Whatever I was on was soft, and it smelled rich, good—like a new car. I opened my eyes, blinking slowly, fully expecting the morning’s light to blind me like a spotlight illuminating my life’s mistakes, but the room was dim, a golden light from across the space reducing everything to a comfortable glow. That’s when I figured out I was lying on the leather sofa in Roland Shepard’s office, sleeping off a nasty drunken night. I had to get out of here. My mouth tasted like something had died inside of it, and I located a glass of water I’d barely touched the previous night, chugging it in one breath. A quick dash across the office and a peek out of one of the heavily curtained windows told me that it was early morning. The sun was barely up, and people were only just now getting up and moving. That meant I had even less time than I thought. I found my shoes placed neatly beside the couch—had Roland taken them off for me last night?
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