honor?” I asked, turning from the window at last, city lights reflected in my eyes.
“Arthur Keating and his chief counsel, Miles Sutter, have just entered the VIP lounge on the sixtieth floor,” Tasha answered, her jaw set with disgust. “They firmly believe they are sitting down to meet with the controlling principals of a massive, newly formed hospitality trust. They have absolutely no idea that Eleanor Sterling’s boutique PR firm is currently operating on heavily forged credit lines.”
I crossed the thick carpet to my desk, and lifted Tasha’s