The elevator rose with a soft hum. She stood near the corner, arms crossed, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of reluctance and resolve. The numbers on the digital panel slowly climbed: 18… 19… 20…
He's not going to stop unless I talk to him.
That was the truth she had accepted after a long, emotionally exhausting day at the convention. Leonard had made it clear he wasn't going to back off quietly. Not after breakfast. Not after the look in his eyes when he held her wrist like it meant something—like she still meant something.
So she agreed. A conversation. Nothing more.
But only after the schedule was over, and only in a place far away from curious stares and whispering mouths. The hotel restaurant had been enough of a spectacle already. She had felt the eyes. The questions. Her private life being measured in glances and rumors.
The rooftop, however, was different. Quiet. Empty. A place above everything else.
