Besides the fact that he wore ridiculous suspenders, his style was impeccable. She knew a well-tailored trouser when she saw one. Even his shoes looked hand-stitched by some arthritic cobbler in Italy. He seemed to have a bit of an outsider energy to counter his straitlaced clothing choices. His hair was the ultimate puzzle—for a man keen on structure and order, why would he keep his hair long? He was all rigidity and cultivation, but in that hair Liza could see flashes of lupine opulence that spoke of a man not fully domesticated. He had taken off his jacket, and his hands in his pockets exposed the curve of his buttocks and thighs. How had she not noticed the snug fit of his trousers before? Now it was all she could look at.

Without a word, he placed a bottle of Ariel Brut Cuvée nonalcoholic champagne on the counter.

How did he know what I was looking for?

Unless he had been watching her sneaky little substitutions. Unless he had been watching her. The thought of it excited her more than it should have. She grabbed for the neck of the bottle, but Dorsey’s hand had not yet left it. They touched for a split second, and his eyes rocketed to hers. She was positively pinned in place. His touch was icy. The pads of his fingers grazed her knuckles and stayed a beat too long. Still, without a word, Dorsey tore his eyes away. She wished she had read something there, but he was inscrutable. He walked away toward the cubicles, and she watched his form retreat. Why had she been holding her breath?

She took the Brut and, with hands shaking, filled her sister’s glass. Deep breath, and with a plastered-on smile, she called out, “We’re not done partying yet.” She walked back into the office space, holding the cups in her hands.

Janae smiled and whispered in her sister’s ear, “I feel so happy for the first time in a long time!”

Liza squeezed her sister’s arm. “You deserve it. Enjoy.” She handed her sister the cup, and they made silly party faces for a rapid succession of selfies. A few minutes later, her sister sat with David in an uncomfortable-looking office chair. It looked more like conceptual art than an actual functional chair. Liza left them to their privacy and turned down through a darkened hallway. Is this place just cubicles as far as the eye can see? She pushed open a door and gasped at the view. With the lights out, the world outside sparkled. The capital was lit up around her, and the weather coupled with the full moon had turned her bustling political town into a quaint village covered in a blanket of glittering snow. It looked like she was being shaken around in a snow globe as the flakes and wind whirled against the window.