Yvonne patiently listened to Sandra’s anxious instructions before following her into a private suite.
The room was a gaudy display of wealth, the air thick with the cloying smell of expensive liquor. Yvonne wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Mr. Taylor, Mr. Ward, Mr. Reed…” Sandra plastered on a smile, greeting the key players in the room before pulling Yvonne forward. “This is Yvonne, a new artist with our agency.”
Yvonne stood beside Sandra, her long lashes lowered in a display of shy modesty, while her eyes discreetly scanned the room.
There were about a dozen people, the women mostly artists from Nexus Media. The men were a mix of balding real estate tycoons and arrogant young heirs, lounging with women in their laps.
Mr. Ward, the man from the previous day, was there, his arm wrapped around Marina. “Weren’t you supposed to be with me yesterday?” he taunted. “You went to the restroom and just disappeared.”
“I wasn’t feeling well, so I went home early,” Marina replied meekly.
“Not feeling well yesterday, and I bet you’re not feeling well today either. Don’t think you can get away from me,” Mr. Ward sneered, pinching her cheek hard.
Marina’s eyes filled with fear, and she shot a pleading look at Sandra. But Sandra ignored her, her attention focused on the man in the main seat.
He was young and handsome, lazily swirling a glass of wine. Thomas Taylor, the heir to one of Istra’s wealthiest families.
No wonder Sandra had warned her to be careful.


VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss