You wake up slowly, squinting against the midday light slipping through your bedroom curtains. A subtle but persistent headache dully pounds behind your eyes, and rubbing your palms into your eye sockets does little to alleviate your pain. Despite how drained you feel, you really didn’t drink much last night, so it’s easy to remember the party thrown in your honor. It feels unreal, but you know you rightfully earned the title of Man of the Year in the country’s top business magazine at only 32 years old.
Last night’s party was filled with everyone from the company and the magazine, filling the reception hall and mingling well into the night, and you didn’t get home until after midnight.
Your thoughts of the night before are interrupted by the door to your bedroom opening, and in
walks your maid with breakfast. Phoebe Byrne has been working for you for a while, and you couldn’t ask for a better person for the job. She walks in holding a tray of delicious looking pancakes, bacon, and fruits, but that isn’t what caught your eye.