Grayson
The morning started gray.
Mild light filtered in through the blinds, painting pale stripes across the floor. I'd barely slept all night, I'd been awake, staring at the ceiling, mind running in useless circles.
Sleep has been an illusion these days. Since the investors dinner. Since I'd lost her five years ago.
The air felt thick, heavy. I made coffee and downed it in large gulps, it burned slowly down my throat. The apartment was too quiet, almost unnaturally quiet. The only sound was the tickling of the clock on the wall, and the hum of my thoughts, too restless, too loud.
My phone pinged. A message from Liam — the address of an upscale café.
After my shower, I replied to a few work emails and informed Bridget to cancel my morning meetings.
I grabbed my jacket and left t
