Esme hummed a sweet, lilting melody as she reread the text she had gotten from a contact, her lips curving slowly into a satisfied smile.
Her fingers flew over the screen with practiced ease as she typed her response.
Make it VIRAL. Then deliver the phone to me through the post.
She hit send and shook her head musically, the tune never leaving her lips, twirling lightly out of the elevator the moment it dinged.
Sabrina dared to threaten her?
She twirled again, heels clicking softly against the floor. Did the fool really think she was some rich kid with no common sense—someone who could be taken for a ride, used up, and discarded once useless?
Esme twirled again, this time more dramatically, one hand shooting up into the air like a ballerina striking a final pose.
This would show her.
This would teach her to cut her coat according to her size—to stay firmly on her miserable level. They were no equals. Never had been.
