It's a man, donned in a tuxedo similar to those around him. He has a mass of sandy natural waves on his head, déclassé in this crowd of elaborate hair structures. He tips his glass to me from his spot across the room and smiles. My eyes fall immediately to the ground and my pulse quickens at the thought of a stranger trying to seduce me from across the room. A man I've never seen before.
"Excuse me, Emma. Who is that man?" I point to the man across the room, who had since turned back to his fellows in conversation.
"Who's what?" Her eyes follow my finger. "Oh...him?" Recognition springs to her eyes. "That's him. Newhouse's son. He's only recently arrived, you know. Must be such a comfort to his dear old dad," she says sarcastically.
"Arrived? Where...at the party?"
"No, Andrea. Of cour
