I was on fire. In more ways than one.
The driver dropped me back home around one am. I couldn't sleep, so I paced the house clutching my laptop, hammering out plans for the restaurant. By three am I was a shuddering mess of coffee, my new dress destined for the laundry pile. But I'd put together a rustic French menu, the simplicity was so beautiful, the colours and textures would draw in even the most timid of diners. The sort that usually order what they know, and never step outside the box.
After three hours sleep, Kevin woke me up, prodding me with the end of a broomstick.
'Kev what the hell!' I blinked myself awake, bleary eyed from all the caffeine and adrenaline.
'Your driver is here.' He poked me again.
'My what now? I don't have a driver.' I covered my face with my pillow
