I’d heard of the place.
Everyone had.
The Obsidian Room wasn’t simply an expensive restaurant.
It was a private club where billionaires, CEOs, politicians, and powerful investors gathered behind locked doors.
Getting inside required a personal invitation from an existing member.
“Why are we going there?” I asked.
“Business.”
He poured himself a drink.
“My company is hosting several important clients.”
I picked up the invitation.
“You said this was a private dinner.”
“It is.”
He took a sip.
Then his eyes traveled over me.
From my plain blouse to my comfortable trousers.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“For once, try to look like you belong there.”
I slowly lowered the invitation.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want my colleagues thinking I married a schoolteacher.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
“You’re embarrassed by me?”
Clint sighed as if I were making his evening unnecessarily difficult.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t.”
He stepped closer.
“Clara, everyone there is going to be dressed appropriately. They have money. Influence. Status.”
“And I don’t?”
He laughed softly.
“You know what I mean.”
I stared at him.
