CASEY
The woman walks out barefoot, holding a crystal glass with amber liquid swirling inside it. She's wrapped in a deep red silk robe that could pass for a dress. Her hair's long, dark, and messy in that perfect, careless way that costs real money. Maybe in her late thirties or early forties but not in a tired way. In the way that makes you realize she's done playing games and knows exactly who she is.
"Caesar," she says, her voice like velvet and warning all at once. "You never show up without a warning. That usually means trouble."
Her eyes shift to me. And they narrow.
"Hi," I say, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly aware of every thread on my clothes.
"This is Casey," Caesar says simply. "She needs a second opinion on a contract."
The woman lifts an eyebrow and sips her drink. "And she couldn't wait until morning?"
"It's urgent."
She smirks, then gestures for us to come in.
"Of course it is.... It somehow always is with you,"
