The Winter Solstice Gala was a kaleidoscope of diamonds and camera flashes. Cynthia Sharpe stood near the bar, her eyes tracking Victoria across the room. She signaled a waiter she had bribed, intending to have him “accidentally” dump a tray of red wine down the front of Victoria’s white gown–a visual disaster that would dominate the tabloids and humiliate the Croft matriarch just as the board meeting began.
Cynthia adjusted her clutch, preparing to step in and feign concern for the cameras.
“I wouldn’t do that, Ms. Sharpe.”
Cynthia spun around. Isabella Rossi blocked her path. The Italian assistant wasn’t wearing a uniform; she was dressed in a tasteful, dark velvet gown, blending perfectly with the guests, but her eyes were sharp as flint.
“Excuse me?” Cynthia sneered. “I am the VP of Communications. Get out of my way, nanny.”
“I am the Executive Assistant to the CEO,” Isabella corrected, her voice low and calm. She stepped closer, invading Cynthia’s personal space with the authority of a woman who had raised three children and managed a billionaire’s household. “And I saw the envelope you slipped the waiter. Security has already escorted him out.”
Cynthia paled. “You have no authority here.”
“I have the ear of every security guard in this building,” Isabella whispered, her smile polite but terrifying. “If you take one step toward Mrs. Croft, I will have you removed for public intoxication. Imagine what that would do to your brand, *darling*.”
Isabella gently took the champagne glass from Cynthia’s hand and placed it on a passing tray. “Now, why don’t you go find the buffet? I hear the shrimp is excellent.”
Defeated and outmaneuvered by the “Sanctuary,” Cynthia retreated into the crowd, her sabotage dismantled without a single headline.