She stopped in front of the old brick building and looked at it from top to bottom. Once a magnificent example of early American architecture, it had been renovated and added on to so many times that the original charm was marred by contemporary design, creating an odd combination of old and new. She didn't know whether she cared for it or not. It would never make sense to her how people could take something so beautiful and turn it into something so incoherent. Like the glass pyramid in front of the Louvre.

It had been a long time since she had last visited Princeton, and she had never seen it covered in snow. She preferred a balmier climate, which is probably why she spent so much time at her beach side cottage outside of Charleston, South Carolina. That, and it provided a quiet, peaceful atmosphere for her to write in. The seaside was her muse, the sights and sounds of the waves therapeutic and calming. She had written her first book on the screened veranda of that cottage, and she would always return there when she needed to escape the treacherous confines of New York City.

That was her second favorite place in the whole world, her apartment in the classic Brownstone on 74th between Park and Madison. She was a block and a half away from the park, which she used for inspiration when she was away from her oceanside home in South Carolina. Although she rarely wrote about nature, or parks, or the ocean, being in those places allowed her to reconnect with her roots and get her busy mind back on track. And it often jumped the track, which meant she spent a lot of time outside.

Her naturally blond hair was made even blonder by the sun, and the tumbling ringlets she had inherited from her mother looked as though they had been lit from within. Although immaculately styled, the curls had been a curse since birth, and she had desperately longed for the pin-straight hair her sister had gotten from their father. The only things she had inherited from her father were her height, a lofty six feet, and her inquisitive nature, which had helped her to become one of the most revered columnists for The New Yorker. She had written articles and essays about almost every subject, from interviews with Hollywood starlets to in-depth investigations into world leaders and governments.

People often underestimated her because of her classic good looks. Her cunning and resolution had aided her in her career advancements, but she knew that her looks had played a huge part in her success. She dressed the part of a powerful female executive, suits with pencil skirts and tailored suit jackets that accentuated her waist and hips and long, lean legs, but never inappropriately. There was no better feeling than knocking an interviewee off guard by smiling warmly while asking a pointed question, a technique she had used since her college newspaper days at Columbia. She had been the assistant editor of the Columbia Daily Spectator in her final year there, which she had parlayed into a job as a copywriter at The New Yorker after graduation.

Her cellphone rang from inside her favorite Kelly green Kate Spade tote bag. She tore her gaze from the facade of the building and reached in, pulling her phone from the designated pocket and looking at the caller ID. She smiled as she recognized the name of her editor, Kenneth Lipschitz. “Kenny. What can I do for you, my love?”

“Just checking in, Ola, dearest,” replied Ken. “I just had to talk to my favorite girl.”

She smiled. “Better not let Cynthia hear you talking like that, Sweetheart. She might get the wrong idea about us.”

“Cynthia has always known that you were the one for me. She's learned to expect being second to you.”

Ola laughed out loud. Ken loved his wife dearly and would never do anything to hurt her, but every since their first meeting the flirtations had never ceased, and it remained an inside joke between the two of them ever since. “So, what are you really calling to talk to me about?” she asked.

“I just wanted to warn you. I've been asking around, and the doctor you're there to see is very-”

“Ken. Look. I can handle it. I've interviewed some of the worlds most intimidating people. A doctor at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital won't even register on my list.” Ola sighed. “I need to go now. It's freezing and I'm standing outside in the snow in stilettos.”

“Alright. I'll let you go. Good luck, cupcake.”

“Thanks, honey. I'll see you when I get back to the city.” She hung up her phone and put it back in her purse. She took a big breath and let it out slowly, then walked towards the door with determination in her step.