The Upper East Side of New York, inside the Pierre Hotel's famous Roto Hall.
The mid-May weather was neither hot nor cold. The afternoon sun filtered through the leafy canopy along Fifth Avenue, but its rays could not penetrate the weighty history of the Pierre Hotel.
There were no windows in Roto Hall. The only light came from meticulously designed indirect lighting and a massive crystal chandelier, bathing the entire space in an amber hue.
Overhead, Edward Mercas's famous murals wrapped around the entire oval hall. From the walls, mythological figures and Renaissance nobles gazed down, meeting the upturned eyes of Anya.
She was currently seated at a round table near the edge, watching with utter boredom as the young heiresses she knew gathered in the center. These heirs to prominent family names deftly handled the English scones and finger sandwiches on the three-tiered serving stands.
Among them was Tiffany Rockefeller, whom Anya thoroughly despised.
