Casting an evil look in Fran’s direction, Addison pulled a gold-plated lighter from her pocket. “Get it cleaned and send me the bill,” she said as she lit her fag.

***

Joanna had arranged to leave work early, believing she had given herself enough time to get home, grab a quick shower and make herself presentable before she met with one of the wealthiest women in the UK. Unfortunately, her stars were not in alignment.

There were delays on the Tube, and when she finally walked into her house, an hour behind schedule, the visiting caregiver suddenly announced she felt a migraine coming on. Before Joanna could say a word, the woman scooted out the front door to enjoy her early reprieve. Shaking her head, Joanna took a deep breath and trotted up the stairs. She poked her head into her father’s room, intending to give him a quick hello before going to grab a shower, but startling him, he promptly spilled his juice all over himself and the bed. In an instant, Joanna’s plans had changed, but she didn’t care. He needed her, and that was all that mattered.

Forty-five minutes later, after the last hospital corner had been tucked and her father was dressed in a clean pair of pajamas, Joanna helped him back into bed. Running downstairs to fetch him more juice, once she returned and made sure he was comfortable, she headed to her bedroom. Glancing at her watch, Joanna looked down at her clothes and shrugged. She didn’t really own anything better anyway. Deciding she could at least brush her hair before her guests arrived, she was about to pull the band from her ponytail when the doorbell rang. Chuckling that her plans had gone so awry, she looked in the mirror, tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears and then went to meet her future wife. There was no point in putting on airs. Joanna didn’t own any of those either.

***

Fran parked her Mercedes in front of Joanna Sheppard’s house and pointed out the window. “It’s the one on the end.”

“Charming,” Addison said, furrows appearing on her brow at the sight of the disheveled row of joined homes.

“Behave. Not everyone has a bank account with eight figures,” Fran said, getting out of the car.

Climbing out of the passenger side, Addison slammed the door and flicked her cigarette to the ground. “It’s nine, but who’s counting.”

Fran marched over to Addison, and stopping only a few inches from the woman, Fran looked her in the eye. “I’m going to go knock on the door and say hello to Joanna. You can stay out here and sulk, or you can join me and listen as I tell her what we’ve decided to offer her, but if you choose to come inside, leave your attitude out here. Don’t forget, we’re running out of time.”