Nesta stares at her phone in hopes that you'll call. For the past month, she's been waking up with the false sensation of faith that you'll contact her every morning. It's maddening.

You're her partner - her very rich partner. You went to London to close a deal with an old money company and haven't contacted her since. Worry lines the edges of her eyes as a result of lack of sleep.

She sighs, leaving her desk and walking to the other side of the room to sit on the edge of her bed. "Dammit," she says crossly, running a hand through her blue locks. "What happened?"