Tarrant Hardcastle might only have a few months left to live, but he liked to see and be seen. Despite the acres of retail space and plush corporate offices Tarrant owned a few blocks away, he spent a good portion of each day kicking back in his personal armchair at this mecca for the wealthy and self-indulgent. Without asking, Tarrant had secured him an impossible-to-get membership. Now, although he’d never smoked anything in his life, there was a polished wood humidor with Dominic’s name emblazoned on it in engraved gold plate. Well, the name Dominic Hardcastle. Glittering there among the names of Hollywood bad boys and Capitol Hill big-wigs, that name gave him a stomach-churning dose of mixed feelings. “Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle. Can I get you a drink?” He shook his head at the immaculately attired waiter. He didn’t need alcohol. His head hadn’t stopped spinning since last night, when a brunette scientist with a soft pink mouth and a twisted agenda had knocked him right off kilter.
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