So I had this totally crazy dream, where I met a billionaire called Matthew Bloomberg and he kind of liked me.
Well, he liked me enough to put me up in a ludicrously expensive London flat but not enough to trust me, talk to me, or spend any time with me.
A low self-esteem-tanking level of liking that I ended up running back to my family’s place. But, he probably like me more than I expected because he ended up following me.
Except, oh wait, that was not actually a dream.
It had really happened.
And there was Matthew himself, tucked into the corner where the bed met the window, watching the distant sea. He was pale in the cool, blue-tinted morning and a little tousled—that one wayward lock of his fallen free again. The smile he gave me, as I emerged from the duvet, was slightly shy,
