Chapter 2
I walked through the lobby of my apartment building and headed toward the elevator. I punched the number for the top floor and slouched against the cool, steel wall, wondering if I had imagined the events of that afternoon. Maybe I had hit my head when I fell in the garden, and was, even now, unconscious, dreaming the whole, bizarre thing. That seemed more likely than the alternative. The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors slid open.
I stepped into the wide hallway with its hardwood flooring, brick walls, and embossed tin ceiling. Only three condos comprised the entire top floor of the building; mine, the building owner's and one belonging to a very nice, elderly cardiologist and his wife. And how does a high school history teacher afford a penthouse condo?
My grandparents, on my dad's side, had been big-time cattle ranchers in western Nebraska. While growing up, and even after I began teaching, I had spent every summer at their ranch, visiting and working. My four sisters – Jane, Mary, Kate, and Lydia – hadn't been interested in the ranch, or in my grandparents, for that matter. My mother, although kind in her own way, had had a falling-out with my dad's parents, shortly after she and Dad were married. My grandparents hadn't approved of my mother – a city girl and the daughter of a factory worker, from New York - and she, in turn, hadn't liked them. As a result, Mom had managed to keep all of her daughters, aside from me, as far away from Grandma and Grandpa Bennet as possible. I, however, was too much like my father – headstrong and independent – to listen to her.
After my grandparents passed away six years ago, the land, the cattle, and the homestead had been left to my dad and me, and trust funds had been set up for each of my four sisters. Because we lived more than five hundred miles from the ranch, and neither Dad or I had the time or ability to care for the cattle and maintain the land, we sold the five thousand acres of prime grazing and farm ground, as well as the cattle herd, for an impressive sum of fifty million dollars.
As directed by my grandparents' Will, Dad had split the profit in half with me. We had both invested part of our share in stocks and put the rest into savings accounts that earned a decent amount of interest, annually. The only money Dad had spent of his inheritance was enough to pay off his vehicle, and he and mom's modest, Victorian home in the neighboring city of Fremont. I had paid off my student loans and left the rest alone.
Interestingly, money, when invested properly, earns money. I had saved up my portion of stock earnings, which, over the course of four years, had amounted to a healthy sum, and used the money to purchase and furnish the condo. That was the only luxury that I had allowed myself. No one knew what I was worth financially, and I wanted to keep it that way. My teaching salary paid the utilities, put food in my cupboards, and added to my savings, while the interest from my bank accounts and the earnings from my investments, easily paid my taxes and grew my accounts exponentially. Money was something that I'd never have to worry about, so I didn't think about it much.
I unlocked the stainless-steel door of my condo and stepped into the foyer. In a way, my home was a direct reflection of my personality. I had been able to design and help build every detail of the blank canvas of the condo, from the twelve-foot, bronze-colored, embossed tin ceilings, to the hardwood floors, and tall, wood trim. The large, but cozy kitchen with its big, wood-plank table that my dad and I had built together and modern-meets-old-country atmosphere, was the kind of room that people felt compelled to cozy up in with a cup of tea.
The library held a comfortable couch and over-sized, wing back chairs, all of which were arranged in front of a Victorian style fireplace, inviting those who entered the room to curl up with a good book. A rolling library ladder allowed access to the tall bookcases that lined the perimeter of the room, the shelves of which were stocked with books of every genre. The living room featured comfortable, brown, leather furniture, grouped together in front of another large fireplace – this one made from repurposed brick that I had salvaged from a bank. The fireplace was flanked on either side by two floor-to-ceiling, paned windows.
Aside from the kitchen, library and living room, the condo also held a dining room, a small study, a home theater, and five bedrooms - my sisters visited often, so I had created a space for each of them. The décor throughout the home was a Mod Podge of Victorian-meets-industrial-steampunk. Although it was an eclectic combination of styles, it all blended together seamlessly to create a piece of cozy, livable artwork that looked comfortably lived in. The hardwood floors throughout were warmed with oriental rugs in shades of burgundy and red, and warm, leather furniture with comfortable throw blankets and pillows invited visitors to stay awhile and relax. All of the old-fashioned, pane-glass windows throughout the condo had been salvaged from an old factory. My favorite feature was the intricately detailed, iron, spiral staircase that curved upward from the corner of the living room to a loft with large, floor-to-ceiling windows and a telescope. From the loft, a door opened onto my own, private, roof-top deck and garden, with a brick wall separating it from the neighbors'.
I hung up my purse on the coat rack inside the front door of the foyer and bent down to pet my gray tabby cat, Moriarty, who meowed for attention with his white-tipped tail waving happily in the air. Moriarty followed me into the kitchen, where I pulled a can of cat food from a cupboard and set it on the floor for him. Once he was happily settled, I walked through the living room and past the fireplace to another door. I stepped outside onto a balcony, which stretched across the length of the living room to the master bedroom, where another door was located.
