ce papers Olivia drafted were in my briefcase, unsigned, a heavy weight. I hadn't confronted Ethan dir

Coffee, hot and black, sloshed down the front of my cream Burberry trench co

wn, almost kneeling, frantically dabbing at my coat with a flimsy napkin that did

oung, maybe early twenties, dressed in worn jeans and a

my voice. The coat was expensive, and my laptop was in th

kly. The laptop seemed fine. The co

ofusely, making a much bigge

'm so sorr

encounter to end, and stepped aro

g man was still standing there, watching me, a strange

a peace offering of sorts after the "Chloe crisis" incident. He saw the tail end of the scene: me, tall a

was quiet, a muscl

g wrong?"

fee on you this morning,"

Yes, a bit

smissive of him. He look

was alright. He was making a huge fuss

nsive coat." Ethan's voice held a note of disapproval I hadn't heard i

gage in a prolonged public apol

ar coat and dropped my laptop, Ethan.

d. "You're a CEO. People look up to yo

on kindness after he'd abandoned me f

ind," I said, my voi

piece clicking into a very ugly puzzle. Chloe's cousin, Marc, was a graphic designer with a gambling problem. This dishev

s. And increasingly, s