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Summary
When Yasmin worked at Pierpoint, the sound of Eric’s voice alone could make her stomach seize up. The studiously casual enunciation, the generic American flatness of his accent, the occasional icy dip down into a lower register: something about it always made her feel like she was looking over the side of a lifeboat and seeing a huge dark shape swim circles underneath. More than once, when he caught her off guard with a request or an admonishment, she actually flinched.
She doesn’t flinch now. “Hello, Eric,” she says. “You’re looking well.”