Around ten o'clock that night, after Iris had retreated to her room with Gerald and her sketchbook, I sat on the couch surrounded by Vivienne's documents and realized something uncomfortable.
I had no idea what I was going to say to Camille Valentine.
Not the broad strokes. Those were obvious enough. Stand my ground, don't flinch, don't let her smell weakness. Basic survival tactics I'd learned from years of bartending for Manhattan's wealthy and entitled. Rich people operated on the same principles as territorial animals. Show fear and they go for the throat. Meet their eyes and sometimes they decide you're not worth the effort.
