Ryan had faced scary moments.
Even just days ago he'd sat down at a thirty thousand dollar poker table having never played a hand in his life. He'd watched his girlfriend get engaged to his boss in front of a room full of people and walked out with his head up.
He'd faced worse.
And yet standing in front of his bathroom mirror at 7:30 on a Monday morning in a fitted suit, he couldn't locate a single moment in recent memory where he'd felt this specific kind of scared.
He looked at himself.
The suit was charcoal, well-cut, one of the things he'd bought in the weeks since the money started moving. His hair was actually styled for once — he'd spent twelve minutes on it, which was eleven more than his usual approach. He looked at his own face and had the strange experience of not immediately recognizing what he saw. It wasn't that anything was different exactly, but because he'd spent so little time looking properly that the face in the mirror was almost new information.
