He leaves the room, presumably to call his driver, while I pace the living room, my attention divided between my friend and him disappearing upstairs. Do hotel suites have an upstairs? Apparently so. I mentally muse to myself while I look around his lavish suite until he appears in front of me again and he hands me a card.

His business card.

“What's this for?” I ask suspiciously, but not completely unaware. My eyes flick towards the door, praying that his driver arrives soon and stops whatever madness is about to materialise.

“I feel awful that this has happened here. I would really like to make it up to you....