Ophelia groaned inwardly as she stepped through the revolving glass doors of the Presidential Hotel, the icy blast of air conditioning slapping against her heated skin.
The scent of polished marble and white lilies wrapped around her. Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead. This was her sanctuary. Her territory.
And the best part?
She never paid.
She crossed the lobby in sharp, measured strides, heels clicking like a warning shot against the marble floor. Conversations dipped as she passed.
"I would like the Angel Suite, please," Ophelia said briskly, not bothering to smile.
"Of course, Ms. Welhaven." The attendant's grin was bright, almost too bright. "May I have your card, please?"
Ophelia rifled through her purse with controlled impatience before producing the sleek black card with it's crown logo and placing it on the counter.
The attendant typed.
Paused.
Typed again.
Her fingers slowed.
Her eyes flicked up quick, nervous.
Then she straightened, smile tightening.
