Preston saw me hesitate and shoved down on my shoulder again.
I gripped the edge of the table, ready to throw a plate at him, but then he bent low beside my ear.
"Relax," he whispered. "Maxwell can't get it up. He can't do anything. Just sit still and look pretty."
I stared at him.
He stepped back.
I turned slowly and looked at Maxwell again.
His lips were parted in a sticky grin.
His skin looked waxy. His eyelids drooped. He blinked slowly.
The man probably couldn't climb a flight of stairs without collapsing.
I sat.
Preston's hand lifted from my shoulder.
He moved around the table, filled a glass for Maxwell, poured a second for himself, then said, "This is Mr. Gary Maxwell, Senior VP of Corporate Procurement. This is my cousin, Mirabelle Vance."
Fra
