The apartment that Aslanbey Holding had rented for her—because that was always a requirement of her contracts these days, too—was located in Beşiktaş, walking distance from the company. Celia’s days of taking taxis across town and staying in a hotel for six months were ancient history, traded in for the comfort of having her own kitchen and the peace of not having to navigate traffic in a new city. That meant the opportunities available to her were fewer, but it also meant she could keep up with her routines, could preserve the mental health that was ready to fly out the window with a lifestyle like hers.
Ten years ago, Celia had been the opposite. Every opportunity that had come her way, she’d said yes. Red eye flights, twenty-hour layovers, a bunk bed in a hostel…all of it had been an adventure. All of it had seemed fun and exciting and like she was living the dream.
Until that was no longer the case.
Until the day she had woken up in a crowded dorm room of a Paris hostel, her alarm rousing her when it was still dark out to head across town for an early meeting, at the same time that many of her fellow dorm occupants were just coming in, that she realized she’d had enough.