In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Seven: Are You Sorry for Saving My Life?

"Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothin' scares me anymore"

- Lana Del Rey, "Summertime Sadness"

Chapter Seven

Cruz's new building bordered on flashy.

The attorney general's building was a glass fortress in its own right, but the centrally located high-rise containing his new office just screamed money. It was almost a little too much, and it almost made me jealous of the newbies.

The large lobby was clean and bright, complete with modern technology and security stationed throughout. I recognized a few Greystone team members I'd met last week. A bubbly receptionist greeted me behind a glass desk, and graciously gave me a laminated ID to clip on my shirt, with strict instructions to keep it visible at all times. She seemed to be expecting me.

I'd spent the weekend compiling files on the high-profile cases Cruz had overseen in his eight years of office. He'd objected at first, trying to insist I spend time recuperating, but I'd said the same to him as I had to Oliver—I couldn't sit still for the literal life of me. I didn't think I'd know peace until I was on the other side of the country, or until our faceless attacker was caught.

The work was tedious, ranging from high profile murders to hushed and downplayed data breach cases. I pitied whoever'd be compiling and investigating the suspect lists; it'd taken me long enough just to organize and sort the files themselves. The suspect list from the bank robbery trial three years ago alone would be extensive. I shuddered to think what the drug cartel investigations would turn up, or the white-collar crimes.

The files jostled in my arms as I hurried towards the elevator. A folder precariously slid down.

"No, no, no, no," I whispered. I tried to shift it back as I blindly felt for the elevator button, praying for grace, though I didn't know what deity happened to be responsible for diplomat-wannabes.

Please don't fall. It took forever to sort. Please don't do this to me.

The folder slid a little more.

"Ms. Woodsen, are you—" the voice suddenly spoke from behind me, startling me and causing the folder to finally race to the floor.

But a hand shot out, catching it before it could scatter its pages.

"Oh, thank God," I sighed, turning to see who'd saved me the effort of re-sorting the file.

Sterling stood strong and steady, his eyes blinking questioningly at me; his gaze darted from the obvious relief on my face to the large stack of files I was clumsily holding.

After a moment, something clicked in my brain.

Still with the 'Ms. Woodsen'? What part of 'my name is Avery' did he not understand?

"Thank you," I stated gratefully, if not a little curtly. I shuffled the files in my arms to reach for the one in his hands.

"Please, let me," Sterling proposed. He gracefully maneuvered the loose file on top before taking the entire stack. I thanked him again, rubbing my sore arms and subtly taking the opportunity to look at him.

He looked as handsome as he did on Friday. A black suit and earpiece was the apparent uniform of Greystone, and the choice did him justice. This time, however, Sterling wore a dark green tie tucked neatly into his buttoned suit. I noticed it matched his eyes. It was a nice touch to the professional ensemble, along with the addition of a silver tie clip.