I have questions for you. Your place or mine?
A perfunctory text message had succeeded in securing Robin Goodfellow's attention for that evening, as Felix had crafted it to do. As the response had included a rather posh address, it seemed Felix had succeeded doubly: he'd have Robin's experience to draw upon, and Shannon would be none the wiser.
He'd changed clothes after work and arrived at the given address in a dark, subtly patterned shirt beneath a cashmere sweater that fit his slim frame with aching perfection, beneath a warm winter coat against the London night air. The building's security -- cleverly disguised as reception in smart business attire -- assured him that he was expected, and sent him up to the correct floor. As it turned out, Felix hardly needed to look further. There was only one door beyond the elevator. Rather than let himself be impressed for too long, Felix donned an expectant expression, and knocked.