Ada picks up the nearly-empty Merlot and takes a swig straight from the bottle. Her head is spinning, the cottony feeling of inebriation beginning to cloud her brain. She’s celebrating a job well-done, if she says so herself. And with the deposit that just hit her bank account, she’s in a better mood than usual. A more bold mood, too, which is why she calls you. “Can you come over?” She pauses, surprised that you actually picked up this late at night. “Sorry, it’s Ada. Are you busy? Come over.”