At precisely 7:55 that evening, Isaac stepped from the cab at the foot of the Plaza Tower and paid off the driver. He had foregone the luxury of driving into town, having decided that the use of a dead ex-girlfriend’s car was not conducive to a successful outcome on a first date.
Although he didn’t regard himself as a vain man, Isaac did like to take care over his appearance at times such as this. He had dressed in a freshly laundered and immaculately ironed indigo chambray shirt over a plain white crew neck T-shirt. The sleeves were rolled to just below the elbow, and the shirt hung untucked over black tailored trousers. Although he hadn’t shaved — he had decided that a day’s worth of stubble enhanced the image he was aiming for — he had nonetheless applied just a hint of Burberry Touch
