Chapter 4 - The Game of Glass
Penelope did not step back. She felt the heat radiating off his body, smelled the dark scent of cedar, tobacco, and expensive bourbon that surrounded him, but her chin remained level.
"I wasn't hiding, Mr. Steves," Penelope replied smoothly, her red lips curving into a sharp, knowing smile. "You simply weren't looking."
Beside them, Thomas finally found his voice, his face turning an ugly shade of red as he stepped around his cousin.
"Is this a joke?!" Thomas hissed, his eyes darting across Penelope’s dress, trying to find a flaw, a sign of cheapness, anything to restore his sense of superiority. "Where did you get that gown, Penelope? Did you steal from the corporate petty cash fund? Do you have any idea what a dress like that costs?!"
Penelope turned her head slowly to look at Thomas. Her gaze was so cold, so dismissive, that Thomas instinctively took half a step back.
"The gown is an original from the Atelier Laurent on Fifth Avenue, Thomas," Penelope said, her tone as dry as bone. "And it was purchased with my personal funds. Unlike your vintage Rolex, which was billed to the offshore logistics account in Panama under the line item 'freight overhead'."
Thomas went completely white. His mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.
"You... what did you say?" Thomas stammered, panic flashing in his eyes.
Larkin’s head snapped toward Thomas, his slate-gray eyes turning dangerously sharp.
"What logistics account, Penelope?" Larkin asked quietly.
"Account 884-B," Penelope answered effortlessly, taking a champagne flute from a tray and holding it between two dark-red manicured fingers. "The one Thomas opened six months ago to divert three percent of the Red Hook dock surcharges. He’s been using it to clear his private gambling debts in Atlantic City. I processed the third transfer reconciliation yesterday morning."
Thomas looked around the room frantically. Three senior syndicate partners standing ten feet away had paused, listening intently to the conversation.
"She’s lying!" Thomas shouted softly, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "She’s a crazy secretary! Larkin, she’s trying to set me up!"
"I don't lie about ledgers, Thomas," Penelope said, taking a small, elegant sip of champagne. "Numbers are the only things in this city that don't have a reason to deceive."
Larkin stepped between Thomas and Penelope. He placed a heavy, broad hand on Thomas’s shoulder—a grip so firm and hard that Thomas winced in pain.
"Mason," Larkin called out softly.
A massive man in a dark suit stepped out from the crowd behind them.
"Take my cousin to the private lounge upstairs," Larkin ordered flatly, his eyes never leaving Penelope’s face. "Hold him there until I finish my conversation with Miss Woods."
"Larkin! Wait! She’s playing you!" Thomas yelled as Mason seized his arm, steering him forcefully through the crowd toward the private elevators.
The surrounding guests quickly turned away, resuming their conversations, pretending they hadn't seen a senior vice president removed from the room like a common pickpocket.
Larkin turned back to Penelope.
A quiet, dangerous fascination burned in his slate-gray eyes.
"You've known about Thomas’s diversions for six months?" Larkin asked, stepping closer to her.
"Seven months, actually," Penelope corrected calmly.
"And why didn't you tell me?"
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Penelope looked up at him through her dark lashes, her smile quiet and fearless.
"Because for seven months, Mr. Steves, you believed I was a girl who only knew how to make coffee and file invoices. One doesn't share state secrets with a man who doesn't even know her first name."
