His expression changed.
Not because he believed her.
Because he disliked being challenged.
“People like you don't belong here.”
Margaret held his gaze.
“People like me?”
Chloe looked away.
Derek realized, perhaps, that he had gone one sentence too far.
Instead of retreating, he became colder.
“Our usual rooms begin around three hundred dollars.”
“That is acceptable.”
“For tonight…”
He paused.
Chloe looked at him.
Margaret waited.
“Eight thousand.”
For the first time that night, Margaret felt actual anger.
Not because of the money.
Because of how casually he weaponized it.
Derek expected the number to end the conversation.
Margaret opened her handbag.
“I'll pay that.”
Chloe's eyebrows rose.
Derek's confidence flickered.
“You'll pay eight thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“A credit card.”
He laughed.
“Where does someone like you get eight thousand dollars?”
Margaret looked at him.
There it was again.
Someone like you.
Not wet.
Not elderly.
Not unbooked.
Something more fundamental.
Before Margaret could answer, Chloe leaned toward another receptionist.
“Maybe she stole it.”