Stop!
We finish eating and I stand up to gather the container and the forks.
“Thank you,” he says. “For the food. Ineeded that.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Rossi,” I manage.
I wash the forks in the sink and put them back. Then wash my container, dry it, and head for the door.
“Pack it up for the day,” he says to my back. “It’s time to go home.”
About time.
I nod, and head to my desk.
When I get there, I grab my stuff and shut down my computer.
I pull up Uber on my phone, because, as usual, I’m not taking the subway at this hour.
8 minutes away.
Just enough time.
When I head to the elevator bank, Nico’s already there, waiting.
He nods, and when it opens we step inside.
We just stand side by side as the elevator descends.
28...
27...
26...
The elevator dings. Lobby level.
The doors open.
“Get home safe, Ms. Dawson,” he says quietly.
I glance at him. He wears his usual poker face, but his voice is genuine.
“You too, Mr. Rossi,” I reply, and mean it.
I step out. He presses a button and the doors close again, taking him down to the parking garage level where his Mercedes and security team are undoubtedly waiting.
And I’m alone in the lobby.
The security guard at the desk nods at me.
I push through the main doors and out onto the street.
Manhattan at midnight is never really quiet, but it’s quieter than usual. A few taxis cruise past. A couple stumbles by, laughing.
A blue Toyota pulls up to the curb. Right on time. I confirm the driver on the app, then climb into the back seat.
“Astoria?” the driver asks.
