The scent of rich, dark coffee brewing and sizzling butter fills the spacious, quiet kitchen of the penthouse.
It’s five minutes to ten on Tuesday morning. Locke left for the clubhouse before seven, leaving me in the peaceful solitude of our high-rise home.
I’ve already turned out a towering stack of golden-brown buttermilk pancakes, keeping them warm under a tent of aluminum foil while a fresh pot of dark roast drips quietly into the glass carafe.
The soft, low chime of the private elevator intercom breaks the morning quiet.
I step over to the wall unit, pressing the talk button. "Jade?"
"It's me," her voice crackles back through the speaker, crisp and cleared even from the garage level far below. "Let me up before I freeze down here."
I hit the release, and forty seconds later, th
