Marionne stormed down the narrow corridor, her high heels clicking angrily against the polished floor. She balanced the silver platter in one hand and clutched a bottle of expensive wine in the other. Her face was flushed with anger, and her perfectly applied makeup did little to hide her fury.
She reached Aidan’s office, where she knew he had holed up for the night. She was livid. She had spent hours getting ready, putting on her most seductive French lingerie, only to be stood up. Even though Aidan hadn’t explicitly promised to show up, she had made her intentions clear. His absence was a slap in the face.
For a moment, Marionne considered walking away and calling her father to cancel everything. But her wounded pride wouldn’t let her. She was Marionne freaking Hearst, an heiress, and
