“We have nothing to discuss in private, Harrison,” Jonathan said, his voice rising through the cold air to my window.

“We have everything to discuss,” Harrison replied.

The rear door of the limousine clicked open, and the interior light flickered on, illuminating Harrison’s tailored overcoat and his smooth, liver-spotted hands.

He did not get out, but he slid across the leather seat to make room.

Jonathan hesitated, his shoulders tense under his dark coat.

He looked back toward the entrance of my building, then looked up at my window.

I did not draw back; I wanted him to know I was watching.

With a tight nod, Jonathan stepped off the curb and climbed into the back of the limousine.

The heavy door clicked shut, sealing them inside the quiet luxury of the vehicle.

I stood at the open window, the wind chilling the back of my neck, watching the dark tinted windows of the car.

Inside my studio, the radiator clanked and hissed, a sharp contrast to the silence of the street below.

Ten minutes passed, the limousine remaining parked by the hydrant, its engine purring like a large beast.