Seven
Andromache Returns
It’s three in the afternoon when I make it back to my loft—via cab, since neither Rupert nor Olivia showed up to bring me home. Why do I even have an assistant if she’s not there when I need her?
When I reach my door, I find a letter taped to it, my name and a red OPEN IMMEDIATELY rubber-stamped across the envelope’s front. I unlock and open the door … and freeze.
My furniture—all of it—is gone.
The only thing that remains is my ten-by-fourteen, hand-knotted Tufenkian artisan wool and silk rug the color of the Pacific Ocean on a summer day. I drop everything on the floor—purse, keys, phone, the urgent letter—and jog into my bedroom. Sure enough, the bed, TV and media cabinet, love seat, lamps, paintings, everything that isn’t clothing, is gone. My entire wardr
