Chapter 21 · The Ledger in the Mini-Bar

"Smile, Santos. It's your termination reel." Teresa shoved the tablet in my face, my own body caught mid-flinch on the lobby feed, sheets in my hands, Bianca's mouth twisted into a scream that never happened the way she told it.

"That's not what I did." My voice came out flat because I'd already lost this fight twice today.

"Doesn't matter what you did." Teresa's nails clicked the screen dark. "Matters what the board sees before the dinner. Go strip the Ambassador Suite mini-bar and restock it. Mr. Whitfield wants champagne that isn't warm."

"Fine. I'll go chill his champagne." I said it like a joke. Nobody laughed, least of all me.

So that's what I was now. A pair of hands that fixed the temperature of rich men's champagne while they decided whether to end my sister's Dubai contract for spite.

The Ambassador Suite still smelled like Bianca's perfume and the flashbulbs from the press wall — sweet and burnt at the same time.