The large VIP room of the event center had soft golden lamps and the faint aroma of imported cigars that no one here was actually smoking.
Plush couches lined the marble walls, and the hum of low jazz music made the final touches.
Scott sat there, slouched, legs crossed, one arm resting lazily over the couch while the other dangled over his lap. He had that drained look of a man who'd already had enough of the night and wanted nothing more than to go home and bury himself in bed.
"I can't believe this…" (＃￣0￣)
He muttered under his breath as he loosened his bowtie and let his head flop back against the couch.
Sitting beside him, Adira gave a graceful shrug and raised one eyebrow as she bit her wine-painted lips. She swirled the red liquid in her glass like she was in a commercial for expensive loneliness.
Scott sighed even harder and rolled his head from side to side like he was arguing with the world.
"So you really don't have anything on this guy?"
