The Ballroom Debt
The Grand Ballroom of the Thorne Hotel smelled of expensive lilies and impending ruin. Elena Vance checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes: 10:42 PM. If she left by 11:15, she could make the cross-town drive before her babysitter’s patience—and her own sanity—frayed completely. She smoothed the lapel of her uniform, her gaze sweeping the room with the clinical detachment of a woman who didn't exist to the people she served. She was the ghost in the machine, the event manager who ensured the Thorne legacy remained pristine, provided she stayed invisible.
Then, the
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