Vanessa’s POV
I grabbed a bottle of champagne off the break table in the room as I shoved off my heels while I shut the door behind me, the echo bouncing off the bare walls of my once-glamorous penthouse.
My feet ached, my hands raw and painful from scrubbing dishes at La Cour Royale, the memory of that humiliating ordeal came back haunting me.
I collapsed onto the couch, as I popped the bottle’s cork, the fizz a hollow comfort. The bubbles stung my throat as I gulped it down,but they couldn’t wash away the sting of Daniel Hawthorne’s rejection or Marcus’s mocking laughter.
“Good luck with the dishes,” he said, his grin sharp as he walked away.
And I actually did it.
Me, Vanessa Kane, was wrist-deep in greasy suds, surrounded by clattering plates and sneering annoying staff.
Dani
