All set.
Night had fallen, and Aldenville glowed with the neon glare of bars and the shimmer of excess. The city pulsed with music and laughter, promising a night of indulgence to anyone willing to pay the price.
Mr. Brown and his crew had called it a dinner, but in truth, it was just an excuse to hole up in a garish karaoke bar.
The moment Niamh pushed open the door to their private suite, she was greeted by the sight of scantily clad hostesses perched beside Mr. Brown and his friends, flirting and playing drinking games.
Not a single other woman was in sight–just a room full of men who looked like they belonged in a cigar lounge, not a business meeting.
Niamh instantly regretted coming.
“Ms. Rivers, you made it! Come here, have a seat!” Mr. Brown called out, patting his thigh with a sleazy grin.
Niamh ignored the invitation, choosing the seat furthest from the group. She wasn’t about to play into his games.
Mr. Brown’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered. He knew Niamh wasn’t the type to throw herself at men for a paycheck or connections.
“Ms. Rivers,” he began, voice oily and persuasive, “when your studio opened last month, I told you AMS wanted to commission a series of luxury pocket watches for their VIP clients. They need a designer to handle the intricate inlay work–someone with real skill. I’ve always had my eye on you for this project. In fact, I’ve already spoken to AMS about you…”
Niamh’s interest piqued at that. Still, she didn’t thank him right away. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe opportunities like this just fell out of the sky.
Seeing her calm, unreadable expression, Mr. Brown arched an eyebrow and pressed on. “But, you know… T&R has reached out to me too. They want the same job.”
T&R–Marina’s studio.
“And you know, Marina comes recommended by Chairman Grant, and she’s got that… special relationship with Jonathan from the Thomas Group. Even if I think. you’re more talented, I can’t exactly ignore Mr. Thornas or Chairman Grant’s
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་ap་ ་པ་
wishes, can I?”
As he spoke, Mr. Brown patted his thigh again, unmistakable in his implication.
“So, Ms. Rivers, I think you ought to show a little good faith, make me feel like 1 didn’t waste my time bringing you this business. Don’t you agree?”
She’d known it would come to this–the inevitable sleazy innuendo disguised as business.
“Then forget it,” Niamh said flatly, getting to her feet.
“Hey, Ms. Rivers, no need to leave so soon! Come on, sit down.” Mr. Brown grabbed a drink and held it out to her. “At least have a drink with me, yeah?”
With all those eyes on her, Niamh couldn’t exactly refuse him without making a scene. She took the glass and downed it in one go.
“Impressive!” Mr. Brown’s friends clapped and cheered, and soon enough, another drink was pushed into her hand, then another.
Niamh spent the next hour trapped in that plush, smoky room–drinking, singing, her voice growing hoarse, her stomach burning with cheap whiskey.
Mr. Brown tried his luck a few more times, but her firm refusals kept him at bay. He wasn’t brave enough to push it–everyone knew Niamh had a complicated connection with Peter. Some said she was his girlfriend; others whispered she was just a casual fling.
If it was the latter, Mr. Brown figured he might still have a shot one day.
“Mr. Brown, I really can’t drink anymore,” Niamh managed, swaying as she stood.
She’d endured more than enough for the night, but at least she’d gotten the AMS opportunity out of him.
Mr. Brown was just about to offer to drive her home when Niamh made a dash for the door, shoving it open before he could even stand.
She needed to throw up.
Unfamiliar with the layout and dizzy from the booze, she barely made it into the hallway before she doubled over, retching onto the polished tile.
Once her stomach finally settled, she realized a pair of men’s dress shoes had appeared in her field of vision.
Wiping her mouth with a tissue, Niamh straightened un and looked into
Chapter 164
a man she didn’t recognize–at least, not in person. But she’d definitely seen that face earlier today, smiling back at her from a poster.
