Chapter 9 - The Table Went Quiet When He Said Ready
I didn't stand up. I should have. Any normal guy would have stood when a man twice his age walked across a dining room with two bodyguards to stand at his table, but my legs wouldn't do it. My hands were flat on the white tablecloth and I could feel the weave under my palms.
The older man in the black suit stopped a foot from our chairs. Up close his tie was perfect, his shoes were shined to a mirror, and he wasn't breathing hard at all. The two men with him stepped back, hands folded, and looked at nothing. The whole restaurant was looking at us.
He looked right at me and smiled like we'd already had this conversation a hundred times.
"Ethan," he said. "Welcome back, Mr. Carter."
I heard Olivia's fork hit her plate. It was a small sound, but in that quiet it carried. I couldn't look at her yet. I kept my eyes on him because if I looked away I was afraid I'd forget how to breathe right.
He gestured once toward the chandeliers, toward the windows and the long hall beyond them, like he was showing me something I'd left behind.
"The entire hotel is ready for you."
That was it. He said it plain, no lift in his voice, like he was telling me my car was parked out front. I felt the words land in my chest before I understood them. Ready meant staff and keys and paperwork. Ready meant he'd actually done it. My mouth was dry. I swallowed and didn't say anything.
Beside me Olivia shifted. Her chair creaked. Her sequined gown caught the light when she turned, and I could smell her perfume, the same kind she'd worn on the deck. Her handbag was tucked under the table now, out of the way, and her fingers were tight around her water glass.
She laughed, a short nervous breath that wasn't really a laugh.
"You own this hotel?" she said.
She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at me.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not because I was trying to build suspense. I just didn't have an answer that fit in that room. I thought about the deck at sunset and the ring between my fingers and how I'd told her one day I'd make something of myself. I thought about the office with no windows where I'd signed my name a hundred times a day and never once written owner next to it. My throat was tight. I stared at the candle between us and watched the flame pull to one side.
The waiter who'd been heading toward the next table stopped halfway and pretended to adjust a tray. Two women at the table by the elevator had their phones down now, watching openly. A busboy froze with his hands on an empty cart.
May you like
The older man didn't rush me. He let the silence sit. Then he took half a step closer, clasped his hands in front of his suit, and waited. He wasn't looking at Olivia. He was looking at me, and then, when I still didn't speak, he turned his head slowly toward her question like he was about to pick it up himself.
Everyone at our table, and half the room behind us, ended up watching him.
