“Get out of this lobby immediately before I contact law enforcement for trespassing and suspected fraud,” Bradley Stone snapped, his voice slicing through the vast glass atrium of the Grand Aurora Hotel in downtown New York.
Without warning, he snatched the matte black card from Diana Whitman’s hand and dropped it to the polished marble floor, then brought his gleaming leather shoe down on it with deliberate force, grinding it underfoot as though it meant nothing more than trash rather than something rare and valuable.
Behind the mahogany desk, receptionist Kelly Adams lifted a hand to her mouth, letting out a strained, uneasy laugh that did little to mask the discomfort spreading through nearby guests who had turned their attention toward the escalating scene.
“I should sanitize the floor afterward,” Kelly murmured nervously, her eyes darting between Bradley’s anger and Diana’s steady composure.
Diana did not move. Her canvas sneakers stayed planted on the marble, while her plain jeans and simple white blouse seemed to irritate Bradley further with each passing second, as though her modest appearance itself violated the hotel’s polished image of exclusivity.
