A False Heiress's Guide to Love and Power

“Living the good life, huh?”

Alessia’s smile threw Quentin off for a moment. Beside him, his date shook his arm, trying to pull his attention back, but Quentin shoved her away without a second thought. She shot Alessia a venomous glare, but there was nothing she could do except watch the scene unfold.

“Of course! Look at me–I’m good–looking, loaded. Why waste your time with some old man? You’d be better off with me. Though, don’t get your hopes up–I’d never marry you. But if you want to be my little side piece, I could make that happen.”

Quentin’s voice echoed through the nearly empty restaurant as if he’d picked up a megaphone, making sure everyone could hear every word.

Alessia let out a soft laugh. “Loaded and good–looking, huh?”

She gave Quentin a slow, deliberate once–over, making no effort to hide her skepticism. But Quentin, oblivious to her meaning, ran his fingers through the few greasy strands of hair clinging to his scalp and grinned like he was God’s gift.

“Waiter!” Quentin suddenly barked.

No one moved. Just as his expression darkened, Alessia clapped her hands.

“Yes, ma’am?”

wine, please–the

perceptible nod, just enough for him to catch. He didn’t dare delay. Within moments, he returned with a 1945 Romanée–Conti, worth nearly half

up and downed it in one gulp, then slammed

to me, and maybe I’ll even throw you a little

slid into Max’s chair, propping his feet up on the table, ruining an entire spread of untouched

Is a hundred grand enough for

1/2

14.45

creeping up on him, Quentin fumbled with his wallet before tossing it onto the table, swaggering as if he

crossed her arms. “You do realize I’m not even eighteen

show you what

crude, his face disgusting enough that even Alessia, who’d seen plenty, felt her

could respond,

little hair Quentin