Arianne didn't want to be here.
The bar was the kind of place where businessmen went after office hours to conduct deals they didn't want in boardrooms, the lighting dim, leather booths worn soft by years of use. The low murmur of conversations that were never meant to leave the room. The air smelled like whiskey and old money and the particular arrogance of men who thought they were smarter than everyone else.
She'd been invited three times. She'd declined three times. The fourth invitation had come with a veiled implication that the prospective partner would show up at Rochefort Group if she didn't meet him here, and Arianne had decided she'd rather deal with him on neutral ground than in her own office.
