“You want to press your nose against me forever?” Loretta’s laugh sliced across the hotel lobby.
My heel hooked, my vision narrowed, and I went forward.
“Watch it!” Francisco spun, caught me under the arms like a rom-com stunt. His smile froze when he smelled the chemical on my breath.
“Cadence?” he asked, eyes sharp. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I tried to pull away. The floor tilted. My hand knocked Loretta’s clutch; it clattered across marble.
Loretta bent to scoop it up with the camera-ready smile she used on nights when someone else was being humiliated. “Do you need a fainting couch, darling?” she said, loud enough that a gossip account would eat it for breakfast.
I shoved her hand. Everyone heard the slap when wrist hit wrist and the clutch flew.
“Hey!” Loretta straightened like a statue that had been insulted. “You—”
“Back off,” I said. My voice rasped. It felt like sand in my mouth. I pushed harder.
Her face tightened. She took two steps back and bumped into a waiter who was passing champagne. Glasses chimed. A nearby influencer livestream caught Loretta’s stumble and the chat exploded.
“You hit my client.” Loretta’s tone steeled into manager mode. “You are causing a scene.”
“Your client was flirting. I’m allergic to sleaze.” My words skated out. My legs wanted to drop. The lobby started to smell like disinfectant and cold coffee.
Francisco shifted me, one arm around my waist. He didn’t
