Chapter 13
NOAH
Wednesday afternoon
“Want to tell me about Sophia Somerset?”
“No. Please. Don’t knock, Cynthia. Feel free to barge in to my office.”
I don’t look up from my desk as one of my closest friends dawdles near my office doorway. A frayed copy of “Doctor Sleep” lies on the edge of my mahogany desktop—which is funny because I didn’t get any shut-eye last night—and I try hard to concentrate on the work right in front of me.
I’m going to be late for another scheduled lunch rendezvous with Sophia, and I’m still writing notes from our recent attempt at a sale of Manhattan’s Millennium Gardens when I hear Cynthia’s voice from just across the threshold, barking questions.
The sale’s not enough to put much of a dent in our soul-crushing debt. But it would do.
It’s business as usua
