Rashida Howard maneuvered to the bar to order a drink. Then, wine in hand, she scanned the room for a seat. It might’ve been easier finding a spot on a Titanic lifeboat. People were shoulder-to-shoulder and breast-to-chest deep. Every person in downtown Atlanta must’ve had the same idea—hang out here until the sun went down then make a dash for their cars and homes. She spied an empty stool and pushed her way toward it. She could almost touch it, but a suit slid onto it ahead of her. In no mood to be nice, she had an urge to grab him by the collar and dump him on the floor. Breathe, Rashida baby, breathe. Her grandmother’s voice rang in her head. That voice of reason was the only thing that stood between her and an assault charge. Rashida’s usual calm demeanor had been submerged under the recent changes in her grandmother’s life. Her day had been one disappointment after another, culminating with her last stop at Quinn Enterprises. She’d phoned Marcus Quinn all week. He hadn’t the decency to return any of her calls, so she’d decided to forgo courtesy and just show up at his office unannounced. No…
