Thomas finished his call at last, lowering the phone with a self-satisfied smirk as he walked back toward them.
“Well,” he announced, dusting his palms together as if he had just solved a national crisis, “I’ve made a few calls. Someone is coming out to clear up every bit of this shit.” Then he turned to Emilia, annoyance flickering across his face. “And this b***h is still here? Seriously?”
Celia gave him a little exaggerated pout. “She’s dying for embarrassment, darling. And we’ll give it to her.”
Before Emilia could react, the heavy glass doors behind them slid open. A hush fell instantly. A man stepped out—mid-fifties, a neat moustache, a pair of small spectacles perched on his nose. His presence alone seemed to command the entire lobby.
It was Mr. Alaska.
Even the representatives
