I scrambled to my feet, feigning panic. My voice trembled, all meek and apologetic.
“Oh—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. Let me clean it up…”
I snatched a tissue and rushed toward Richard, pretending to wipe the wine from his face and shirt. But under the cover of the soft linen, I slipped a needle into one of his acupuncture points. Precise. Painless. Lethal—if I wanted it to be.
By the time he blinked, it was over.
“Get out!” Richard barked, frustration barely contained as he stormed into the private restroom, wine dripping down his chest.
Shawn turned to me, fuming. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t even handle a simple toast without screwing it up?”
I shrugged, feigning helplessness. “What can I say? I grew up in the slums. I never had a chance to learn etiquette. Or
