The television was on, but no one was really watching it. Muted. A ticker crawled along the bottom. A woman’s voice moves her mouth in a practiced rhythm, hands folded neatly at her waist. Allen stood by the window of his apartment, phone pressed to his ear, half-listening to a conference call he’d already stopped caring about. “Yes,” he said absently. “That’s fine. Push it to next week.” Glass reflected his own image at him—shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened, jaw tight with the kind of focus that had nothing to do with work. Behind him, the city stretched out, grey and orderly. Predictable. A laugh came from the couch. Soft. “You’re not even pretending to listen,” Lydia said, legs tucked beneath her, wine glass balanced lazily in one hand. She didn’t look annoyed. She rarely did. That was one of the things he liked. “I’m multitasking,” Allen replied, ending the call without waiting for a response. He turned slightly, giving her a half-smile. “You knew what you were getting in
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