It wasn't like Jessica had anything better to do lately. The walk in traffic was low in this business, and she didn't quite have the handle on advertising. If the Wing woman never showed again, then at least Jessica had a few night's worth of downward-facing-moose-knuckle Danny Rand that could make some great lock screens. Did people pay for those? 'Vampire stalker' had been her leading theory until Professor Wing himself (in a way) revealed his association with the z-list but still well photographed with a small Business Insider following Daniel Rand via some otherwise very boring Googling. Most educational institution websites were completely impossible to navigate. That little tidbit stood out, though, for a few reasons, primarily: did Rand have nothing better to do? He didn't seem to have a whole lot to do with his company in general, anyway. Fucking nepotism. 'Asian studies' hipster bullshit. Asshole.
Jessica had her own way of keeping warm in a totally discrete brown bag, so by the time Rand disappeared again she was in a good place to settle back against the frozen bars of the fire escape and close her eyes for just a second. The shake of the whole structure jolted her awake, heart rate ratcheting to fucktrillion beats a second and bottle still in her hand bursting to soak the bag with what little was left in it. At least it wasn't the camera, tucked safely between her knees. For now. She was still way too keyed up by the time the intruder invaded her space, making her crawl up into a tight ball against the weak iron, denting it just slightly outward as she strained for an extra inch, then grind out, "Ssshiiit," with a lot of rapid blinking when it seemed like he wasn't coming any closer. For now. Was that her weird breathing she was hearing? Now what?
Jessica grabbed the camera, tossed what was left of the bottle, and bolted up the fire escape.