two employees of my company were suggesting a highway motel because I apparently didn’t look wealthy enough to deserve my confirmed reservation.
“May I speak with the general manager?” I asked.
Patrick’s expression stiffened.
“The general manager is occupied.”
“Please tell him Clara Vance would like a word.”
Karl sighed.
“The manager is overseeing the gala. We’re not going to disturb him because you can’t find your booking.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Anger burns.
This was quieter.
It was the moment disappointment transformed into
