The flight was remarkably quiet. She had a fully reclining seat in the back of the business section, but the one next to her was empty. After she downed her sixth? seventh? drink of the evening, her first on the plane, her eyes closed as if of their own accord, and she drifted off. She’d planned to stay up long enough to get another little bottle but didn’t fight her fatigue. An old flying pro, she’d already buckled her belt over her blanket, so no one disturbed her the entire time she slept—nearly eight hours.

She woke when the breakfast trays were being passed out, confused and hung over. She ordered a mimosa, a little hair of the dog, to go with her bacon rasher sandwich and vanilla yogurt. She managed a couple of bites of each before she felt like she might actually throw up, covered the tray, and closed her eyes for the rest of the flight, dozing slightly and fighting a migraine.

She always found sunlight after a long international flight strange, unexpected, even when, logically, she knew it would be daytime when she landed. Still, as she exited the plane, she found the very idea that she was many thousands of miles away from where she’d fallen asleep unsettling in a way that didn’t usually bother her quite to this degree. She pulled on some sunglasses, lifting them only as she went through customs. For once, the customs official basically waved her through, and no wonder. She’d avoided glancing at the mirror in the toilets, but she likely looked as wrecked as she felt.

This was confirmed when she walked past the last part of security and saw Ted milling with the small crowd waiting for people to show up. He was staring at his phone, grinning slightly, clearly wrapped up in whatever he was reading. He was fresh and smart in one of his usual dapper suits—the gray pinstripe, she saw, as she approached—with a purple floral silk shirt and white tie. He didn’t react as she approached, clearly not recognizing her. When she finally stopped two feet in front of him, he glanced at her, obviously annoyed, and then reacted as if he’d been slapped, actually taking a step away from her.

“Oh my God, Ryann…”

“I know.”

“You look like—”

“I know.”

He seemed almost frightened. She’d never once appeared at anything less than a hundred percent in front of any employee in her entire life, and certainly never anything like this. She could smell her own wine breath and sweaty hair.

He glanced at his watch, and his shoulders relaxed a little. “Thank God. We have plenty of time to stop at the hotel before the meeting.”

“Did you get the things from my apartment?”

He patted a garment bag draped over his carry-on. “Gloria did.”