The door to the private room swung open.
Inside, a blur of men and women danced under flickering lights, bodies swaying in the strobe—impossible to distinguish one from another.
Fortunately, none of the indecent scenes Alice had imagined were unfolding.
A deferential server said, "Ms. Casey, Mr. Raymond Landry is inside."
"Thank you." Alice gave a slight nod.
She lightly pressed her lips together and stepped in.
Stepped in.
She didn't even need to look—there he was, seated on the sofa, a wine glass in hand, one leg elegantly crossed over the other: Raymond Landry.
A faint, amused smile played on his lips.
He had clearly seen her.
Yet he made no move to acknowledge her.
Alice couldn't bear the noise—the blaring music, the shrieks, the wild cheers.
No matter how hard she tried to
