er throat before it

in was clammy with cold sweat. The nightmare clung to h

ime on the bedsid

ay light of pre-dawn. She was

s terrifying. She

nking into the carpet. She crept out

a faint sound from the kitchen

d around

r was

nd a tight white t-shirt that stretched across his broad s

vements. A pan sizzled on the stove behind him. The smell of bacon and c

ng him. It was such a domestic scene, so no

overing over the cutting b

e said. His voice w

w you cooked,

lingering for a fraction of a second on her

t me," he said. "Put some shoes on

ot," she said, walki

e of the barstools. "

nt that green juice slu

s fine. W

ou hate bacon. You say it's

uine, bubbling sound. "I cha

, his expression unreadable. Th

in the po

ped her hands around the warm ceramic

muscles move as he

sleep?" s

N

neit

front of her. The omelet was perfect,

the counter opposite her, crossin

d. "Then we n

fork. She took a bi

?" she asked wit

ow much

chewing. She sw

old

und is down forty percent. He needs liquidity. You're here bec

and pulled out a checkbook. He

. Scrat

of paper across

t should cover his margin calls and bu

eros were perfectly formed. His s

million

She would have thrown a fit about how it

down h