4
He hadn’t slept well.
All morning, Conor puttered around his lovely Bel Air ranch home, feeling groggy and restless. And that wasn’t like him at all. Normally he was decisive, focused, determined. He’d rise early, brew himself a pot of strong tea, and watch the sun rise from his broad patio. Then, if he wasn’t due at the studio, he’d spend an hour or two working out in his private gym, and round it out with a hundred laps in the pool.
This morning, nothing seemed to suit his fidgety mood. The tea tasted off, the sun was too bright, and the water was too cold. Even a few rounds of his favorite video game, one based off his most recent blockbusting action flick, seemed childish and annoying.
Part of what fretted him—and the realization made him distinctly uneasy—was how relaxed he’d fe
