She is woken by the sun glaring through the window of her hotel room. She’d forgotten to shut the drapes. With the opening of her lids come images of last night’s venture, the four martinis, the invitation made to a stranger . . .
At first, she can’t tell if the knocking is in her head or at the door. She hears the whir of something being slipped under her door and the noise ceases. Natasha sits up, holding her head in the palms of her hands, rubs her burning eyes.
In the washroom she grabs a wash cloth and holds it under the faucet as she peeks in the mirror. She washes every trace of colour from her tired face, then looks again in the glass, and lets out a disappointed sigh before returning to the bedroom.
Natasha remembers the knock and takes the few steps toward the door, where an envelope lies in waiting.