Leonard slammed his car door shut with a force that echoed through the dimly lit basement parking lot. His shoes clacked against the concrete as he walked toward the elevator, a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand. The day hadn't started yet, but his mood was already sour. There was a tight pull behind his eyes, the type that warned of a headache incoming.
But as he rounded the corner, the sound of heels—unmistakable and out of place for this early hour—stopped him cold.
He blinked.
There she was.
Standing near the elevator like some cartoon spy: black sunglasses, a beige trench coat pulled too high, and a wide-brimmed hat that did nothing to conceal her arrogance.
Miranda.
Leonard's grip on the coffee cup tightened. "You've got to be kidding me."
Miranda lowered her sunglasses with an overly dramatic motion, her lips curving into a grin. "Surprised?"
