“Certainly.”
I picked up my jacket from the empty seat beside Ethan.
Lauren spoke before I could leave.
“Maya, please. I really am sorry.”
I looked at her.
For a moment, I saw us in high school.
I saw fluorescent hallways.
Cheap cafeteria trays.
Her friends laughing.
Me pretending not to hear.
Then I saw the room around us.
The polished walnut bar I'd spent four months choosing.
The pendant lights I'd argued about with the architect.
The staff I'd hired.
The kitchen I'd nearly bankrupted myself building five years ago when my first location was still an insane risk instead of the beginning of a company.
I didn't need to win the past.
I was standing inside the present.
“Enjoy dinner,” I said. “It's on the house.”
Lauren's humiliation deepened.
Free dinner from the waitress.
That was the irony, I supposed.
She couldn't refuse without making things worse.
I walked away.
Ethan followed me toward the private corridor near the kitchen.
The second we were out of sight, he looked at me.
“She poured wine on you?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
I gave him a look.
His jaw shifted.
“Maya.”
“I can handle Lauren.”
“I know.”
That was why he stopped there.
No chest-beating.
No promise to destroy her.
No dramatic husband marching back into the dining room to avenge me.
Just trust.
Then, after a second, the corner of his mouth moved.
“Did she really think you were a server?”
I stared at him.
His smile widened.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
I pointed toward my shirt.
“She poured cabernet on me.”
He lifted both hands.
“I'm appropriately outraged.”
“You look delighted.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I tried not to laugh.
Failed.
Then I changed shirts in my office.
Twenty-five minutes later, I walked into the private conference room upstairs.
Lauren was already seated across from Ethan.
Ryan Cole sat beside her.
I knew Ryan slightly by reputation.
Forty.
Smart.
Practical.
The kind of executive who regarded feelings as expensive unless they produced revenue.
He stood as I entered.
“Ms. Bennett.”
“Maya is fine.”
Lauren did not stand.
Not immediately.
Then she realized Ryan had.
She rose.
“Maya.”
Her voice had lost all of its high-school confidence.
I sat beside Ethan.
Lauren glanced at Ryan.
Then at me.
For the first ten minutes, she recovered surprisingly well.
She was good at her job.
I could admit that.
Her presentation was clear. Her grasp of portfolio structure was solid. She spoke intelligently about tax efficiency, diversification and risk management.
She began looking more comfortable.
Then Ethan closed the presentation binder.
“There is one structural point we should clarify.”
Lauren nodded.
“Of course.”
“The capital under discussion isn't solely mine.”
She glanced at me.
Ethan continued.
“A meaningful portion comes through Bennett-Mercer Holdings.”
Ryan nodded slowly.
Lauren's expression remained fixed.
“My wife and I both have ownership interests there,” Ethan said. “So any mandate of this size requires both of us to be comfortable.”
There was a very small silence.
Then Lauren understood.
Not only had she spilled wine on the woman who owned the restaurant.
She had spilled wine on one of the people who could decide whether her firm got one of the largest accounts she'd ever pitched.
She looked at me.
I looked back.
And for the first time that night, Lauren didn't seem to know what I was worth.
She only knew she had been wrong.
The meeting ended forty minutes later.
Ryan thanked us.
Ethan shook his hand.
Lauren gathered her documents twice because she dropped half of them the first time.
I was standing near the conference-room door when she approached me quietly.
“Could we talk?”
Ryan and Ethan both looked at me.
“I'll meet you downstairs,” I told Ethan.
When the door closed behind everyone else, Lauren exhaled.
“We were kids.”
I waited.
She clasped her hands.
“I hope we can be adults about this.”
“I am being an adult.”
Her smile became strained.
“Then you won't let something from high school affect business.”
I stared at her.
Then I laughed.
Not loudly.
Just once.
“Lauren, you poured wine on me three hours ago.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“That was an accident.”
“You were looking into the camera.”
“You don't know what I intended.”
“No,” I said. “But I know what you enjoyed.”
That hit.
For the first time, her apology disappeared completely.
Something harder replaced it.
“Fine. I'm sorry.”
There it was.
Not remorse.
A transaction.
I could almost hear the unspoken question.
Was that enough to buy the account back?
I opened the door.
“Goodnight, Lauren.”
She remained where she was.
Then she asked the question she should have asked before saying anything else to me that evening.
“Maya, what exactly do you do?”
I looked over my shoulder.
“I own restaurants.”
Her expression made it clear she thought I meant this restaurant.
I could have corrected her.
I didn't.
“Goodnight.”
The elevator doors closed between us.
I thought that would be the end of the evening.
I was wrong.
Because by Monday morning, Lauren Pierce had discovered exactly how many restaurants I owned.
And that was when being embarrassed became the least of her problems.
