Page 3 of The Price of Power

And just to prove it to myself, I allowed a little more of my anger to slip out.

“Oh, and a little free advice—the next time you find yourself on the brink of bankruptcy and fraud charges, don’t book a room at the Ritz of all places. I’m pretty sure this kind of stuff doesn’t sit well with juries.”

Then, without saying goodbye, I ended the call.

I was angry enough to toss the phone across the room, but even though it would have been temporarily cathartic to watch it shatter into pieces against the wall, I held back.

Unlike my idiot brother, I wasn’t totally ruled by impulse.

Instead, I went over to the dresser and tucked the phone into my purse. Then, slinging the bag over my forearm, I headed for the door, ready to deal with all my frustration and anger like a real adult.

With a goddamn gin and tonic.

Chapter Two

OLIVIA

Iwasn’t in the mood to search around an unfamiliar city for a bar, so I settled for the hotel lounge.

Well…I say settled, but the lounge at the Ritz was far fancier than what I was used to, and I felt more than a little self-conscious as the hostess led me through the spacious Salon Room to the last open table. Walking past the seats filled with women and men dressed in designer labels, I felt out of place in the simple black dress I’d bought from the Gap last season.

It didn’t help when the couple at the table directly across from me shot a judgmental stare as I sat down in my plush seat, my back to the darkened window. Their glares made it clear I wasn’t up to their standards.

From what I could see, I was one of the few people sitting alone. All around me, the room hummed with bits of background conversations drifting in from other tables. I grabbed the small menu propped up in the center of the table and started scanning the options. The flickering candle on the table barely gave enough light to read, though, and I found myself squinting at the page through its moody glow.

Any other time, I might have appreciated the lounge’s sophisticated atmosphere, but tonight, I just found it vaguely annoying. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and my mood was souring fast. I hadn’t meant to skip lunch, but the moment I’d started looking over the company numbers on the plane, my stomach had twisted into knots, and my appetite had disappeared.

But since pouring gin on top of an empty stomach was a recipe for disaster, I needed to put something in my belly, so I scanned the menu for something light. A salad might be?—

“Tell me, what’s a pretty lady like you doing sitting alone?”

No. Please, no.

I would have thought that in an upscale lounge like this, a person wouldn’t have to deal with random men and their pick-up lines, but it seemed that some things were a universal constant.

I lowered the menu just far enough to peek over the top and swallowed a groan.

Sure enough, the young man standing on the other side of the table looked just like he sounded—proud, over-confident, and drunk. From the disheveled collar of his suit to the cloud of whiskey breath that rolled toward me over the table, I guessed that he’d been drinking since his shift at the office had ended at five.

I tried to let him down easy by lifting the menu back up to cover my face. “I’m fine,” he said, hoping he’d take the hint.

No such luck.

“Yeah, you are,” he slurred.

Oh, hell no.

I really wasn’t in the mood for this. All I wanted was to have my drink and dinner in peace. The last thing I wanted was another headache to deal with. So, I tried another tack.

“I’m actually waiting for someone,” I lied.

For some reason, random men who wouldn’t take no for an answer from the woman sitting in front of them usually had no trouble bowing out at the mention of a fictional man.

Usually.

But unfortunately, not this time. The jerk just shook his head and flashed me one of the creepiest, insincere smiles.

“I know,” he said with all the misplaced confidence in the world. “You were obviously waiting for me.”