Riley

The room was thick with cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and the unmistakable smell of men discussing money that wasn't entirely theirs. Businessmen occupied the leather chairs, tossing around figures, deals, and opinions with the confidence of men who'd never been interrupted. A few well-dressed women lingered nearby, content to let the gentlemen conduct their little orchestra. Then there was Riley. She wasn't sitting pretty, waiting for someone to notice her. Hell, she was practically running the show. Trading numbers, challenging opinions, and giving the men a verbal workout without breaking a sweat. She held her own better than most of them, and judging by the occasional uncomfortable expression around the table, she was enjoying every minute of it. I liked that. Finally, a woman who hadn't mistaken a room full of businessmen for a spectator sport. I was the new face in town, still learning which pockets held the money and which held the knives. Riley hadn't noticed me yet, or perhaps she had and was simply deciding whether I was worth the interruption. Either way, I found myself curious. Would we hit it off, become rivals, or spend our evenings trying to outsmart each other over cigars and bad investment predictions? One thing was certain: this town had just become a little more interesting.