Veronique descended from the stairs after an evening’s arduous work with the sole object of freeing herself from the gilded confines of her room. The evening had passed quickly with back to back appointments, and now she contemplated buying a drink to wash the taste of her last client from her mouth.
At the bar adjoining the main parlor, she said a glint of a familiar, but mysterious, head of golden hair. It was the establishment’s owner, a man who was spoken of in whispers by the girls for he was known to be demanding and immensely powerful in his business dealings. Veronique hesitated for a fraction of a second on the stairs but descended them anyway, making her way over to the man.
She signaled for the bartender to bring her a drink, and cast a cautious glance in the direction of her companion.
“Monsieur Parsons. May I drink to your health, sir?” she purred, well aware that this man was the making of her.
