Amanda showed up Saturday afternoon with her daughter, Zoe, in tow, a bag of snacks, and the specific overprepared energy of someone who'd rehearsed a conversation in her car before coming up."The doorman already knows Zoe by name," Amanda said, setting her bag down in the entryway, glancing around the apartment the way she always did, half-admiring, half-amused by the sheer scale of it. "He gave her a chocolate from behind the desk. I think your boyfriend's building is spoiling my child.""He does that for all the kids in the building," I said. "Apparently it's a whole thing. Liam complained about the chocolate budget line item once, completely seriously, in front of Patricia.""Only a billionaire complains about a chocolate budget," Amanda said, settling onto the couch while Zoe wandered toward the window, already absorbed in the view of the park below, small hands pressed to the glass."He complains about the strangest things, honestly," I said, pouring her coffee from the machine
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