Chapter 9 — Nineteen Invoices

Damian moved toward the stage.

Two members of the hotel’s security staff, who had been positioned by someone with foresight, closed the aisle without hurry.

“Lydia, come down from there,” he ordered, reaching for the voice that had always worked on me, the one that made commands sound like reason.

“This is insane.

Whatever game this is, we’ll discuss it at home.”

“You lost the right to give me orders,” I said, “when you put your hand on me in front of two hundred people.”