A False Heiress's Guide to Love and Power

She couldn’t help but wonder if Karen’s cooking had simply spoiled her taste buds The food here was good–no doubt about it–but somehow, it still didn’t measure up to Karen’s.

“Excuse me, sir, madam, I’m terribly sorry, but the restaurant has been reserved for a private event tonight. Without a prior reservation, I can’t let you in.”

“Honey, didn’t you say you could get us in?” The woman clung to Quentin Lane’s arm, her syrupy voice enough to make anyone cringe, though Quentin seemned to eat it up.

“Of course we can get in,” Quentin replied, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek with his thick sausage–like lips. But when he turned to the maître d‘, his expression darkened.

“Reservations? What kind of nonsense is that? Private event? Everything has a price–double whatever they paid, now clear them out!”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The staff member bowed slightly, but Quentin, already bristling with machismo, saw it as a personal affront.

“Do you even know who I am? Who my father is? I could have this place shut down overnight, you know!”

now, it was shattered. Not that Alessia cared. She

raised her hand; a

there anything I can help

meat’s

experience. We’ll bring you a fresh plate right away, if that’s

the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Quentin shoved the waiter aside, sending

a subtle gesture. Reluctantly, he turned

if it isn’t Miss Alessia Tate herself! Oh wait, silly

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imposter squatting in