At nine a sleek white sports car pulled up to the valet stand in front of the entrance.

Chloe climbed out of the passenger side carrying three oversized gold shopping bags from the high-end boutique near the downtown hotel.

She stepped onto the sidewalk, stopped under the streetlamp to check her reflection in the dark glass of the door, fixed her coat collar, and went in.

Two minutes later the light came on in the sixth-floor corner office.

I saw Tiffany’s silhouette pass the glass, a champagne flute in one hand while she pointed at the conference table with the other.