I leaned against the iron railing and looked down at the traffic rushing below me. I caught a glimpse of the orange sun, hanging low in the sky, in the reflection of an office window in a building across the street and pulled my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. It was six o'clock. I released a long sigh and sat down in one of the patio chairs.
"Will Darcy," I said aloud and gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
What could he possibly want with me? The whole day had been so incredibly bizarre, I didn't know what to expect, next. He was definitely more handsome in person than onscreen, I allowed. And, although he seemed a bit shy, he projected an air of quiet strength. I shook my head, propelling that train of thought along the tracks and out of my mind. Was he lonely? Bored? Did he have some other motive? I decided not to think too much about it.
I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone about it – not even my closest sister, Jane, or my best friend, Charlotte. I wasn't fond of being the center of attention, and I tried to avoid it whenever possible. I was also good at keeping secrets, and would never dream of disclosing anything about the personal lives of others. Whenever my students, friends, or family members had a problem, they talked to me. I was always willing to listen and offer helpful advice when I could or just be a sounding board when I was unable to help.
Maybe Will did just feel sorry for me. I had probably looked pretty pathetic running for my life from a bug. I stood and walked the length of the balcony to the master bedroom door and pulled my keys out of my pocket to unlock it. I quickly changed into my gym clothes, grabbed my headphones and a water bottle, and headed out the front door and back to the elevator, bound for the tenant-only gym, located on the lower level of the building.
When I reached the brightly-lit gym, I popped my headphones in and hopped on a treadmill, determined to put the odd events of the day - and thoughts of Will Darcy - as far from my mind as possible. As the tones of Stone Sour's Made of Scars blasted in my ears, I forgot about everything else.
An hour later, exhausted and covered in sweat, I returned to my condo and took a shower. Afterward, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contact list. It was Friday. Chinese night. I ordered my standard fare and waited for it to be delivered.
A few hours later, after a delicious meal of Hunan chicken and steamed dumplings – thankfully, I have a fast metabolism and a love of running that allow me to stay slim and fit, because I love food – I was comfortably seated in front of the living room fireplace with a book, my cat, and a cup of chamomile tea. My phone's text tone sounded, startling me, and apparently, Moriarty, as well, because he meowed in alarm and jumped off my lap. "Scaredy cat," I called after the retreating feline. I opened the text app on my phone.
"Hello, how was your evening?" the text message read.
I didn't recognize the number, and besides, it was late. My friends and family normally didn't text me after ten o'clock. Puzzled, I typed a reply, "Sorry…who is this?"
"Will."
I huffed in exasperation. I had managed to forget most of what had transpired that afternoon. "You said you wanted my number so that you could call tomorrow, before picking me up."
"Correct. However, I'm not calling you, I'm texting. Ha!"
I rolled my eyes and snorted. "You're so…" I left the sentence hanging and sent the text.
"Charming? Witty?Kind?Wonderful?" he replied.
I scoffed. "Well, I was going to say 'impossible,' or 'stubborn,'" I typed. "Perhaps even 'tenacious,' or 'bulldog-like,' but hey, you can think whatever you'd like about yourself. :)" I hit the send key.
"Hmm, so this conversation is to be that way, is it? ;) Alright then, so be it. But just remember – you started it. So, 'Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.' (And surely, I'm much better-looking than a bulldog)."
I laughed at his use of Shakespeare's words from The Taming of the Shrew, and his rejoinder to my teasing. And, if I were being honest with myself, I was even a little impressed. "'If I be waspish, best beware my sting.' And, just to clarify, bulldogs are stubborn and tenacious; enough to make it a relevant simile. Nothing to do with looks."
"Hmm, smart and beautiful," he replied.
I laughed incredulously. "You're crazy…and apparently blind, to boot."
My text tone sounded again, almost immediately. "Just for the record: not blind, 20:18 vision, in fact."
I bit my lip and shook my head. "Then certainly delusional, because – to you, at least - beautiful, I most certainly am not."
"You know, some men – myself, included – prefer the slim, compact, and beautifully curved shape of a Nissan Z to the long, lean lines of a Ferrari. ;)."
I laughed in disbelief at his reply. "Are you insane?!"
"Aye, that's it," Will replied.
I smirked as I typed my response. "Figured as much."
"Speaking of figures…yours is nice," he persisted in teasing me.
