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“What kind of request?” My phone is jammed between my shoulder and my ear as I stare into my closet, trying to decide if I have anything appropriate to wear to a Christmas party at a Baron’s country estate.

Because this morning Theo said he’d like me to go with him. And I have absolutely nothing suitable to wear.

“They’re looking for a feature on the changing face of wealth,” Sam tells me. “It’s freelance, but there might be something more permanent in the future. And with things being as they are here…” he trails off. “It might be worth your while submitting this rather than writing an article for Meridien.”

My chest tightens. I still haven’t updated my resume, let alone thought about freelancing for other magazines.

Still, I trust Sam. And if he says this is a good idea I’ll go with it.

“That sounds interesting. Did they say what exactly they’re looking for?” I ask him.

“They’re more interested in what you have to offer,” he tells me. “Write them a pitch. Something fresh, with a strong voice.”

“They’re not asking for much then.” I haven’t had to write a pitch for years. The closest I’ve come is telling Sam what I’m planning on writing for the magazine each month. He usually okays it with a wave of his hand.

“You can do it,” he says, sounding more confident than I do. “Just because you’ve spent the last couple of years reviewing high end bidets and meal services, doesn’t mean you should put yourself down.”

I swallow hard. Sam’s always been a great editor. And a really supportive boss. The fact he’s called me while I’m away means he thinks I should do this.

I wrinkle my nose and try to think of a new angle. “You know, I met the son of a real baron in London,” I say.

“You did? Tell me more.”

So I do. Not the whole thing. Just about my complete ignorance of the aristocracy, and my feeble attempts at googling.

“He said something that made me think,” I continue. “About barons being medieval tech bros.”

Sam laughs. “I like that angle. Keep going.”

I let out a long breath. “Maybe I could write something about… I don’t know, the moment when new wealth becomes old. Or the contrast between the US and the UK when it comes to money.” The words spill out, but I feel it, the little tingle in my brain. It’s not quite a spark but it’s there and it just might come alight.

Sam doesn’t hesitate. “Carry on.”

I press my palm to the cold window, watching a tourist boat cut through the river. “New money can feel really in your face. Like it only exists when people are looking at it.”

“And what does old money feel like?” he prompts. “In London?”

“Here it feels… different,” I say slowly. “Like it doesn’t need to prove itself because it already has a title and a house that’s been standing for three hundred years.” I swallow hard. “They’ve had more time to settle. And history times money equals…” I frown. “Aristocracy, I guess.”

Sam is quiet for a beat. “Then that’s your angle. Write up a proposal. Send it through to me. Let’s get it over to my friend before Christmas.”

“I’ll draft something today,” I say, because I get his urgency. He’s worried about my future, and now I am too.

“Good,” Sam replies. “And Georgia?”

“Yes?” I say, my mind already swimming with thoughts.

“Stop second guessing yourself. You’ve been wasted here. This could be a good opportunity for you.”

The line goes dead. I pull my phone from my ear to see a message that came through while I was talking to Sam.

Hope your day is going better than mine. Are you free for dinner this evening? – Theo

I smile at the thought of seeing him.

I am, but could we make it a bit later? I have some work to do. Oh, and I need to get a dress for your party. Because apparently my maid forgot to pack my ballgown. – Georgia

Three dots appear almost instantly.