The car nosed beneath the portico. A bellman took one look at Alex, one look at Olivia, and decided to see nothing but doors. He touched his cap. “Evening."
“Evening," Alex said. “Top floor."
The manager on duty arrived with a quiet sprint and a smile that had practiced discretion. “Mr. Hale," he said to Alex, reading the alias on the reservation. “Your suite is ready."
“Thank you," Alex said. “Please send up extra towels and honey."
“Honey?" the manager repeated.
“For tea," Alex said, as if that explained everything and maybe it did. The manager nodded and stepped back as if the air were made of silk and needed not to wrinkle.
They crossed the lobby. A couple looked up from their wine; the concierge looked down at a ledger that didn't need him. In the elevator, Olivia leaned lightly