I felt my forehead scrunch up in irritation as I shook my head at his ridiculous comments. I knew that I wasn't unattractive by any means – I wasn't vain, but I had a good deal of self-confidence and I was happy with my looks - but the likelihood of Will Darcy finding me attractive was, well, ridiculous. Especially considering that he could probably snap his fingers and have any girl in the world that he wanted. And besides, I definitely hadn't looked my best that afternoon; I hadn't even been wearing makeup. I rolled my eyes as I thought of my grass-stained jeans and the hot mess that I had probably resembled, and returned my attention to the phone. "Yep, definitely nuts. Pity…you're the first nice guy I've met in a while, too.I knew there had to be a fatal flaw."
"Ha, ha. In all honesty though, not insane - or on drugs, for that matter - I don't approve much of that lot, though there's a sad abundance of it in my profession," he texted in reply.
I released a long breath, as I read his message. "I'll be honest in return, then. I'm glad to hear it." I was surprised to realize that I really was glad to know that about him.
"An honest compliment. From you.Unprecedented."
I laughed aloud. In reply, I typed, "You couldn't just let it go, could you?"
"Why would I want to? I'm greatly enjoying our discourse."
I rolled my eyes and replied in kind, with an "eye-roll" emoji.
"So, have you figured it out, yet?" Will asked.
I paused, pretty sure that he was asking if I'd figured out who he was, and what he did for a living. I, however, didn't want to delve into that particular can of worms, unless asked directly. I typed the first thing that came to mind, in hope of changing the subject. "What? The paradox of Schrodinger's cat? I didn't think there was a correct answer to that." There's nothing like quantum mechanics to derail a conversation.
"Actually, there is a correct answer to that particular thought experiment, but we'll come back to that, another time. I was speaking of my profession…my job, the reason I'm in town…"
I sighed and then smiled a little, determined not to make this easy for him. "Crap. You are an assassin, aren't you?"
There was a few moments' pause. I began to wonder if I had finally offended him. I gazed out the darkened windows that overlooked the twinkling lights of the city, on either side of the fireplace, until my message tone sounded again.
"I don't even know what to say to that…LOL. Seriously, though."
I sighed. "I don't live under a rock. As for my opinion of your career choice, I couldn't care less what you do. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wish you all the best in your work, but I'm not swayed by authoritative, or celebrity status. My good opinion is gained through honesty, intellect, and acts - which I'm usually suspicious of if you haven't noticed."
"Hmm…" Will replied. "I have noticed. Assassin, indeed. And how do I measure up to your standards?"
"Honestly?" I asked.
"That's what I'm asking for…your honesty," Will prodded.
I closed my eyes in thought, deciding how to reply. "Disappointingly well."
"Disappointingly well? What does that mean?" Will returned.
I shook my head in frustration. I really, really didn't want to be having this conversation, let alone, over text messaging. "When I met you earlier today, I was predisposed to dislike you, because of who you are."
"Ouch. So, you knew right away, then? But…there is a 'but,'isn't there?"
I smiled a little. "But, you turned out to be surprisingly likable- nice, funny, and maybe even a little geeky."
"Well, thank you…I think."
"You're welcome," I returned.
"Are you going to tell anyone? About me?About today and tomorrow?"
I was a little offended by his question. I didn't like attention seekers and I didn't care to be lumped in with them. However, on the other hand, I could see Will's point and understood his concern. He was probably faced with that often. "No."
"Why not?" he asked.
I looked out the window, contemplating how to answer. I decided to start off with a bit of humor, hoping to make him relax a little, as it had seemed to do during our afternoon together. "Seriously?" I typed. "Do I look like I'm crazy? Wait… don't answer that. ;)No, to answer your question, I'm not going to say anything because, like I said earlier, it doesn't matter to me what you do career-wise. Well, you know, as long as you're not really an assassin…I don't hold with their kind. In short, though, your business is your own, and so is mine – no one else's.I don't like gossip…I don't understand the motives behind it at all, in fact, and I'd like to avoid being at the center of it, if possible. I'm also a very private person. I don't discuss my personal life with many people, and I'd like to think that I'm a good enough person to give others the same respect and measure of privacy that I expect them to give me."
Will didn't reply for several minutes. I returned my attention to the book I had been reading and managed to read a few pages before my text tone sounded again.
"Can you possibly be real?"
I grinned. "I believe so…unless I'm just another glitch in the Matrix. That'd suck for you. 'Follow the white rabbit,' they said…or, in this case, the girl running for her life, from a hornet. On that note, I'm going to go to sleep. Take care and I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Really? The Matrix? And you say I'm a geek. Where do you get your sense of humor? I want one – a sense of humor, that is."
"Oh, believe me, you have it in spades. Besides, I think you'd be much happier not knowing the intimate details of my twisted mind."
"Hmm, perhaps you're right. But yes, tomorrow…six o'clock. I'll call when I arrive."
"Sounds good." I nodded in agreement to the phone screen, as I typed.
"Goodnight, Elizabeth."
"'Night, Will." I turned off my phone and headed to bed.
