly relaxes.
“God forbid I cut into your daily five-hour nap.” He ignores my sarcasm and manages to squeeze out a few last drops of pee before he looks up at me and gives me the okay I’m done and I want to go back inside look.
Since I’m at his beck-and-call, I give him a quick ear scratch and then lead him back upstairs so he can start on nap number three of the day.
While he gets comfortable, I jump in the shower.
I spend the time trying to talk myself out of the insane plan that’s been brewing in my head for days.
Even as I tell myself that it’s crazy and I shouldn’t do it, I’m also grabbing my smoky amethyst eyeliner and then blow-drying my hair so it doesn’t get that ridiculous flip at the ends like it always does if I don’t take the time to force it to behave.
I also refuse to second-guess the skinny jeans and black tank top that I put on.
If I’m going to be sneaking around, then I need something dark.
The fact that it actually makes me look like I have some cleavage and a somewhat nice ass has nothing to do with it.
“Oh the lies we tell ourselves,” I mutter to my own reflection while I check my makeup and tuck my hair behind my ear.
Watson watches me with, I swear, a pair of judgmental eyes as I fill his dish and make sure he has fresh water in case this lasts longer than I think it will.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him, walking over to give him a hug and kiss his head. “It’s for work,” I say. “It has nothing to do with anything else. It’s purely for work.”
I smile because he lacks the ability to call me out on my bullshit. He does, however, sigh and give my cheek a lick.
“I’m not going to get caught,” I tell him. “I’m just going to take a little peek around. He’s probably still at his office anyway. This will all be for nothing and I’ll come back feeling like an idiot and you can laugh about it all you want.”
I get another lick, and this one feels a lot more like pity.
“I think I preferred the sarcastic looks,” I tell him. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Watson. That’s just making me feel worse.”
Before I can let him talk me out of this, I give him another kiss on the head and then turn the TV to a cartoon channel so he won’t feel alone while I’m gone.
“There you go,” I tell him. “You can watch the gang try to solve a mystery. You can’t beat a classic, Watson. Scooby is a legend. Maybe you’ll learn a few things in case I take you on another stakeout.”
I swear if greyhounds could manage an eye roll, I’d be getting one right now.
I grin and blow him a kiss before I grab my bag and walk out the door.
I hadn’t been lying. I’m pretty sure I’ll be back in an hour with my tail between my legs, but I’m too antsy to stay inside, and I have to at least try.
I’m also curious if Ev is home, and if I’m being brutally honest, this has nothing to do with a story and everything to do with the fact that I can’t seem to get him out of my head.
Frustrated with myself and life in general, I get in my hatchback and make the drive to the nicer part of the city where Ev lives.
I don’t live in a shitty part of town, but there is a definite difference when I pull onto his street and see the manicured lawns, towering pin oak trees that were planted with the kind of precision that you just don’t find if the houses around them aren’t in the multimillion-dollar range.
The street lamps are also nicer and brighter, and every single one of them works, making it easy for me to see Ev’s carriage house.
His outside lights are on, but I can’t tell if he’s home.
His windows are all on the side and back, so it’s impossible to tell from here.
Parking at the end of his street, I get out and try to appear casual as I stroll across the street and start to walk down the sidewalk.
I can’t help but imagine Watson happily peeing on every tree I pass.
The street is quiet because the really wealthy don’t air their shit outside where others can see and hear it.
They keep it locked behind closed doors and then paste smiles on their faces every time they go outside so the world continues to think their lives are perfect.
The couple in the apartment next to me once had a screaming match outside the building one night.
She’d ripped him a new one for coming home late and a little drunk.
I’ve never seen a man apologize so quickly, and the walls are just thin enough that I heard them making up later that night.
I think theirs is the healthier route. Lenny fucked up, Becca let him know, and then they made up and he hasn’t come home drunk since.
Problem solved. You can’t keep that shit bottled up inside. It’ll just make you explode one day.
After I do a slow walk past Ev’s place, I reach the end of the sidewalk and turn around to do it again.
This time when I’m to the end of his house, I veer left and follow it, staying close to the brick wall and foliage in the hopes that I’ll stay hidden and not look like a pervy Peeping Tom, which is exactly what I feel like as I creep my way up the sloped yard to the closest window.