I arrive at the office before dawn. City lights still glitter through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

My desk is already buried in contracts. Acquisition proposals. The Westfield merger needs my signature by noon.

Jim walks in without knocking. "We have a problem."

I don't look up from the contract. "What kind?"

"Your mother. She's been telling people Nina's your fiancée. Spreading it through the company. Staff are treating it like official news."

My pen stops ...