Chapter 29

Isla Davenport may have been a stone-cold bitch, but at least she’d let me travel in style – first class all the way. This meant that over the impromptu eight-hour flight that ensued, I:

Bawled my eyes out quietly.

Headed for the bathroom when I was finished to pee only to end up suffering a panic attack that only let up when a flight attendant knocked to ask if everything was okay.

Drank every last flute of champagne I was offered and ordered as much food as I could stuff down my gullet before falling into a fitful sleep.

By the time we touched down in JFK I was a train wreck and could barely muster up the energy to look over the NDA that Isla had arranged for me. I wasn’t a lawyer, but to the best of my knowledge everything appeared to be in order and by the time I got dropped off in front of my apartment building I’d scribbled down my signature in all the required fields.

It was almost 11, and after a series of perfunctory knocks I let myself into th