A FEW HOURS LATER
ISABELLA
If anyone ever tells you that opening a contract with wine is unprofessional, they are wrong. It is necessary. My apartment was dimly lit, the city glow leaking in through the windows like it was trying to eavesdrop. Shoes abandoned by the door. My jacket was draped over a chair. Wanessa had kicked her boots off and was sitting cross legged on my couch like she owned the place. Michael hovered near the small table, already stressed, already regretting every life choice that led him here. The bottle of wine sat between us.
"This is a bad idea." Michael said for the fifth time.
Wanessa popped the cork with a decisive pop.
"This." She corrected, pouring generously. "Is a fantastic idea. Rich men send mysterious envelopes, we drink and emotionally survive."
I stared at the envelope on the table. Still unopened and still judging me.
"I hate that it's heavy." I muttered. "Paper shouldn't feel smug."
The system purred softly at the back of my mind.
