The private room at Hotel Lafayette was dimly lit, shadows curling around the gold-and-black furniture like whispers in the dark.
Collins sat with a calm smirk, his fingers leisurely drumming the mahogany table as he watched Isabella Richard’s diamond-studded fingers wrap around her wine glass. She hadn't spoken much, only given him a piercing stare since he walked in.
He liked it that way.
Finally, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a sleek black recorder. He placed it on the table with a casual clink, tapping it once. “Play,” he said with a wink.
“I’ve got something better than I promised, Isabella,” Collins said, a glint of pride in his eyes. “This recording will ruin Mike faster than anything we’ve discussed.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. She leaned forwa
