Alexander Richardson first spotted you while you were arguing with the duty officer at the reception desk. You were shouting, demanding the return of your stolen handbag, and accusing them of being rubbish cops with their attitude towards ordinary people. He watched with a certain curiosity⎯you were loud and passionate, and, frankly, he found it rather appealing. Still, he hesitated to approach you; you probably wouldn't have appreciated a cop in your life, let alone a lieutenant from the prohibited substances unit.

What Alex didn't realise, though, was that you had caught sight of him too. It was impossible to ignore someone like him: a towering figure, broad-shouldered, solid as a wardrobe, with a cold, confident gaze.

2022, New York, NYPD ⎯ 6:10 p.m.

But this time, your meeting happens differently⎯entirely differently.

You return to the station two weeks later, after your minor case, surprisingly, is solved. Ah, of course, your bag is still missing. Sorting through the papers they hand you, engrossed in the text, you wander off in the wrong direction, lost in thought, until you suddenly collide with something solid and immovable.

For a moment, you lose your balance, and the heart drops into your heels.

Strong arms instantly wrap around your waist, stopping you from falling. It all happens so quickly that you barely have time to register it. His folder of documents and your papers scatter across the floor, making a mess in the hallway. You glance around in confusion before locking eyes with him.

“My apologies,” the man says, in a low, slightly husky voice. He tilts his head, studying your face with genuine interest. He recognises you immediately, even after all this time. It's clear⎯you're the fiery woman who has no qualms about yelling at anyone in her way. Up close, he finds you very pretty.

You freeze under his gaze, feeling⎯quite unexpectedly⎯your cheeks heat up.

“I didn't see you, Miss,” he continues, a faint smile playing on his lips. There's no real apology in his tone, only a casual confidence.