She’d been in Los Angeles for so long that she’d almost forgotten the exhilaration Manhattan could evoke, and was appreciative of the opportunity to experience it anew from such an incredible vantage point. Opening the sash window a little, even fifteen floors up the air was suddenly filled with familiar sounds of the city – honking horns, laughter against the murmur of traffic and a million conversations – and, at that moment, Hannah felt a profound reconnection with the place she’d once called home. This very same vibrant energy had once helped her shake off those youthful small-town inhibitions and encouraged her out of her shell to become the mature, self-assured person she was now. She felt a lump in her throat. Or used to be.

With luck, New York would work that same magic for her again.

She had been away from the city for so long and yet it still felt like no time had passed. Her instincts were correct to leave LA. She had come to the right place to lick her wounds, heal her heart, and she was more than ready to start a new life in the city that never sleeps.

Heading back out to the foyer to collect her bags from where she’d dropped them in awe on arrival, Hannah noticed that something had since been slipped under the door. A piece of paper and a handwritten note:

P-2,

I’m still getting your stupid ‘fan mail’ shoved in my box downstairs. I know this might come as a surprise to someone who lives in their own perfect Barbie bubble, but there are two penthouses up here. I’ve been marking it as Return to Sender, but soon I’m just gonna start shredding. So tell your herd of bazillion idiot sheep to stop sneaking their crap into the lobby. Or even better, tell ’em to go to hell.

P-1

Hannah’s eyes widened. So much for nothing to fear from the neighbours. Seemed they were still engaged in active battle.

Chapter 2

The fifty-something building supervisor Julie, who looked remarkably like Meryl Streep, had personally introduced herself upon arrival, assuring that she was on hand if Hannah needed any help settling in. On Monday morning, Hannah quickly sought her out in the hope of borrowing a standard phone-charging cable since the penthouse’s charging stations had been customised for tech at least three iterations ahead of her own phone.

When she mentioned the note from next door, Julie burst out laughing, shaking her head. ‘Ed just doesn’t know when to quit. You’ve gotta admire that, right?’