Chapter 12The doorman at 1120 Fifth Avenue, adorned in full regalia—a dark-blue-double-breasted jacket with golden lapels, a black bowtie, and trousers striped with gold piping—steps aside and opens the door with white-gloved hands. “Good morning,” he greets us formally as we enter the building. I detect a hint of surprise disguised beneath his cap. Is he in awe of my running clothes or my early morning visit? Or maybe he assumes I'm headed to Chase's bed for an early morning quickie? “Good morning,” I say with an assertive air, ignoring the curious stare.
In the elevator's close confinement, Chase's presence is disarming. He must be at least six-feet-one or two. I shiver quietly in my sweat-soaked running attire, questioning my impulsive behavior. Just as I'm about to change my mind, the
