Splendor dug her teeth into her lip, a lot better than digging them into her tongue and the words that were on the tip of it. She had nothing to say in defense of that move, the one Stillmore had told her to make against himself as Baxby, except of course he had told her, so it was his idea, and now he was complaining bitterly about the fact she wouldn't do it.
As infuriated as the last week had made her, in another hour, maybe two, she'd have left this stuffy club, its ancient potted palms and golden stuccos, and would be facing Baxby. Finally. Thank God. Another day of this wouldn't just stretch her face muscles to the limit, leaving them hideously contorted forever, it would kill her.
"I have done something wrong, Your Grace?"