OCEANS.
Six hours.
Six hours of tracking their location through Noella's phone like a man who had completely lost the plot, watching the pins move from store to store across the Upper East Side while I sat in my home office pretending to review the Henderson files and retaining absolutely nothing from them.
Six hours of this woman living rent-free in my head without paying a single thing toward the cost of what she was doing to me.
I had tried everything.
Work. Scotch. A call with the Singapore office that should have required my full attention, but got approximately 40% of it. I had stood at my window and watched the city and given myself the same speech I had been giving myself since DC — about lines and professionalism.
There is only so much a man can endure. But the torture of en
