Sharona's nostrils flared. "I have never failed, Mr Kane," she hissed, placing her palms on the table as she leaned forward. "I will not fail. That inheritance belongs to me! I earned it!"
Tom chuckled—a deep, rolling sound that vibrated with condescension. "You mean belongs to us, right?" he asked, dragging out the last word with a lazy smile.
Sharona's spine stiffened. She immediately straightened. "You know what I mean," she said quickly, pushing her chair back.
Tom watched her with the satisfaction of a man who enjoyed lighting matches and dropping them into gasoline puddles. "Sharona…" he called after her as she began to walk away. She paused, her hand gripping the strap of her purse. "When you go down, you better go down alone."
Sharona scoffed—an elegant, disdainful sound—and walked out of the bar with her chin lifted and hips swaying.
