CHAPTER 8
THE ASSISTANT
“More wine, ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Just water.”
I hadn’t intended to drink any wine at all, but I’d figured one glass with food wouldn’t hurt. Okay, two. Wine had been out of my budget for months, and while my father forbade me to consume alcohol, I’d developed a taste for Chardonnay at college.
Beside me, Mr. Vale was talking to yet another boring politician, a grey-haired Texan who loved both golf and the sound of his own voice. My father played golf, which was enough of a reason for me to hate it. My back still burned from my bossy boss’s touch, and I was afraid to check in the mirror in case he was the devil and his palm print had been branded onto my skin. I mean, it was possible. He sure did know how to sin.
I took a sip of ice water, but it did nothing
