Deal With The Devilish Wall Street Tycoon

nd's eyes s

idential suite spun in

ssed the heels of her hands hard against her forehead,

lk sheets beneath her smelled like cold, sharp men's cologne. It was

hest. She threw back the heavy duvet an

inst the headboard, her hands shaking as she pulled the thi

arty. Everything was a blur of champagne glasses and flashing lights. She vaguely remembered sneaking into this particular celebration because she had heard a

e than most people made in a year, was torn down the side. It lay dis

ldn't even remember. She pushed herself off the bed, her bare feet

. As she lifted the heavy fabric, a solid metal object sl

heavy and expensive, engraved with a complex family crest. Her

er phone on the nightstand shatt

and grabbed the phone. The screen flashed with the nam

r button, her fingers

reathless. "The FBI is at the headquarters. They are

she swayed on her feet. The brutal reality of her family's impending ban

s," she whispered,

m cufflink and shoved it deep into her designer clutch. She decided right th

e faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her che

le sink and stared at her pale, e

hat today, she had to corner that mysterious Wall Street bi

dress. She grabbed her long trench coat and wrapped it tightly

he suite and stepped into the quiet hallwa

ervously chewed on her lower lip, silently repeating t

floor. The blinding morning sunlight and th

ing area. She was looking for any group of men in sui

e called out from behi

sor Cle

ed her head slowly and saw Tobias Mercer, one of her students from N

essy hair and the edge of the evening gown peekin

dignity as a professor, she panicked. She quickly lowered her

er voice shaking. She didn't wait for his reply. She turned her

f men in sharp black suits walked through the main entrance.

e room. As she did, her shoulder brushed hard against the cu

bled to the floo

ting," Frank Baxter, the executi

, dark eyes locked onto Ami's back as she scrambled away in a panic