Georgina

The news comes that night, as I'm questioning my choice to get into that car on the tarmac.

I change into something modest and business-like, even though it's getting late, and head downstairs. One of the servants directs me to Richard's office.

I take the stairs, an elegant spiral of pale wood and bamboo, and find Richard standing in the conference room on the third floor. Every wall is made of glass, the unyielding black of night stretching on into infinity on all sides.

I catch my breath at the sight of him. He's wearing a suit, changed for the dozen video calls he had to take as soon as we got back from the airport. (I can't believe he came in person to the airport! Is he already trying to coax mne into his bed? The thought makes my face burn.) He is a composite of elegant, powerful lines.

The slope of his shoulders is broad, and he looks impossibly tall, one hand in his pocket, the other bringing a short glass of whiskey to his lips.

I hesitate. Don't hesitate! Then I head in, kn