"Explains why you sounded like a walking Wikipedia just now," he muttered.
Vivienne caught the comment, lips twitching in amusement.
Around the table, smiles flickered. Some of the younger Sterlings found his bluntness refreshing. Some of the older ones… didn't much.
Anyways, the private dining room at the top of the Sterling Hotel didn't look like something built for eating. It looked like a stage. The kind of place where history was written, deals worth billions signed, and politicians got drunk enough to say the truth out loud.
A long, polished mahogany table gleamed under the soft light of chandeliers, the air faintly perfumed by lilies placed in cut-crystal vases. Heavy curtains drawn half-shut against the Los Angeles skyline, .The long table stretched like a runway, already set with crystal goblets, heavy silverware, and centerpieces that looked like they belonged in a museum, and the walls bore paintings Rex had only ever seen referenced in coffee-table art books.
