Louise had been waiting for twenty minutes in the tinted-window confines of Andy’s black armored sedan, parked strategically in the Moonlit Tech underground garage.
She was wearing massive, dark designer sunglasses—the kind favored by celebrities trying to conceal a hangover or a cosmetic procedure. The effect, she realized when she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, was less "low profile" and more "mafia boss being driven to a sit-down."
When Andy finally slid into the driver's seat, he took one look at her and burst into laughter.
"What is this?" Andy chuckled, pulling the keys from the valet. "You look like you're about to negotiate a prisoner exchange. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, not drawing the attention of every security camera and tabloid photographe
