The waiter appeared with food, and she blinked because she hadn’t remembered ordering. She glanced at the half-empty wineglass and couldn’t for the life of her remember drinking so much as a sip. Julian was bad, bad for her brain. He was as bad as some wasting disease. She wouldn’t survive, either.
“Julian,” she began again, and promptly shut up when it came out more as a plaintive wail than a protest.
“I’ll send a car for you, Nina. No one needs to see you getting into a vehicle with me. I don't why you are so worried about that... I'm not. I’ll have my driver pick you up from work, or if you prefer, you can drive your car to your apartment and I’ll have him pick you up there. And I’ll have him take you home in time for you to prepare for work. You don't even have to come to my house.... Not that I mind if you do”
